“Mom, where are we going to sleep tonight?”

Hi there,

I never thought I’d end up homeless—especially not with two little girls depending on me. But life doesn’t always give you a warning. Before COVID, things were tight, but we were managing. I worked two jobs, did everything I could to make ends meet. But after the second lockdown, it was like the world shifted under my feet, and I couldn’t keep up. Groceries cost more than I could afford, and there were too many nights when I went to bed hungry so my kids could eat. The bills piled up. Then my landlord raised the rent. I tried to stretch every dollar, but it wasn’t enough. One day, the eviction notice came, and that was it. We had no place to go.

It felt like the ground dropped out from under me. I had no idea what to do. How do you explain to two little girls that they don’t have a home anymore? How do you look into their innocent faces and admit you failed to protect them? I tried to stay strong for them, but every night, once they were asleep, I lay awake feeling like I was drowning. The fear was suffocating. I didn’t have family to call, no savings to fall back on. Just me and my girls, alone in the world.

They could feel it, too. My oldest, just seven, would ask, “Mom, where are we going to sleep tonight?” I didn’t have an answer. I saw the worry in her eyes, the way her little sister clung to me tighter than usual, scared of the changes she didn’t understand. We spent a few nights in my car, and I can still remember how my hands shook as I tucked them in with old jackets, whispering lies about how everything was going to be okay.

That’s when I found the YWCA. I made the call, and we arrived with everything we owned crammed into a couple of garbage bags. Walking through those shelter doors was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I felt ashamed, like I had hit rock bottom. But the staff didn’t look at us with pity or judgment. They saw us—really saw us—and welcomed us with warmth and kindness.

That first night, they gave us clean beds and warm meals. My daughters were given toys and crayons—things I hadn’t been able to give them in so long. I’ll never forget the way my youngest’s face lit up when she held those crayons in her tiny hands. For the first time in weeks, I saw a flicker of joy in her eyes. It broke my heart and healed it all at once.

But it wasn’t just the food or the toys that made a difference—it was how they treated us. For so long, I had felt invisible, like my struggles didn’t matter to anyone. But here, we mattered. My girls mattered. They weren’t just surviving anymore—they were safe. They played with other children, made crafts, and slowly started to feel like kids again. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel—hope.

Still, I knew the shelter was just a beginning. I wanted more for my family. After a few months, we got into the YWCA’s Offsite Transitional Housing Program. Moving into our new home was like exhaling after holding my breath for months. It wasn’t just a place to sleep—it was a chance to rebuild. I still remember the first night there, lying on the floor with my girls, surrounded by unpacked boxes, and feeling a wave of peace wash over me. We were finally home.

Having our own space gave me the stability I needed to start focusing on what really mattered—our future. I worked with my case workers to set goals and build a plan. They helped me find job training programs and taught me how to manage my finances. It wasn’t easy, but for the first time, I wasn’t fighting just to survive—I was building something better.

Two years later, I can finally say we’re okay. I recently took over the lease to our apartment all on my own. My daughters are thriving in school, making friends, and dreaming about the future. And me? I’m proud. I’ve built a new life for us—one I wasn’t sure we’d ever have. But we made it.

I think back to that eviction notice, the crushing fear, the nights spent curled up in the car with my girls. I don’t know where we’d be without the YWCA. And the truth is, I don’t want to imagine it. What I do know is that there are other moms out there, just like me, desperate for a lifeline. Desperate for someone to see them, to care, to say, “You’re not alone.”

The YWCA gave us more than a place to stay. They gave us a chance—a chance to rebuild, to dream, and to thrive.

Sincerely,

Ellie, Charlette and Ashlyn