Earlier quoted context omitted.
Small, safe spaces. That is... I went onto the streets to escape poverty, violence and sexual abuse. For me a hostel was not a safe space, so I didn't even successfully make it onto the first rung of support. It was hostels that distributed information on where to get food and such, so I missed that too. So there needs to be a better support system for those sleeping rough, and that needs to recognise the flaws in th…
One thing I'm curious about, if you're willing to share, is what makes hostels and shelters unsafe. There are several people on here who mention hostels or shelters not being safe for them, and I've never quite understood what would cause that, given that the entire point of a shelter is to offer a safe space, isn't it? What are the common failings there? What makes the safety of a shelter vary between different peop…
A roof? Is that all a homeless person needs?
For me what I needed, because I came from a place that of violence and abuse, was to feel safety of person and possession.
In many ways, that sense of security trumped everything.
And if you take a teenager that has gone through that and chosen the street over a roof at home... then changing the roof and being surrounded by strangers, some of whom suffer from mental illness and can be violent themselves... a hostel doesn't deliver on safety.
I only stayed in a few, they were how I imagine US summer camps to be. Rooms containing a number of bunk beds, anything from 4 to 8 people in a room.
The ones I experienced separated on gender as you would expect, but didn't separate on age, or other needs.
When I landed on the street I was frightened, crushingly shy, a victim all the way through. A hostel was a brutal experience, horrifying to me in those early weeks on the street in ways that sleeping under bushes, on industrial estates and on building sites just wasn't.
I had a different set of problems outside, namely the weather, shelter and warmth. But what I had with some planning was a sense of security, a sense that my possessions and myself were safe. That the very worst that could happen would just be to be moved on.
Those were things I felt were in my control. I felt safer on the street.
I should note that I didn't spend every night of 2.5 years sleeping rough. I was young, and learned fairly quickly to seek out Universities, find the student union bar, arrive late afternoon and read a book, and then wait for people to arrive so that I could chat to people. From there the opportunities opened up, and there was a good chance that if I overcome shyness, didn't scare them with the state of me, and everything was cool, that for one night there was going to be a bed, a shower, and some toast. I became quite good at this, but never stayed in a city more than a couple of nights before hitching elsewhere so that I never overstayed a welcome and doing this meant I could have a few nights a week on a sofa of someone my age who had a kind heart.