Personal Narrative: Life In A Homeless Home

I celebrated my first birthday in a women’s homeless shelter. While living in a homeless shelter may seem like a point of shame, it has actually become a central point of pride in my identity. It has had this opposite effect largely thanks to a stranger’s seemingly insignificant photograph of me in my mother’s arms on my first birthday: a photograph that has profoundly influenced my worldview. Since the fateful day that my mother discussed our humble origins and shared the photograph with me, it has served as an important reminder of my background and as a source of inspiration and resolve.

While my situation mildly improved as my mother and I itinerantly rented rooms and eventually settled in a small apartment, it inevitably shaped my childhood. I remember arriving home from elementary school to find court orders taped to the front door and the electricity shut off. I remember watching my mother cry with desperation at night looking over overdue bills. I remember questioning my father’s absence when I saw other kids playing with their dads. And, of course, I remember being bullied for not being able to afford ‘cool’ clothes like Ralph Lauren polo shirts and Air Jordan shoes or ‘cool’ items like the latest iPhone.

At first, I didn’t really understand my
She always reminded, “el que se educa, tiene poder sobre su vida,” which roughly translates to, “education is the key to opportunity and success.” Despite the initial hesitance of an unconfident ten-year-old with such a daunting task, I became determined to change our lives. I became determined to get that key. I wanted my mother’s lifelong struggles to end and my life to not be constrained by the shackles of financial insecurity. Most of all, though, I wanted to be in a position to improve the lives of others in similar situations to