I never wanted to ask for help like this. I’m not sure I ever really have. But I am out of options, and I am running out of time. I am 60 years old, disabled, and facing the foreclosure sale of the home I fought for in just days. What started as a housing nightmare became a financial and legal nightmare, and while I am still trying to pursue help and accountability, the immediate reality is much simpler: I have to get myself, my cats, and as much of my life as I possibly can out of that house before time runs out. And I cannot do it alone.

This is not a simple move. It is not downsizing. It is not me deciding I want a fresh start and need help buying new curtains. It is walking back into a house and realizing I may have to decide, under pressure, which parts of my life get carried out and which parts are left behind. My garden. My kitchen. My books, including antique books that cannot simply be replaced. Family treasures. Things connected to my daughters and my granddaughter. Art supplies collected over years. One-of-a-kind furniture pieces I rescued because I saw what they could become. Objects found while traveling, at flea markets, thrift stores, yard sales — not souvenirs, not random junk, but pieces of culture, memory, and the life I was slowly building. I know some people look at belongings and say, “It’s just stuff.” It is not just stuff when you are an artist. It is not just stuff when you are a writer, a cook, a collector, a maker, a grandmother, and a woman who has spent her whole life trying to create warmth and beauty wherever she could. It is not just stuff when so much of it carries memory, history, plans, and pieces of the people you love.

I have tried to do this responsibly. I have made calls. I have looked for free help. I have tried to arrange storage, moving help, medical appointments, legal steps, and all the logistics that have to happen at once. My ex-husband, who is also my best friend, has already stretched himself trying to help me secure a small temporary place to go so I would not be left with nowhere at all. He is doing what he can. I cannot keep turning to him for more and more while the emergency keeps growing. Right now, I need immediate help with moving and storage costs, a pod or another way to get my belongings out, paid loading help if volunteer help does not come through, fuel and travel connected to this emergency move, relocating myself and my animals safely, and enough breathing room to keep going while I deal with the legal and medical fallout.

I am not asking anyone to fix my whole life. I am asking for a chance to keep this from becoming a complete wipeout. I hate that I am doing this. I hate that it is public. I hate that people who know me may now understand how bad things really are. I hate that I could not quietly muscle through this the way I have tried to muscle through everything else. But I cannot lift furniture by myself. I cannot create money out of thin air. I cannot replace a lifetime in a week. And I cannot keep pretending I am fine while my life is being dismantled around me. If you are able to help, thank you. Truly. If you cannot donate, please share this. I need it to reach beyond the small circle of people who have already watched me struggle. I need the right person to see it before the clock runs out. I do not know what survives this. I do not know what comes next. I only know that I am still trying to save as much of my life as I can. And right now, I need help.