Leaving the Lights On
There are many days when working with people experiencing a disconnection from society is both difficult and heartbreaking.
Yet on other days – even the same day you see the joy in someone’s eyes as they are given a clean room that they can call their own. Your heart fills with hope as they marvel at a shower, a comfortable bed, and a toilet they don’t need to share with anyone else.
We become attached. We have to. That is the work we do.
When people share their stories with us, it’s impossible not to be deeply disturbed by the intense, complex trauma that many have experienced throughout their lives – the very trauma, more often than not childhood abuse and neglect, that leads folk down the path of mental health crises, addictions and to the doors of Our Place. And yet, too often, many don’t see these wounds of trauma and the havoc they create in a life.
To those of us who work with this vulnerable population, it’s obvious. Nobody would choose a life struggling with severe substance disorder if they could easily break free. Nobody would choose to lose their children to social services. And nobody would choose to lose their partner or friend to a Fentanyl overdose. And this is why someone needs to leave a light on in the dark and unpredictable storm of a poison drug supply, rampant homelessness, and a COVID pandemic.
We need people to see there is hope in the darkness.
My incredible colleagues at Our Place light that light by bringing people inside one of the shelters or hotels that we are fortunate to operate in the belief that we can provide a fresh start.
When Our Place was invited by BC Housing to manage the former Comfort Inn, we didn’t go into it lightly. We knew there would be problems when people who have been living outside of community are invited back inside. There is an adjustment, and some adjust faster than others, but every bone in our bodies vibrates with the knowledge that we can’t stand by and do nothing. The transformation that we are beginning to see in the people living there is incredible. With warm, nutritious meals three times a day, a quiet room to finally get muchneeded rest, and the luxury of a private shower or bath – things that so many of us take for granted – we can actually watch health start to return to someone’s face and body.
We see smiles and we hear laughter, but we also know it is still a long road to true stabilization.
With housing and supports in place, we work on building trust with people who have seen so little of it in their lives, or have experienced the trauma when, far too often, trust is broken.
We see housing as hope. It is only the first step, but it is a giant one.
Change is only possible through bold actions and we are willing to be bold in pursuit of healthier lives for those we serve.
These can be dark times, especially for those with nothing but wounds and scars, but we’re keeping the light on in the hope that the lost can see it shine.