Living in the Shadows: My Experience as a Homeless Woman in Eau Claire, WI
By Mara Jay
Homelessness has shaped me in ways I never imagined, taking far more than just my address. At 58, after two years of being homeless in Eau Claire, I’ve learned that homelessness doesn’t just strip away stability, it takes pieces of who you are. While I now have a roof over my head, the room I rent isn’t a home. It’s a shared space without a kitchen, privacy, or permanence. I live with the fear that this fragile security could vanish in an instant. Every day, I long for a place where I can simply be myself, a safe, affordable home I can count on.
My journey into homelessness wasn’t a sudden fall; it was a gradual unraveling. After living in an apartment where my family and I paid rent on time for years, the pandemic forced us to seek assistance. Our landlord exploited the situation, double-charging fees and issuing a notice to vacate when we questioned her practices. The day we were evicted, I was battling pneumonia and influenza A. The next day, I saw our lives in a dumpster. Everything we owned discarded or kept by the landlord. It wasn’t just our belongings we lost; it was our sense of place, trust, and dignity.
Homelessness shattered my family. My partner left for another city. My adult daughter bounced between friends’ homes. I found myself living in my Jeep, parked near businesses, relying on the Community Table for daily meals. Nights in the car were surreal, oscillating between fear and disbelief. Morning brought the constant struggle to maintain a sense of normalcy. Sneaking into gas stations to freshen up and buying small items to avoid judgmental stares. The shame of invisibility weighed heavily; people looked away, not wanting to acknowledge how close they could be to the same fate.
Even with my own roof now, part of me remains tethered to those days. My youngest daughter is still homeless, battling addiction and struggling to find stability. Watching her in this cycle breaks me, yet I know her journey must be her own. I’ve also watched friends face the brutal winters, huddled against the cold. Their survival, like mine, feels like a fragile thread stretched to its limit.
In this limbo, I decided to go back to school to pursue something more meaningful than mere survival. While learning has been a beacon of hope, it’s also a battle. The mental toll of homelessness has made retaining information and focusing on assignments a Herculean task. Yet, I persist. Education feels like my chance to build a future where survival isn’t the only goal.
Homelessness is not just a crisis of housing; it’s a crisis of humanity. Policies often fail because they lack the voices of those who have lived it. I want to be that voice for Eau Claire, to bridge the gap between the housed and unhoused. Our city has the potential to lead with compassion and innovation, but it requires bold action and honest conversations. My lived experience is not just a story, it’s a call to action. Together, we can create a community where no one feels invisible, discarded, or without hope.