HELP ME GET HOME — THEN HELP ME HELP OTHERS GET HOME
One woman. One son. One way out. A bigger fight against homelessness.
What if you woke up tomorrow and realized you had nowhere to go? Not because you chose it. Not because you wanted it. But because somewhere along the way, life took away the stability you thought you had.
Where would you go? Where would you sleep? How would you start over?
I know what that feels like—because I'm living it.
My name is Alexis. I'm a mother, I'm a daughter, and right now I'm experiencing something I never imagined would become part of my life: homelessness.
But if all you see is the word “homeless,” you don't see my story.
You don't see the person behind it. You don't see how many times I've tried to find another way, how many times I've tried to put the pieces back together, or how exhausting it is to keep fighting for stability when you don't even have a stable place to begin.
I never imagined I'd have to ask strangers for help with something as basic as having a place to call home.
But I'm here.
And I'm asking anyway.
Not because I've stopped fighting. Because I'm fighting to finally get somewhere.
I've looked for resources. I've tried to navigate programs. I've tried to figure out housing, transportation, identification, paperwork, and all the other pieces you're told are supposed to help someone get back on their feet.
And here's what I've learned:
Having resources available isn't always the same thing as having a way out.
You can be told where to go but have no transportation to get there.
You can be told to apply but not have everything required.
You can be told to find housing but not have the money needed to get into it.
You can be told to get stable while having nowhere stable to start from.
And when you're already exhausted from surviving, every additional barrier can feel like another locked door.
I've experienced those locked doors myself.
Then earlier this year, my life became even harder when I was seriously injured in a hit-and-run. While already trying to survive without stable housing, I was suddenly dealing with injuries, pain, and limitations that made everyday life even harder.
But somewhere in the middle of all of this, I started asking myself a different question.
I stopped asking only:
“How do I get myself out?”
And I started asking:
“Why is it so hard for people to get out?”
That question changed something in me.
Because homelessness isn't simply the absence of a house.
It's everything that can happen before someone loses housing, everything that happens afterward, and all the barriers that can keep someone trapped there.
It's transportation. Identification. Money. Employment. Safety. Deposits. Waiting lists. Limited resources. Requirements that don't always match the reality of the person who needs help.
It's being told that help exists while still wondering:
“Okay... but what do I do tonight?”
I don't believe homelessness should become someone's identity.
I don't believe someone should have to hit rock bottom before they deserve a way back up.
And I don't believe people should have to fight this hard just to get a chance to rebuild.
That's the cycle I want to help change.
But first, I have to get myself out.
I NEED TO GET HOME.
I need a safe, stable place to live. A place where I can sleep, keep my belongings, breathe, heal, get organized, and finally spend my energy rebuilding instead of constantly figuring out how to survive the next day.
I want a door that locks.
I want a bed that doesn't have to be packed up.
I want somewhere I can call home.
And most importantly, I want to create stability for my son.
I want him to know that even when life knocked his mom down, she kept getting back up.
This fundraiser is not about creating a lifestyle for me.
It's about creating a foundation.
Funds raised will help with the real-world costs standing between where I am now and becoming stable enough to move forward—housing and move-in costs, deposits, transportation, food, basic necessities, communication, and getting established in a safe place.
I'm not asking you to carry me. I'm asking you to help me get back on my feet so I can carry my own weight again.
And I don't want that to be the end of the story.
I WANT TO TURN MY EXPERIENCE INTO ACTION.
I've lived the problem.
I've seen the gaps.
I've experienced what it feels like when the solutions you're pointed toward don't actually solve the problem you're standing in.
So I want to use what I've learned.
I want to raise awareness about the barriers people face.
I want to listen to people experiencing homelessness instead of assuming I already know what they need.
I want to connect people with resources that actually exist.
I want to shine a light on the gap between “help is available” and “help actually reaches the person who needs it.”
And I want to work toward practical solutions that help people move from homelessness into stability—not simply survive homelessness longer.
But I can't pretend I'm already standing on the other side.
I'm still fighting my way there too.
That's why I'm asking you to be part of this.
WHAT YOUR HELP CAN DO
Maybe you can give $5.
Maybe it's $10.
Maybe it's $25.
Maybe it's more.
And maybe you can't donate anything right now.
That's okay. Share this.
Because your share could reach the person who can help open the next door.
A small donation might not feel like much, but when someone has very little, small acts of kindness can become enormous.
A few dollars can help with an immediate necessity.
Twenty dollars can help with transportation or food.
Fifty dollars can become part of a housing expense.
And when enough people give what they can, those small pieces can become something life-changing:
A key. A door. A bed. A home. A fresh start.
I KNOW YOU DON'T OWE ME ANYTHING.
You don't know me.
You don't know everything I've survived.
You don't have to.
I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me.
I'm asking you to believe that where someone is today doesn't have to determine where they end up tomorrow.
If you help me, I want your help to go further than me.
I want this to be the beginning of my stability.
The beginning of my rebuilding.
And eventually, the beginning of my work toward helping other people who are stuck in the same cycle.
Because someday, I want someone else sleeping outside to have the opportunity I'm fighting for right now:
A real way forward.
Not another dead end.
Not another person being told to “just get help” without anyone helping them navigate the barriers standing between them and that help.
A way forward.
That's what I'm fighting for.
And I'm starting by fighting for myself.
I WANT TO GET HOME.
I want to hold a key in my hand.
I want to close a door behind me and know I'm safe.
I want my son to have somewhere stable to come home to.
I want to look back at this chapter someday and know that homelessness was something I went through, not something that defined me.
And when I finally get there, I don't want to forget what it felt like to be on this side.
I want to reach back.
I want to listen.
I want to speak up.
I want to help build better answers.
Because if I can turn what I've survived into something that helps another person find their way out, then everything I've been through can become more than just pain.
It can become purpose.
So if you choose to donate, thank you.
If you can share, thank you.
If all you can do is read my story and believe that I deserve a chance, thank you.
I'm still here.
I'm still fighting.
And I'm still believing there is a way forward.
Help me get home.
Help me rebuild my life.
Then help me help somebody else get there too.
Because one person getting home matters.
But imagine what happens when we stop treating homelessness as an ending—and start building real ways out. ❤️
