Sowing Hope: Housing Help for Kat, James & Family

Hi, my name is Kat, and I’m reaching out with the hardest ask I’ve ever had to make.

I’m a combat veteran and a proud former military police officer. I loved serving my country so that others wouldn’t have to. I fought, I led, and I paid the price—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And truthfully? I’d do it again. No second thought.

The Army made me, but it didn’t keep me. Still, I kept many parts of it—the discipline, the grit, the refusal to leave anyone behind.

And all that to say:

If you know and love a veteran, then you know how hard it is to ask for help. Especially help like this.

My fiancé James and I, along with our animals, are currently living in a motel in Richmond Hill, GA. We both have children from previous relationships. They are safe and secure with their other parents while we fight to get back on our feet—but every day we spend apart from them adds a heavy punctuation to the fear that they’re “better off without us.”

But they aren’t.

They need us just as much as we need them. And everything we do—everything—is to fight our way back to stability for them. We are not just two people in a motel. We’re two parents with full hearts and empty arms, doing everything we can to get back to our kids.

We left Savannah when we couldn’t find housing we could afford and landed here in Richmond Hill. We’ve been surviving on my military disability alone since May 25th, when my only source of income—our car—was lost in a flood while I was working Uber.

That flood disabled dozens of vehicles in our area. Ours is still waiting in line at a series of repair shops. The Uber insurance requires a $2,500 deductible—something impossible for us to afford right now. Without the car, I can’t work. And without work, we’ve run out of options.

Our motel has kindly reduced the weekly rate to $450 for us, but this is our final paid week. We have just $36 left. On Tuesday, we will not be able to pay, and we will be forced to leave.

We’ve called every number. We’ve signed up for every waiting list. We’ve tried food pantries—but with only a mini fridge and a microwave, most of it can’t be used. Church shelters don’t allow partners or pets. Emergency beds fill up daily before we can even get a spot. Nothing has come through in time.

If you’ve ever been in this place—or feared it—you know how paralyzing this is.

So here it is. The ask:

We are not just asking for a helping hand, but rather we are asking for a ladder. Not everyone just has one to give away, but I have seen time and time again, the power that comes with everyone bringing a piece to help build it.

How we build the ladder:

Tier 1: Immediate Survival ($2,000–$2,500)

This keeps us housed for the next two weeks, covers food, phone, basic needs, and starts chipping away at the $2,500 car deductible—so I can start driving again and bring in income through Uber.

Tier 2: Stabilization ($4,000–$5,500)

With more time and your support, we can secure a short-term housing deposit, break free from motel living, and fully restore the car or replace it if needed.

Tier 3: Long-Term Foundation ($6,500–$8,000)

This gives us a real chance at a fresh start—permanent housing, a working vehicle, reconnection with our children, and the ability to focus on school and build a life again that doesn’t teeter on crisis.

I’ve spent my whole life serving others—from the military, to supporting veterans, to running local D&D charity events. This is the first time I’m asking others to serve me. And it’s not easy. But I believe that with your help, I can rebuild—and I won’t stop until I do.