An Op-Ed on Humanity, Community, and the Impossible Expectations We Place Upon Vulnerable People
Before I became an advocate, I was just Becky.
Before I became a litigant, I was just Becky.
Before I became homeless, I was just Becky.
Before I became a survivor, I was just Becky.
Before I knew what a writ of mandate was, I was just Becky.
Before I knew what a 170.1 motion was, I was just Becky.
Before I learned family law, civil procedure, disability accommodations, housing law and public records law simply because I had no other choice, I was just Becky.
Before I became the person carrying everyone else’s stories, I was simply another human being trying to build a life.
Somewhere along the way, I became everything survival required me to become.
Strong.
Resilient.
Courageous.
Extraordinary.
Tireless.
Yet no one ever asked whether I was tired of being extraordinary.
I am.
I have cried more tears than anyone will ever know.
I am 53 years old.
I cannot remember the last time I simply rested.
I cannot remember the last time I woke up wondering what beautiful thing might happen that day rather than which battle I would need to fight.
I cannot remember the last time I was allowed to simply exist without advocating for my own humanity or the humanity of someone else.
No little girl grows up dreaming of becoming extraordinarily resilient.
We dream of becoming teachers, mothers, artists, veterinarians, doctors and dancers.
We dream of falling in love, growing old and laughing with our grandchildren someday.
No child dreams of becoming an expert in surviving trauma.
No child dreams of becoming an expert in homelessness.
No child dreams of becoming an expert in litigation because every system around her failed to do what it promised it would do.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped becoming who I was supposed to be and became who I needed to be to survive.
Somewhere along the way, I became accustomed to carrying things that never belonged on my shoulders.
I carried my trauma.
Then I carried my homelessness.
Then I carried my illnesses.
Then I carried my litigation.
Then I carried my advocacy.
Then I carried everyone else’s emergencies because no one else was listening.
No one ever stopped adding weight to my shoulders long enough to allow me to put any of it down.
I was expected to heal while continuing to bleed.
I was expected to become stronger while becoming sicker.
I was expected to perform more and more and more while having less and less and less left to give.
I have spent years becoming everything our systems expected me to become because they refused to become what they promised they would be.
There is something I have found fascinating throughout this journey.
The systems are always afforded grace.
The people never are.
The court was afforded 385 days.
I was denied 180.
Organizations are afforded years.
Agencies are afforded delays.
Institutions are afforded extensions.
Vulnerable people are afforded deadlines.
Respond tomorrow.
File this by Friday.
Heal yourself.
Advocate for yourself.
Continue surviving.
Continue fighting.
During that same time, life did not stop because the systems around me failed to do what they were required to do.
I continued paying for a vehicle rendered uninhabitable by toxic mold exposure.
I continued paying debts that were coerced upon me and remain unaddressed.
I continued surviving domestic violence.
I continued litigating.
I continued advocating.
I continued becoming poorer.
I continued waiting.
I have rheumatoid arthritis. I cannot take immunosuppressant medications while continuing to live in a toxic environment without placing myself at greater risk.
My health continues to deteriorate while I am simultaneously expected to perform more and more and more.
Somehow, becoming sicker has resulted in being expected to become stronger.
Becoming poorer has resulted in being expected to become more resourceful.
Becoming traumatized has resulted in being expected to become more resilient.
Becoming homeless has resulted in being expected to become more independent.
Our expectations of vulnerable people seem to increase in direct proportion to their suffering.
The less they have left to give, the more we ask of them.
At no point in human history was one traumatized, disabled and homeless human being ever intended to carry what entire systems have asked me to carry.
Perhaps that is what I hope people take away from these words.
Not that I am extraordinary.
Not that I am resilient.
Not that I survived.
But that no human being should ever be expected to have the bandwidth to survive what I have survived while simultaneously carrying what I have been asked to carry.
I became extraordinary because ordinary was no longer afforded to me.
My greatest accomplishment is not that I survived these systems.
It is that they did not succeed in convincing me that I deserved them.
We deserve better.
Cynthia deserves better.
Tom deserves better.
Rambo deserves better.
Every vulnerable human being deserves better.
There is a cost to using your voice.
I know because I have paid it.
I know what it feels like to walk into a common space and feel the room change.
I know what it feels like to have people become uncomfortable simply because you are asking for things that should have been yours all along.
I know what it feels like to become “the problem” simply because you refused to remain silent about one.
Some people look at me with fear.
Some look at me with admiration.
Some look at me with pity.
Some look at me as though I am a fool.
I have questioned whether continuing was worth it more times than I can count.
I have walked into rooms knowing people would whisper when I left them.
I have wondered whether I had anything left to give.
And then I look at Cynthia sleeping without a home.
I look at Tom.
I look at Rambo.
I look at every resident too afraid to put their name on a letter because they fear retaliation.
And I remember why I continue.
Courage is contagious.
It takes only one person willing to do the right thing for the ripple effect to begin.
One resident becomes two.
Two become 10.
Ten become a community.
One courageous public official inspires another.
One act of kindness creates another.
One person willing to listen changes an entire journey.
We spend so much time talking about ripple effects when discussing harm that we forget kindness creates them too.
So let us make this ripple a wave.
Let us ride that wave toward kindness.
Toward humanity.
Toward accountability.
Toward community.
Toward a world where vulnerable people are no longer afraid to ask for what was always theirs to begin with.
Most importantly, let us create systems where no one person ever again has to carry what I have carried simply because they were the only one willing to speak.
If there is one thing this journey has taught me, it is this:
Kindness costs us nothing.
Humanity costs us nothing.
Looking at another human being and saying, “I see your suffering, and I will sit beside you while we figure this out together,” costs us nothing.
That is supportive housing.
That is community.
That is humanity.
I was never supposed to do this alone.
Cynthia was never supposed to do this alone.
Tom was never supposed to do this alone.
Rambo was never supposed to do this alone.
None of us were.
Until we become the kind of society that understands that no human being should ever be expected to carry what I have carried, I will continue choosing humanity.
I will continue choosing kindness.
I will continue choosing community.
I will continue choosing courage.
And I will continue speaking.
Silence would have cost me my voice.
Silence would have cost me my humanity.
Silence would have cost me my community.
Silence would have cost me the opportunity to look at another vulnerable human being and say, “I see you, and I believe you.”
So I chose differently.
I chose to speak.
And I will continue speaking until vulnerable people are no longer expected to become extraordinary simply to survive.
Because silence was never survivable for me.
And I suspect I am not alone.
#SilenceIsNotSurvivable
Rebecca “Becky” Wolf is founder of The Opportunity Center Single Side Tenant Union and an advocate for supportive housing, disability rights and vulnerable residents.
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