Drowning doesn't look like drowning. We imagine people flailing and desperately calling out, but the reality is most people who are drowning quietly slip underwater before anyone notices.

For months, I've been silently drowning since losing my job in February. Today, I'm using the last of my strength to cry for help.

My Journey

In 2015, I left an abusive marriage and moved to the Pacific Northwest with $2,800 and a van full of belongings for me and my two adult kids. (My story.) Through grit and determination, I progressed from a $17/hour job to earning enough to buy a home.

I thought I'd finally achieved security after years of financial instability. Even though my savings were small and I didn't have nearly enough to retire, I thought I'd somehow be okay.

Me (left) and the kid, finally happy in the Pacific Northwest.

The Unexpected Setback

In February, my entire team was laid off. Despite an extensive job search and lowering my expectations, I've struggled to find work. The job market has changed, especially for someone like me:

People 50 or older are the fastest-growing demographic experiencing homelessness in America. Those numbers are estimated to triple by 2030! (Source)

I have sent hundreds of applications and had only a handful of interviews, including one where I was told I would be hired only to receive a notice that the state agency was "putting a pause on hiring." I have done gig work (DoorDash) and struggled to make more than $15 an hour, all while being pulled away from doing meaningful work to find employment. I've applied for roles that are far more entry-level than my skillset, only to get rejected because the employer knows I'll leave when a higher-paying job comes along.

I wake up most mornings with a knot of panic in my chest, wishing I hadn't woken up at all.

Current Situation

How You Can Help

Your support will help me:

Any contribution, no matter how small, will make a difference. I am humbled by any support you can show me.

The Power of Community

In times of crisis, our friends and community become our lifeline. We're all part of a larger network, lifting each other when one of us is flailing.

Your support isn't just about financial assistance—it's about reminding me that I'm not alone in this struggle.

By reaching out to help, you're reinforcing the beautiful truth that we're all connected. When we support each other, we create a safety net that catches those who fall and gives them the strength to rise again. Your kindness today could be the very thing that helps me regain my footing and, in turn, be there for someone else in the future.