Jody was rejected from 48 properties before she moved into her car

When many of us picture the homeless, it’s likely our minds wander to those sleeping rough on the streets. But they’re just as likely to be a mother putting her kids to bed in the family car at night, or a 50-something couch-surfing while they look after an ailing parent.

As the homelessness rate among Australian women continues to rise (there has been a 10 per cent increase among women since 2011), these are both scenarios which will become more common, says Jenny Smith, CEO of Homelessness Australia.

‘Trying to maintain a routine for your family is extremely difficult, but what I found hardest is the isolation and lack of control.’Credit:Stocksy

She says the situation is the result of a “perfect storm” of societal factors. “While women fleeing violence in their adult prime make up the largest percentage of those who find themselves homeless, women over 55 are the fastest growing group,” she explains.

“It makes sense when you factor in what happens to many women’s incomes over their lifespan – earning less than their male counterparts and taking more time out of the workforce to raise children, thus having less superannuation and savings.

“If you’ve been relying on your relationship for your retirement and it all breaks up, you’ll have to compete for exorbitant rentals with next to no savings in a market that won’t give you a chance.”

Smith believes affordable housing solutions would help reduce the crisis, but there is no national policy on housing affordability in place, insufficient levels of new public housing developments are available, and there are waiting lists of over 200,000 for social housing.

Smith also warns against falling into the trap of thinking that homelessness could never happen to you. “The truth is that any one of us could be just one or two bad breaks away from finding ourselves without a roof over our heads.”

'I was rejected for 48 properties before we moved into the car'

Jody (surname withheld), 46, found herself living in a car with her 13-year-old daughter after
she became ill and lost her job.

Do you want to know how quickly anyone of us can find themselves without a home? It can be as simple as going home sick from work one day and never going back.

Up until that day in 2012, I’d done all the ‘right’ things: I had a great career in the military where I made good money, I owned a house and paid for things like income protection insurance – I did everything I was supposed to do. When my physical injuries and mental health issues prevented me from returning to work, however, the downward spiral began.

Homelessness didn’t just happen overnight; for me, it took three years of selling off my life. My income protection refused to pay and once sick leave ran out and I burned through my savings while on leave without pay, I had to sell the furniture, the rest of our belongings, and finally our house.

Without income coming in, I was rejected for 48 properties before I decided to move us into the car.
My daughter was mortified, of course, but I kept telling myself it was merely a temporary solution until I could go back to my job. It was only after I received a formal letter terminating my employment that the panic set in.

Because of the work I’d been doing, I didn’t find it difficult living in a car, but my daughter struggled from the get-go. There was the odd night in crisis accommodation and stays with other families to break up her misery, but our relationship suffered to a point where we quickly became unable to communicate in any positive way.

Why didn’t I lean on my parents or best friend? They lived over 2½ hours away from where I was undergoing medical treatment and the travel time just wasn’t feasible.

In the end it took 18 months and a whole lot of fight before I received a certificate for invalidity retirement and my superannuation was released to me – a small sum, but large enough to buy a small place in the outskirts of Melbourne.

I’m on a disability pension which allows me to pay off my mortgage, but I am nowhere near my community, friends, family or even public transport to get to medical appointments. Things are hard, but I’m grateful to have a roof over my head.

The thing about homelessness that people often don’t understand is that the problems don’t magically go away once you’re rehoused either; my daughter had to grow up very quickly and her education suffered – so much so that she’s 18 now but only has a year 8 education. She’d like to return to study and become a nurse but the road ahead of her is long.

With the right support, anything is possible. But collectively we need to start having the tough conversations and putting our support behind members of parliament who have a focus on homelessness.

'The shame of the situation was almost too much to bear'

Couch-surfing with her daughter, then aged seven, became a way of life for Anne (name changed), 48, after her relationship broke down.

On paper, life looked pretty normal – I had a career as a part-time primary school teacher, a house we’d recently purchased and a young family – but homelessness was nothing new to me. My 67-year-old mother had been couch-surfing for years after she split up with my father and found that her minimum-wage income wasn’t enough to pay the rent and the bills.

She put her stuff into storage, moved into her car and stayed with various friends when she could. As my father’s primary carer – he was dying of cancer – there was little I could do at this point besides watch on in horror.

When I first decided to leave my relationship with my daughter’s father, I didn’t really have a plan. Tired of the fighting, I bundled everything into the car one day in 2009 and rang a friend, who said I was welcome to stay in her children’s playroom for as long as I liked.

My daughter and I ended up sleeping on the floor of that playroom for quite a few months, but we didn’t want anyone to know we were without a home, so we made up all sorts of stories about staying there because they had a pool. The shame of the situation was almost too much to bear.

When it became clear my father needed 24/7 care, things became even more unsettled. My daughter couldn’t be around her dying grandfather so she couch-surfed at her father’s while I took care of my dad in my old family home. When he moved into palliative care a month later, I moved into the room with him and slept on the guest bed.

Of course, once my mother found out how comfortable that guest bed was, she also wanted in, so we spent the next few months taking turns sleeping there with Dad.

The madness only ended when my sister and her husband bought a small place and offered to rent it to us. There are days when I pinch myself over how lucky we are; it’s not really an option for most.

When I think back to homelessness, I would say that trying to maintain a family routine – getting children to school on time and getting yourself to work – is extremely difficult, but what I found the hardest was the isolation and the lack of control I had over my life.

Because I couldn’t leave Dad’s side, I found difficulty in accessing services, but at the time I was calling Lifeline every night just to make it through the next day.

Today I’m working in the homeless sector as an advocate, and Mum and I continue to rent my sister’s home while I ponder what to do next. Things are settled now and I’m hoping to get back into the workforce with a bit more gusto once my health allows, but I’m worried about Mum’s health.

Obviously she’s my mum and I love her, but I also know that if she passes away, I’m back to not being able to pay rent.

'I bounced from room rental in share houses to couch-surfing'

Helen (surname withheld), 55, became homeless after she moved to Melbourne as a university student and couldn’t make ends meet.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a dream about becoming a creative artist and using art as therapy to help heal those who are suffering. Coming from a trauma background, it’s something I know a lot about, and even through I’ve suffered depression for much of my adult life, at the
age of 44 I decided it was time for me to enrol in a Bachelor of Arts course at a local university in Victoria. It felt like the new start I needed.

As with many trauma victims, I’d been medicating myself with alcohol, and uni life took its toll on me – so much so that I made the decision to move to another university in Melbourne in the hope that a change of scene would help in my recovery. I figured I’d work part-time and my salary would cover the cost of school fees, student accommodation and living costs, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The money didn’t stretch and over the next few years, I bounced from room rentals in share houses to couch surfing to women’s refuges. I even took up house-sitting to have somewhere safe and warm to stay.

Studying when you’re homeless – although it never occurred to me to use that term at the time – is next to impossible. I had no space to study in some of the places, and it’s incredibly stressful to find a place to store your stuff. I tried hard to overcome it, but trying to maintain an exterior of "Hey, I’m just another university student" while every other area was imploding took its toll on me.

I quit my course and put my energy into recovery and finding somewhere permanent to live. I remained homeless for eight long years before I was offered a bedsit three years ago, and in this time it was made abundantly clear how little support is out there for the hidden homeless.

I’m not in contact with my family, and while friends did the best they could, none of them really had
enough room. They also lacked the information to know what they were dealing with because there’s no one-stop shop where people can go for advice or assistance. Often, it’s a matter of knocking on various doors and trying to fit square pegs into round holes over and over again until you can find a solution.

Today, with a roof over my head, I’m a lot more centred than I’ve ever been. I have supportive people around me, I live near public transport so I can access health services easily, and I feel great satisfaction at lending my voice to raise awareness of homelessness.

I’m one of the starting members of the Lived Experience Advisory Group and I do peer support through Council to Homeless Persons, so it’s good to finally turn a negative into a positive. I still long to be a visual arts teacher – I know it will be a challenge, but I’m sure I’ll get there with the right support. The same is true of anyone.

To find out more about homelessness in Australia, and what you can do to help, visit the Everybody’s Home campaign.

This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale October 20.

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