Tammy, 71, sits on the curb with her hands clasped on top of her knees, her long tangled hair wrapping around her shoulder and down her chest. She’s been growing it out, she says. It’s a statement.
Tammy lost her home three months ago. She’s been living on the streets ever since.
Today, she’s sitting outside of House of Hope, a non-profit organization housed at the First Baptist Church of Merritt Island, Florida. House of Hope provides resources to meet the basic needs of homeless people in the community, and most of the services it offers are outdoors, with food, clothing, and medical stations under tents. It’s a Florida morning in July, and the temperature is over 90 degrees. Tammy sips lukewarm water from a gallon jug one of the volunteers gives her, sweat stains covering her jeans and t-shirt.
Tammy chats and laughs with some of the chaplains from the church. She’s been getting along pretty okay, she says. Doing better than most.
As of January 2020, almost 600,000 people in the United States were experiencing homelessness. Unable to find food, shelter, and other basic necessities, these individuals are forced to spend their days on the streets or in shelters. Tammy and her boyfriend of 50 years were forced to move onto the streets three months ago, and they have been confronting these challenges together. But as a woman experiencing homelessness, Tammy faces a unique set of problems.
One pressing example is that homeless women experience a much higher risk of sexual and physical violence. “Being stalked by predators is a big problem,” Tammy says. “Day-to-day, you need a safe place to lay your head so you don’t wake up dead.”
This problem is not unique to Merritt Island. One 2005 study of homeless women in the United States found that half reported experiencing physical violence, and that 92% of homeless mothers had experienced physical or sexual assault.
This risk is exacerbated by the disproportionate number of homeless women who are forced to resort to prostitution in order to survive. Many of the women Tammy has met, she says, are either full-time prostitutes or frequent victims of sexual extortion.
“A lot of the younger girls… go off in the bushes with [men] for a meal, or for drugs,” Tammy says.
The connection between homelessness and prostitution proliferates throughout the country. One 2004 study found that 45% of Miami women in prostitution were homeless. In Chicago, 84% of prostitutes reported current or past homelessness. The two issues are tightly interconnected: prostitution is often a measure of last resort for desperate women without resources, and among homeless women desperation is acute because resources are scarce. But while prostitution may provide these women with a means of survival, it also puts them at even greater risk of physical and sexual violence.
Tammy doesn’t pass judgment on the prostitutes she meets. She knows many of them have no other options.
“They do not know what they’re getting into. And they’re nice people, the prostitutes I’ve met. Right, Pops?” she turns to her boyfriend, who nods as she continues. “Very considerate, respectful of me as an elder.”
Beyond the constant threat of violence, Tammy has observed another systemic issue that uniquely affects homeless women: a lack of contraceptive knowledge and availability. This lack of access and information has serious consequences — in the United States, 75% of pregnancies among homeless women are unintended. Frequently, these women simply lack the resources to care for a child or fear the social consequences of raising one.
“Some keep their child. But, because of the circumstances of the birth, they’re shunned. So [many women] turn [their baby] over to the state,” she says.
Recent events have only made it more difficult for homeless women to access comprehensive and reliable reproductive care. In June, the Supreme Court’s 6-3 decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization overturned Roe v. Wade and declared that the right to abortion was not enshrined in the Constitution. Florida was one of many states to quickly enact new anti-abortion legislation. The state’s new law forbids abortions after 15 weeks — and offers no exceptions for rape.
“I’m upset about the reversal of Roe v. Wade,” Tammy says. “I don’t like it. I’m a religious woman, but when it comes to that, if we’re going to flood the market with unwanted children, there aren’t enough people to take these kids in.”
She knows far too many homeless women that have been forced to give up children they were not ready to care for. These women are not just Tammy’s neighbors, but also her de-facto family. When she lost her home, other homeless people, especially those young sex workers, took Tammy under their wing. They invited her to their camps and showed her how to find the safest places to sleep at night. Perhaps most importantly, these women have provided her with a sense of community and camaraderie on the streets.
“Homeless people, in general, have been much, much better than the average citizen to me. They don’t pass judgment,” Tammy says. “Because not everybody is a junkie. There are things that happen in people’s lives that just make everything fall apart.”
***
Susan, 47, knows this all too well. She sits across the yard from Tammy amid a group of people clustered under a tree. Many homeless people gather here in the shade to escape the sweltering heat as they wait to eat or use the showers attached to the church.
Susan was a cashier at a local gas station for years. But she says that eight years ago, she was sexually assaulted while on the job. Afterwards, her trauma and chronic pain made it difficult for her to find work.
“Nobody understands how it feels inside, inside my body… The breathing is hard,” she says. “Every time I go to apply for a job, they don’t want me because I’m a liability.”
Eventually, Susan resorted to living in the woods. But living alone as a homeless woman has exposed her to even more danger. She has experienced firsthand the violence and abuse to which Tammy testified.
“When you walk down the street, you see men who think they can take advantage of you,” Susan says. She’s taken precautions to protect herself. She avoids spending too much time in one place or getting too close to men.
“I move around so I can sleep,” Susan says. “Because my life’s priority is to be self-sufficient as a woman. I don’t want to depend on a man [for protection].”
Beyond basic safety concerns, it’s also been difficult for Susan to fulfill her sanitary needs while out on the streets. She says that on the streets, accessing basic sanitary products — particularly pads and tampons, but often even shampoo and soap — is a challenge.
“That’s why I go to the church and I ask for what I need,” she says. “Sometimes people give me a couple dollars in the street and I get what I need with that.”
This problem isn’t unique to Susan. According to the National Organization for Women, the average woman spends $20 a month on feminine hygiene products, adding up to about $18,000 over her lifetime. This can make it impossible for many homeless women to find enough money to pay for the menstrual products they need. One survey of low-income women in St. Louis, MO, found that nearly two-thirds could not afford to purchase menstrual hygiene products. This need is so widespread that it has been given its own name: “period poverty.”
Even when Susan does have access to sanitary products, she often has no place to use them. The church’s showers are open only once a week. Without access to a shower, she has few options for keeping clean.
“I don’t care what people think, I’m going downtown to wash up in them sprinklers with the kids. I just go in there and get myself cleaned up,” Susan says.
She feels that she has to resort to such measures because the police and local government haven’t done enough to help her or other homeless women.
“[The police and government] should actually be trying to help me,” she says. “And I try to go to them for help, and they don’t even want to see it…. They feel like, ‘well, it’s okay, you’re out here, you’re going to have to fight.’”
Susan is correct that the governmental response to homelessness is often disorganized. While homelessness is undoubtedly a national issue, the federal government has largely placed the burden for addressing it onto the shoulders of local authorities. The Department of Housing and Urban Development provides grants to local governments to address homelessness, but HUD avoids dictating how this money should be used. The total autonomy afforded to local governments in crafting these policies has made the response to homelessness fragmented and inconsistent, meaning that the experiences of Susan and Tammy could be unique from those of women in the town over.
Local governments’ approaches to the homelessness crisis are not just uncoordinated, but also underfunded. In a 2021 survey, a majority of mayors across the United States agreed that their ability to combat homelessness was hampered by inadequate funding. The lack of sufficient resources apportioned to local governments has made private actors — like charities, churches, and corporations — crucially important in providing shelter, food, and services to unhoused individuals. In Merritt Island, much of the work to relieve the burden of homelessness (and almost all direct homeless service) is left up to independent organizations such as this church.
***
This inadequate response to homelessness has serious consequences for women facing poverty, both on and off the streets. Low-income women with homes, whom this church also serves, often encounter the same dangers and difficulties that are everyday occurrences in the lives of homeless women.
Amanda is a 32-year-old woman who moved to Florida with her fiancé just a few weeks ago. She says that they moved in search of a better life after losing their home in Pennsylvania.
“We were living with people, but we don’t really have any family up there [anymore],” she says. “His mom just died, my uncle died.”
Fortunately, Amanda and her fiancé have a car. It’s how they were able to leave Pennsylvania, and it also provides them their sole source of income.
“We get up and we go DoorDash,” she says. “That’s the only way I can make money right now…. We both want to get jobs and settle down.”
For now, Amanda and her fiancé live in a motel with Amanda’s aunt and uncle. But that living situation can’t last for much longer. They’re relying on a motel voucher given out by a local charity. After this month, they’ll have to vacate, and they don’t know where they’ll go.
Amanda echoes the same worries about safety that homeless women like Tammy and Susan experience.
“With the safety issue, if it weren’t for my fiancé, I would be [in danger],” Amanda says. “Safety is a big thing.”
She also talks about her reliance on birth control to manage her menstrual cycle. She doesn’t have to worry about finding the money to buy pads or tampons, which has been a big relief.
Being new to Florida has made it hard for Amanda to find any sense of community — especially while fighting the stigma of being low-income.
***
Female homelessness is a nebulous and complicated issue. Substance abuse, lack of access to childcare, period poverty, the dangers of physical and sexual violence, and countless other struggles combine to create an impossible situation for homeless women across the country and the globe. There’s little that any one person can do to fix the issue. But Tammy and Susan both feel that a solution is urgently necessary.
“Something for women needs to be established,” Tammy says. “We’re still looked at as second-class citizens.”
Before the gendered aspects of homelessness can be addressed, Tammy feels that other homeless issues, like simple lack of access to food, should be dealt with first. That’s why Tammy’s advice for those looking to help homeless women is simple.
“Donate,” she says. “Donate food. Medical supplies. Just donate, even money.”
Susan, on the other hand, feels that getting homeless women off of the streets could be done by local community organizations.
“I just don’t see how the community of churches don’t come together and build something [for women],” she says.
One of the church’s chaplains, listening in on the conversation, remarks that Susan is correct. In fact, one of the church’s officials has been building up resources to establish a house for homeless women — a place for them to recuperate, learn skills, apply to jobs, and get back on their feet.
Programs of this kind aren’t new. Housing centered around homeless women, whether in the form of group houses, tiny home communities, or apartment complexes, has been successful in other places. Just a two-hour drive away, in Marion County, FL, Project Hope has been helping homeless women in this way for more than a decade. The nonprofit houses 60 homeless mothers and children in an apartment complex, allowing them to stay for as long as 18 months to get re-established and back on their feet. Project Hope — as well as other similar ventures across the country, from LA to New York — prove that such women-centered housing can be successful. These communities serve as a model for other cities, including Merritt Island, to emulate.
In Merritt Island, a long-term solution like this for homeless women is a long way from reality. Tammy likely won’t be around to reap the benefits of such a program, she says. But it’s work that stands to make a huge difference for the women she sees every day.
“I don’t have much more time left on this Earth,” Tammy remarks, looking up at the sky and closing her eyes. “But I hope something is set up for these women.”