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| In Between Worlds: Finding Transitional Shelter While Living Unhoused |
The First Step Wasn’t a Door—It Was a Decision
My journey through homelessness began in the haze of a manic episode. When I walked out of my parents' home in November 2022, I had no idea I would never return. They had always been my safety net, the place I fell back to when mania subsided. But this time was different.
After two weeks on suicide watch, I found myself being discharged from a hospital with nowhere to go. That night, I used all my savings to book a six-week stay in an Airbnb. I told myself I had six weeks to recover from my mania, to find stability. But six weeks wasn’t enough.
Becoming unhoused is disorienting, especially when coupled with the emotional chaos of bipolar disorder. The path out is rarely straightforward—it begins with small, deliberate choices that can either lead to healing or deeper despair.
This is a story about what it means to seek shelter, support, and self while navigating the in-between spaces of homelessness and mental health recovery.
What Is Transitional Housing and Why Does It Matter?
Transitional housing offers temporary, supportive accommodations for individuals and families emerging from homelessness or unstable living situations. It acts as a bridge between crisis and stability.
Unlike emergency shelters—which are typically short-term and provide only basic needs—transitional housing programs offer structured support such as food assistance, case management, life skills training, and access to mental health and addiction services. These programs usually last from several months to a few years, with the ultimate goal being independent, sustainable living.
Transitional housing doesn’t just provide a roof. It offers stability, a space to rebuild routines, and an opportunity to restore one’s dignity.
Finding Transitional Housing While Facing Daily Survival
Six weeks of disillusionment ended on my 40th birthday—the day I officially became homeless. What followed was a blur of police wellness checks, hospital stays, and desperate efforts to find shelter. In January 2023, after a failed attempt by my cousin to house me in a hotel, she and my mental health mentor found a bed for me in a local shelter.
I arrived broken—sick, scared, and unsure of how to cope with this new reality. I feared I would drown in the chaos of managing my mental health while homeless. But I clung to one truth: the shelter was temporary.
For two weeks, I lived in a crowded dorm-style room, sleeping on a top bunk, storing my belongings in a small closet, and stretching on the floor each morning to recover from hospitalization. By the third week, with help from my mentor, Grama Judie, I began my housing search. My case manager was kind and diligent, but finding housing while displaced proved nearly impossible. I often fell short of qualifications by a margin too small to justify my disqualification—yet I persisted.
Then, ten days before I was scheduled to leave the shelter, a miracle happened: my case manager offered me a spot in their transitional housing program. It was a basement apartment in a quiet neighborhood on the city’s north side. I thought it was the blessing I had prayed for.
But not all that glitters is gold.
I lived there for six months—three spent in the hospital, the rest in fear due to dangerous upstairs neighbors. Eventually, I was moved to my current home. It’s a place I love, a place I feel proud to call home, though it’s not permanent. It’s a stepping stone—a space to find stability before finding permanency.
I live in the in-between. Better than where I was, but still far from where I hope to be.
Building a Bridge Back to Life: How Transitional Spaces Can Heal
Transitional housing has been a cornerstone in my healing. Though rebuilding life after homelessness hasn’t been easy, having a place to call mine for the past two years has restored my sense of time, purpose, and identity.
Today, I am in mental health remission. I’m nearly two years sober. I have the support of family, community, and a dedicated case management team. The very people I once saw as barriers have become allies. While they haven’t always disclosed their plans for my future, the decisions made—especially relocating me—have been in my best interest.
Healing in transitional housing is possible. I’m living proof. I’ve learned to trust myself again. I’ve cultivated self-compassion and rebuilt a vision for my life—all because I had access to a safe, supportive space. I now carry tools of resilience, strength, and clarity that guide me toward recovery and future housing stability.
Final Thought: Home Isn’t Just a Place—It’s a Possibility
I’ve known housing insecurity before, but nothing like this. In the past, someone was always there to rescue me. But this time, I had to rescue myself.
Homelessness has taught me that home isn’t merely a physical space—it’s a possibility. It’s the belief that I can live with a mental illness and still hope, still rebuild, still move forward. Living in a shelter stripped away my illusion of security and forced me to face the realities of my illness and its demands.
I once ignored the ongoing needs of my Bipolar disorder, fooled by the comforts of a stable job and a family home. But homelessness reminded me: severe mental illness can leave you living in the in-between, and you must fight to create a life that works with, not against, your reality.
Transitional housing gave me space to learn that. It hasn’t been perfect—I still have good days and bad—but it has been sacred. It’s been mine.
What does home mean to you when you’ve had to live without one? Can you name the people, spaces, or moments that helped you keep going?
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