The SREHUP Story: From Failure to Cozy Cottages
Chapter 2: Lessons On Persistence and Success
Homelessness is a story of despair and struggle, but it’s also story of hope, community, love, compassion, and redemption.
We have so much from the stories of those who experience homelessness. But when I attempted to open the shelter in our first year, I was presented with lessons, not on homelessness, but on persistence and success.
When I embarked on the work of opening Philadelphia’s first student-run shelter, I identified the space as our biggest challenge. I cold called, and visited almost every house of worship in the Philadelphia region, hoping one would allow us to rent out their basement for our shelter. I received rejection after rejection, and was starting to feel weary. Finally, we were given the “yes” I had been eagerly anticipating, and I was giddy. I quickly learned that in order to occupy this church space, I would need the proper permits from Licensing and Inspections department, which required that I make specific adjustments to the building, including adding bathrooms and sprinklers. I was determined to move forward, and with my attitude of persistence, I got to work with architects, contractors, and Licensing and Inspections clerks to make the needed building changes. The next several months were a flurry of meetings, and fundraising, so much work in fact, that I was making myself weak from exhaustion. After keeping a break neck pace for months on end, and making what felt like little progress, I was called into the office of the church minister for a meeting. I entered his office, and sat across his desk, feeling anxious, and overwhelmed. Something in the tone of his voice, the solemn looks on his faces told me to brace myself.
I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.” he said.
“I’ve called you in today to let you know we’ve decided to go with another tenant. They’ll be able to pay more in rent each month, and we need the extra revenue. This will help us fulfill the mission of our church.”
Pause.
Exhale.
Words escaped me.
All I could think to tell myself was “don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of this man.”
In this moment all I wanted was to become invisible.
I shook his hand and made my way for the door. I practically tripped over myself as I made my way outside. As soon as I was out of his view, I collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk and cried. I didn’t even manage to make it to my parked car before the waterworks started.
All of this for nothing, I wondered? All of these meetings? The hours spent at L and I, the architectural meetings, the meetings with contractors and builders? None of this translated to a new location. All of this was lost.
When I got home, I quickly jumped in the shower. I needed to wash the day away. I got under the water and let myself come undone. I ugly cried. The kind one can only do in solitude. My tears mixed with the shower water and baptized my soul.
Here is what I told myself in that moment of despair, in the peace and the chaos of coming undone: This was a setback. And I would allow myself to feel it. Really absorb this disappointment into the molecules of my bones.
I would allow myself the day to cry, to come apart, to sleep, to really feel the pain and loss that comes with all forms of rejection. But this would not be the end. I would pick myself back up tomorrow and start again. Fear is a powerful emotion- possibly the most powerful. And fear of failure keeps us from realizing our goals.
I was sure this endeavor would fail now.
I couldn’t raise enough money for this shelter to come to fruition. I couldn’t find a location. It seemed I was surrounded by people who were unsupportive. Even friends and family were resentful of the amount of time and energy I poured into the project- time and energy that they coveted.
What I needed was a shift in how I spoke to myself. In my internal narrative. I had to start telling myself that the goal was not success- or at least I had to redefine success. Because if success was the opening of the shelter, failure then was too likely. And too high a price. I had to see the work as the prize itself. I would be successful regardless of the end product, because the journey itself was valuable. I was learning so much about my strength, my spirit, my persistence, also about homelessness, human psychology, the city and the country. If we didn’t open our doors- that too would be a lesson. These lessons were free and I was grateful to be a student of life.
I also needed to remove my ego from the equation. Not to think less of myself, but to think of myself less often. I needed to view this challenge from a distance and to be perpetually curious. With every stress or obstacle, I would say to myself, “I wonder how this will work itself out.” Or “this will make an interesting plot twist for my memoir.” This new narrative afforded me the emotional distance I needed to move forward in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
