let's talk housing, shall we?
my current apartment lease is expired, i have a few months of missing rent from unemployment/falling behind during covid- no unemployment benefits or rental assistance came through, the rent is increasing by quite a bit, maintenance has not been completed...it's been a lot and i've been...well...me.
would it be august if i wasn't yelling at a CEO via email somewhere?
*sigh*
i've shot myself in the foot so many times during the course of my life it's no wonder my feet hurt every morning.
there's a nationwide housing crisis happening, but it's not exactly a new crisis in my world.
this too shall pass. my housing guardian angel has FOR SURE worked their share over overtime the last 24 years and has yet to fail. i'm absolutely terrified of what the next few months will look like as the nationwide eviction moratorium is fought over in court- both for what i means personally and nationally. i can't even wrap my head around what it will look like when MILLIONS, of people are suddenly not just without a home but without the ability to GET a home. once you have an eviction on your record renting is nearly impossible. add on top moving cost, first/last/deposit, rental requirements x3.5 rent: income ratios, no pets...
ok...don't get distracted by an anxiety spiral self. stay on point.
HOUSING.
yeah. this is not my first rodeo. and let me tell you this, for a FACT, doesn't matter how many times i've moved, i've NEVER gotten used to it, it ALWAYS sucks, and it is draining on EVERY SINGLE FRONT: financially, emotionally, physically, mentally, time, health...
you know how moving goes- late nights, crap food, sprained ankles, rain/snow leading to colds, so many stupid trips to the store for more tape and more caffeine. fuck. i'm tired just thinking about it.
i got my first apartment in 4/1999.
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babies raising babies
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it was BEAUTIFUL and brand new. a lovely little two bedroom with a washer and dryer and a dishwasher and a play area. and i was the FIRST one to live there.
but, it was NOT easy to get into.
i was 17 when my kiddo was born: graduated high school in june, had my kiddo in july, turned 18 in september, started community college in october. it was a busy year.
i made a very specific decision when i chose to raise my son. several families had written to ask to adopt and i actually had a family picked out (that is a fascinating story for another day), but i very specifically chose to raise my son. it was a long and hard decision, and part of that was providing for him, on my own. my decision, my responsibility.
i needed to:
get a job
finish college so i could get a better job (running start in HS gave me a head start on my AA)
get my own place
the trick is, when you're 17, you can't sign a lease. and when you don't have a job you can't pay rent.
i was able to get a job doing work study at the community college while taking classes. i qualified for daycare assistance to take care of my kiddo, and, i found a fantastic advocate through rural resources that helped me find my first apartment, a brand new low income apartment complex literally across the street from the city park.
yeah, my housing guardian angel does some WORK.
to get into the apartment however, was my first lesson in learning to work inside the system to work the system, and technicalities matter.
*technically* when i gave birth, my son and i became our own family unit in the eyes of the state. i was covered under my parents insurance, but my son was covered under state insurance. as soon as he was born, it started a parenting plan and child support case with DSHS that made us an official family, and as an official family, we were technically homeless. YES, i was living at home with my mother, not, she was not going to kick me out, but i needed out. i NEEDED to be my own family.
if you are, indeed homeless, you need to show that you have used the resources available to you, to show that you deserve their help.
getting help from the state is a hard lesson in letting go of your ego. there's nothing like proving to people, over and over and over how poor you are and that you really do need help and you really don't have any money or any back up plan and yeah, your car is worth money but you can't sell it because you need it to get to work. humiliating and degrading and all the motherfuckers that think people are just making a living off "the system" have never had to be in the system. it is MISERABLE. having to prove you're poor, when you LIVE it every single day...it makes you question EVERYTHING. then when you learn later in life you have been living with massive anxiety FOREVER which amplifies everything...getting off track again.
you do what you need to do to get the help you need.
it was suggested to me that if i spent a night in the homeless shelter, it would help move my application to the top of the pile for assistance.
the homeless shelter in the town where i lived was an old house in the "bad" section of town (according to my evangelical mother). it was next to a known pot grow house in an older section of town. it was pretty run down and completely empty. there was a TV with aluminum gum wrappers on the antenna on a TV tray in the middle of the living room with a metal lawn chair. the second story was completely empty. i wore several layers, took a sleeping bag and sat in that metal chair WIDE AWAKE all night. i was TERRIFIED, alone in the dark in this strange empty house. the worker signed my in at 5 in the evening and i counted every second til 8 the next morning when i could sign out.
but it worked. i got approved for assistance and between that, my financial aid, and my work study i was able to get into my first apartment.
i stayed there until heading to EWU to continue college for my BA (financial aid covered tuition, 3 months rent and books each quarter, i worked part time and work study to cover the rest).
my son (eventually sons) and i ended up moving so many times after that...
i went to college, then got a different apartment at college, then got married, separated (the day the sun stood still: moved a full townhouse on zero notice in less than 8 hours while he was at work while 3 months pregnant), then moved back in together, then moved out. for good.
i thought it was hard to find an apartment at 17 with one baby?
finding an apartment at 23 with 2 kiddos coming out of a domestic violence marriage in a small town?
i honestly thought i was going to die- for a few reasons.
i had to be EXTREMELY careful who i even talked to about renting. in a small town everyone knows everyone and if a wife is suddenly asking about an apartment without her husband...word travels fast. and if you even MENTION the words "domestic violence" on the phone landlords instantly hang up on you.
on december 13, 2003 i was able to move into apartment 13. i found a landlord...mccurdy...i said "domestic violence" and he said HOW CAN I HELP. i cried on the phone. my domestic violence advocate was able to help me get approved for a housing grant- i was one of two grants approved for the TIBRA/THOR program for domestic violence assistance.
ONE. OF. TWO.
to this day i still don't know...like...was it a real program? i've tried to research it since then and can't find records of the program. but it paid half my rent for 6 months until i was able to get on my feet and get things sorted with the divorce and get financially stable. they told me i was approved for a full year, but i told them it worked. it did what it was supposed to do. it got me out and got me stable. use it for another person. i don't need them any more, and then they'll be available for someone else to be able to get out and be safe and start over. save another family.
wasn't i adorably naive at 23?
silly child. that isn't how government assistance works.
i'll never forget the social worker who just stared at me then laughed the first time i went in with all my receipts and a balanced checkbook ledger for my first food stamp review.
SHE. LAUGHED.
don't you want to check my receipts? make sure all the numbers match? make sure i'm buying approved/healthy foods?
oh sweet silly child.
but i was approved for a domestic violence housing grant, i was able to move, get the restraining order served, and get away. he left to plow the snow at the fire department in the morning, my mother took my kids, and my friends pulled in the driveway with a uhaul. i took only what was mine and got the fuck out.
he came home at one point and asked if we could go somewhere to talk. the only thing i heard was my domestic violence advocate telling me: once he knows you're leaving that's it. there's nothing left to lose. that's when women die. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him. do not go anywhere alone with him.
she saved my life.
i was lucky. i moved out by 4 pm and his girlfriend had moved in by 8.
he was distracted and glad to be rid of me. he wanted his dirtbikes back, that was the only thing he was mad about. his dirtbikes and the 4 wheeler.
i was lucky. i was able to get a housing grant. find a landlord willing to help. get away. my work moved me to full time after that and after a few years i was able to transfer to the corporate office and move to spokane.
well, it wasn't *quite* that simple.
i had tuned in my 2 weeks notice at my corporate job because i found out my manager was intentionally blocking my career by not turning in my applications for job transfers because he didn't think i was ready to move forward. i was 23, had worked for this company since 19. i had gone to college, married, divorced, and my boss thought i wasn't ready for the challenge of the corporate office. yes, that's literally what he told me when he sat in my office and accused me of blackmail because as part of my exit interview i let HR know i was concerned he was assigning contract work without going through the required bid process. i stood my ground, stood by my two week notice. i deserved a chance to advance my career. i deserved the change to try at least. and what he was doing with contracts was illegal. i stand by every part of my decision.
however...i had no clue what to do. it was december, i didn't have another job lined up, i just..jumped.
about a week later, i was contacted by my company, and, suddenly, one of the jobs i had applied for opened back up BUT i had to be able to start the first of the year. in spokane.
two weeks.
i had 2 weeks to find a house, pack, move, DURING THE HOLIDAY, with 2 kids, transfer schools (pre-k specialized IPE and elementary school), and show up to the corporate office first thing January 2, 2007.
that last week of december between driving an hour back and forth to meet with landlords and look at places on the weekend, as i was able to "reactivate" my employment and use PTO to cover days between the paid holidays, get everything packed, and then i was notified of an officer involved shooting in seattle.
two officers with their FTO (trainees) had responded to complaints at a house party. one of the officers was shot during the interaction and died.
i waited for about 12 hours to find out if it was my brother or his partner.
my brother (and his trainee) and his partner (and his trainee) flipped a coin to see who would talk to people inside and who would talk to people outside. the office inside was shot in the back while leaving. his trainee shot and killed the suspect.
the news didn't identify the officer but talked about his young widow with a young son. in 2007 my nephew was 2.
the flip of a coin saved my brother's life but cost another his. my brother and his partner had gone through academy together. gotten married at the same time. had kiddos at the same time. but my brother got to live that day.
that was a REALLY long way to say: i didn't get much packing done for a few precious days, but i did it. i found a great little house less than a mile from the corporate office. it was blocks from an elementary school and a wonderful babysitter/home daycare provider. i was able to have a friend move to town and work as a live in nanny for a little bit while we settled in (my first failed attempt at being a roommate). it had a great fenced back yard with a swing set and a massive tree and vines all over the fence and the sweetest young couple neighbors. the owner lived in seattle and had bought it planning to move to town with his family but for some reason it fell through. it was a nice 2 bedroom/1 bath with 2 unfinished rooms in the basement and an upstairs living room and a large family room space downstairs. it was a great house. it was perfect. so close to school and work and daycare and a grocery store. *slightly* haunted, but what in spokane isn't?
one day in february of 2009 i got a call from the landlord asking if i would be interested in buying the property. i NEVER, EVER had the desire to own a home. EVER. renting was my jam. fuck yeah i'll mow the lawn and keep it looking beautiful and take fantastic care of it and stay there FOREVER. but YOU deal with the roof and the furnace and the water heater.
so, no, i wasn't interested in purchasing...why?
i had been paying rent. the landlord had been paying the owner. the owner had not been paying the mortgage.
i had 14 days to find another place to live before it went to auction as default repossession.
i am NOT lying when i say my housing guardian has worked straight up miracles over the years.
i was able to find a city owned surplus property on craigslist and move in right away. withing DAYS of getting everything moved out there was a notice of default stapled to the front door of the house.
the city house was...for sure a surplus home. it was turn of the century, lead pane windows, plumbing installed well after the home was built. it had a creepy attic and a creepier basement. one tiny bathroom where i could pee, shave my legs and brush my teeth at the same time.
but it was beautiful in a way. it has these high ceilings and a formal parlour and the original stained glass. that house holds such a weird chunk of time in my memory. one of those weird gaps of time you can't really account for. we didn't stay there long; by august we were moving up to a 2 bedroom on the south hill. the city turned out to not be the greatest landlord. i was honestly surprised. i really did think the city would appreciate a good tenant wanting to improve surplus property and keep it up. oops. my bad.
i really, really am a slow learner when it comes to how the government works.
surplus property means: no one wants it but they don't know what the fuck to do with it, so see if you can make a couple bucks renting it but don't waste any money on it because we'll probably just tear it down in a few years anyway.
i know this now. i have updated my dictionary accordingly.
the place on the south hill...holy jesus it was a moment to breathe, even if in the midst of storm.
august of 2009, the week i was moving in, was the week my oldest son was attending the funeral of his stepmother and infant brother. at the same time, my younger brother had been in a traumatic accident and was in a medically induced coma with a portion of his skull removed until the swelling could go down.
august and i have had issues for a few years. it fights dirty. really. really dirty.
i don't even really remember how i ended up moving. i remember it was hot and dry and friends, and trucks and too many trips because everything was a mess and falling apart but i HAD to move. school was going to be starting and i had to make sure to get them both settled into bus or drop off or carpool and still work. but everyone was dying and everything was falling apart.
but we did it.
i don't know how we did it.
that was the 11th or 12th my oldest kiddo had made at that point. we literally had boxes that we kept in storage with what to pack already written on them. keep the boxes, we'll be using them again before we know it.
with one kiddo on the spectrum, a personality quirk that makes change NOT the most fun experience, and a kiddo who has been through it ALL with me...housing was hard.
i was WELL aware of the stigma around having single mothers as a renter. i worked my ass off to NEVER be later on rent. i had excel spreadsheet and graphs and charts tracking my budget to the penny every month, i made sure we were good neighbors. my kids weren't too loud if we lived on the second floor, we didn't ruin the grass if we lived on the main floor. we were polite to even the mean neighbors. always take care of the little things yourself. never bother management unless you HAVE to. figure out how to make it work. a few yards of fabric and a sewing machine worked magic many a time. keep the yard up. make sure there's not a lot of toys left out. NEVER have a reason for the police to stop by. NEVER, EVER, be even a day late with rent. never question the lease. sign whatever they hand you. keep your credit good. it was a LOT over the years.
but the south hill space was a good space. it was a sturdy brick apartment. it had a cute fireplace. MASSIVE closets. good sized bedroom for the boys to share (two bedroom was affordable, three bedroom impossible, they could share for a few more years before puberty). there were good people. good friends. good memories there. i got rid of the last of my divorce furniture there. i bought a beautiful (way too big for the space) dining room table and chairs AND a sectional couch. LIVING THAT HIGH LIFE. a new sectional couch. whaaaaaaa???? you know the one. the multi-tonal beige to brown square microfiber/leather one that was in EVERY furniture store in 2010. that's right. i had fancy furniture. in a nice apartment. ON THE SOUTH HILL.
after the storm of losing tyra and roman and then my brother that october, it was a good apartment. it felt sturdy. we had GREAT neighbors. a nice lawn with massive trees. it was a block off the main street. my oldest could carpool to school, my youngest was a drop off on the way to work, i picked them both up after work at daycare.
we had a good routine there for a minute.
the corporate job was holding steady. boring, but steady. it paid well. i had good insurance. benefits. retirement. 401K. seniority, and my rent was always covered without question.
that risk of turning in my notice years before with NO IDEA of how or what i was going to do to take care of my kids had really stuck with me. i was lucky. a few hiccups, but i had landed on my feet thus far. this place was good. stable. i loved that south hill apartment.
then 2010 happened.
after my dad passed, i had this inheritance money, REAL MONEY, for the first time in my life, and no idea what to do with it.
for YEARS, my dad had always said: "i wish i could just buy you a house and take care of you."
well, he did. just in a really unusual way.
i did NOT want to buy a house. it was not in my plan. i loved that south hill apartment.
but, i mean, i had this money, and isn't that what you're supposed to do with inheritance money?
it seemed like the right move at the time.
i made a cash offer on a house the day it was slated to be auctioned as a VA loan repossession.
the full circle irony of life does not escape me.
i was able to buy the house, cash, with the inheritance from my dad dying in a house fire.
again, the full circle irony of life does not escape me.
fuck that house.dad, i love you. i love that you wanted to take care of me. i love you for wanting to provide for me.
but fuck that house.
i tried to finish the projects that had been abandoned by the former owner (their loan money had run out and they couldn't finish flipping it and it had gone to auction).
i needed to move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen, into the downstairs bathroom, which needed redone anyway. then i could finish the kitchen. then someone my mother knew could refinish the (original douglas fir) wood floors for me. but oops, he fucked up and there's not enough wood left to refinish them again. you need to replace all the floors. oh, and the front porch needs redone. and the garage door won't open, so you can't use the garage at all. you need to build a foundation under the garage before the door can be repaired. and by the way there's red mold that grows on the walls, even through killz, that looks like blood splatter. and there's lathe and plaster. and knob and tube wiring. and abandoned underground sprinklers. and mice. holy fuck the mice are impossible to get rid of and they are everywhere. well, fuck, there wasn't THAT MUCH dead dad money. now you're completely out of money, and by the way, PROPERTY TAXES.
did you know about property taxes? i mean, i KNEW about them, in theory. they're that thing affects the rate of your mortgage/payments. you know, the thing property owners complain about at election time- the school levy old people hate kids levy money.
UNLESS YOU DON'T HAVE A MORTGAGE.
then suddenly you're out of money and you owe a few thousand dollars to live in the house you bought.
but again, you're out of money because you paid cash for the house. and tried to finish repairs.
oh yeah, and you quit your job while you were doing all this in the middle of what you now recognize to be probably a massive break down after a huge amount of death and trauma and life changes.
property taxes are an asshole.
fuck i hated owning a house. that was the worst...what...7 years? contractors are TERRIBLE. door to door milk men try to sue you. you have to wear socks or get slivers in your feet. nothing ever felt clean. everything felt too big and too small at the same time. every project was dreaded because NOTHING worked the way it needed to.
owning a home was a TERRIBLE experience for me.
i am for sure meant to be a renter. i dream of just having a steady, quiet little house with a tiny little yard with flowers and plants and a hammock and enough space for stella to get tired playing fetch outside and i will take the absolute best care of it but someone else has to deal with all the bullshit. i want to be able to call someone when the water heater is fucked up and never have to worry about it again. i want to be able to know i paid my rent, i'm safe. i'm taken care of. i'm respected. my home is valued. i'm valued. i would be fantastic as a long term rent controlled renter. i'd take THE BEST care of a property and help keep the value and make it a solid investment.
instead i get the place where i am now.
a negligent manager, a management company who blatantly ignores and dismisses concerns for 2 full years. a place where no maintenance is done. money is valued over community, there is no green space. there is no one that cares about making it a nice place to live.
housing should not be this big of a struggle, and i have been one of the LUCKY ones.
the universe has provided for me time and again in ways that are nothing short of a miracle. i did not get this far without help. i am absolutely, blindly, inexplicably LUCKY. the line between landing on my feet and seeing how much i can fit in a suitcase has been beyond razor thin at times, but somehow i've always managed.
i was able, at 18 to find a brand new low income apartment as a single mother first time renter.
i was able, after a traumatic marriage, to find a safe space and financial help. it was a beautiful 2 bedroom apartment on the ground floor so i didn't have to worry about the boys being quiet. there was a courtyard of grass straight out the front door, i could prop the door open and watch the boys play with neighbor kids.
i was able, on 2 weeks notice to find a perfect home, blocks from a new job, blocks from a new school, school, in the middle of winter, during the holidays, in another town.
i was able to buy a home. cash.
as much as i hated owning, NOW I KNOW. how many people ever, EVER get the chance to find out?
housing is scary for me now. i know housing is scary now for a LOT of people. i know that as absolutely blindly lucky as i have been, other have not been.
people deserve a home.
a young teen mother deserves a beautiful new apartment.
a divorced mother of 2 deserves a safe apartment.
people making a once in a lifetime investment deserve to know it was the right choice.
a tenant (renting by force or by choice) deserves rights and protections just as much as any home owner.
EVERYONE deserves the right to safe, fair, clean, stable, affordable housing.
housing should not be this big of a struggle for the MAJORITY of the nation.
people should not have to rely on the hope that they somehow miraculously made it through last time, let's hope that luck holds...
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