Homeless, penniless, pregnant
I’d lost so much already
Gawping at my landlord, I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. ‘I’ve got people viewing it tomorrow. You need to leave within a month,’ he said.
Tears ran down my cheeks as I looked around at the flat I’d made a home.
Three years, me and my partner had lived there.
But now, in July 2018, our landlord was selling up.
‘I’m sure we’ll find somewhere,’ my partner tried to reassure me.
‘But will we be as close to Christopher?’ I sniffed, peering out the window.
See, our son was buried in the graveyard opposite.
I could see his headstone when I looked out the window.
I’d fallen pregnant in 2016.
For nine, blissful months, I imagined myself as a mother.
But then, on the day I was meant to have a caesarean, a scan revealed there was no heartbeat.
Christopher was stillborn in October 2017.
Our lives had been crushed.
And now, as we still grieved for our boy, we were told we had to leave our home.
For the next few weeks, we searched for a flat. Yet, we couldn’t find one. We asked loved ones for help, too, for a roof over our heads.
But it was no good. Nobody had the space. So, in August 2018, we gathered up our essentials, stuffed them in a couple of suitcases.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I cried as we bought a tent from a local camping shop.
Pitching the tent in the public park, I sniffed back tears.
People stared, turned their noses up at us.
Luckily, those first few weeks were warm and darkness fell late.
But I barely slept. Every sound of rustling or a distant voice terrified me.
And I was right to be scared.
As the weeks went by, we were frequently threatened. ‘We’ll set fire to your tent when you sleep,’ thuggish teenagers laughed. There was kindness, too. A local soup kitchen would deliver food parcels of sandwiches and crisps to us.
I have no idea what we would’ve done without them.
We’d walk the streets by day, sleep in the tent at night.
We used public toilets to wash and use the loo.
As winter struck, the days were shorter and colder.
Freezing cold, my body trembled in my sleeping bag each night.
Miserable and lonely,
I felt hopeless.
Weeks and months flew past with no way out of our hellhole.
Sometimes, on warm nights, I’d curl up next to Christopher’s grave.
And then, in September 2019, I had a strange feeling.
‘I think I’m pregnant,’ I told my partner as I stroked by belly.
‘How is that possible?’ he gasped.
I was using the contraceptive patch.
But a visit to the GP soon confirmed it.
For so long, I’d wanted a baby.
After everything we had been through with Christopher, it felt like a miracle.
But how could I bring a child into this world?
I hated the thought of them being cold in that tent with me...
A few weeks later,
I told the soup kitchen that I was pregnant.
‘Let’s get you into a hostel,’ they reassured me.
Yet the hostel was no better than the park.
Splashes of blood up the walls, people on a cocktail of different drugs. Fist fights and screaming... It was hellish. Curling into a ball at night, I cradled my blossoming belly.
‘I’ll give you a better life than this,’ I told the baby.
And I meant it.
Pitching the tent in the public park, I sniffed back tears
Laying eyes on him for the first time, my world tilted
In May 2020, a few days before my due date, I was admitted to hospital.
Lying in the bed, worries spiralled through my head.
But then a social worker visited me, asked me all about my life.
And when she realised I was homeless, she frowned.
‘We can’t have that,’ she said, writing notes in her book.
It was a scary time, especially with everything going on with COVID-19. But there was no time for fear. On 20 May 2020, contractions rippled through my body.
Hours later, Kayden arrived by caesarean, weighing 7lb 1oz. Laying eyes on him for the first time, my whole world tilted. He was so beautiful, so very tiny.
And perfect.
I knew in that moment, as I looked down at my sweet bundle, I needed to make a better life. It would all be for him now. Little Kayden was diagnosed with a few health problems. A heart murmur as well as a hole in the heart.
And to make matters worse, me and his dad split up. ‘It’s us two against the world,’ I said. But what would happen now? Would we have no choice but to live in the hostel again?
And the thought of going back to the tent filled me with horror.
But a few days later, the social worker visited. Told me that she’d arranged for us to stay in a motherand-baby unit.
Suddenly, for the first time in months, I felt safe.
‘Thank you so, so much,’ I beamed.
Then, in October 2020, I finally found an apartment for the two of us.
A two-bed new-build property which felt so safe and secure.
‘Home sweet home,’ I said to Kayden, holding him in his carrier.
Now, my boy is doing well, despite his health issues.
Hearing him giggle and seeing him smile is the highlight of my day.
Once he’s in nursery, I’m going to go back to the cattery where I volunteered before I became homeless.
I want to give something back to the world.
Losing Christopher and then my home, I didn’t feel like I had much to live for.
But Kayden has given me a new sense of purpose.
I am happier now than I have ever been.
Kayden deserves the childhood and life that I never had.
And I’ll make sure he always feels loved and safe.
With my precious boy, every day is a blessing.