August 31, 2023

Today is the first rainy day that feels like fall in the city – the day most people look forward to. A day I once looked forward to. But this year, I’m ambivalent. 

It’s because of survivor’s guilt.

Last year, a day like this would have created nothing but anxiety for me because my husband and I had been homeless for more than two and a half years. We were living in an old, leaky, drafty RV trailer on the street and had no idea how we could change that.

A year ago, the first cool rainy day today told me, “Fall’s coming, and winter is right behind it.”

When we were homeless, fall and winter weren’t beautiful seasons to enjoy. Fall and winter meant we’d be cold, damp, and miserable for at least six months in the RV.

It meant moving everything away from the walls so they wouldn’t get wet and grow mold (a lot of things still fell victim to mold anyway and had to be thrown out).

It meant worrying about keeping up with heavy 20-lb propane bottles every 5-6 days for heat, worrying about how we’d keep our bags of laundry dry as we walked back from a laundromat, and constantly wiping our dog’s paws so he wouldn’t get mud on our bench cushions and our bed comforter.

Rainy weather meant getting into a bed with cold, damp sheets every night and never wanting to get out of bed the next morning to turn on the camp stove to chase away the chill of the previous night.

It meant our pantry food went bad faster because of the dampness.

It meant dressing in layers 24 hours a day and hoping our waterproof boots and Goodwill puffy jackets made it another year.

The one thing we told ourselves over and over was, “At least we have the RV. It would be so much worse in a tent.”

Today, we live in a warm, dry apartment. Six months of desperate searches for housing, scrimping together every penny we could, and refusing to give up finally led to an apartment application approval.

But as I look out my window and watch the raindrops fall, I remember what last year was like for us. I think about everyone who’s still out there in their RVs. 

In their tents. 

In doorways.

A rainy day means something entirely different to the housed versus the unhoused.