When it comes to living situations, it’s my nature to cope with whatever I get. Rarely have I chosen. Whether I was living with parents, siblings, roommates, partners, whatever . . . I dealt with it. Ten-foot square bedroom? No problem. Give me a few shelves to hold all my stuff, I’m good. Ten-foot square storefront with no running water? Piece of cake. A makeshift cutting table has a lot of storage space under it. A hanging garment rack makes a perfect place to hide a foam mattress on the floor.
I am a master at utilizing small spaces. All I need are some particle board and a little duct tape, a jigsaw, and a drill. After a year and a half living in my car (which at 4 feet by 8 feet was practically a palace), I am an expert at staying clean, warm(ish), hydrated, and fed, even without consistent access to bathrooms, heaters, running water, and stoves and refrigerators.
It’s amazing how humans can adapt to survive. For me, as long as I knew living in my car was temporary, I had hope that things could get better. However, now that the situation has drastically improved, the idea of having to live in my car again generates paralyzing dread.
So I ripped out the build in my car.
Yep. Stripped it down to its essence. The bed platform, the cabinets, the curtain rods, all gone. The minivan has reverted to a space to transport cargo. That’s what it was built to be. It was never meant to be a home. And now it’s not.
It’s strange to think I fit my life into that small space. I did what I had to do while I waited for my name to come up on a waitlist. I coped. Every now and then, usually when I was sitting on my makeshift toilet trying to pee quietly in the middle of the night while parked on a Portland city street, I would have a sense of surreality, like the life I was living belonged to someone else. These were difficult moments.
A couple times, I wondered what would happen if I stopped being able to cope. In those moments, I wondered how people around me would react if I started screaming. Each time, I eased myself back into the present moment, where the simple acts of daily living kept me grounded and sane. “Don’t dramatize. Lots of people are suffering. Millions would be thrilled to trade places with you. Get over it. Go refill your water jugs. Go get apples. Get gas. Dump your trash. Put out your solar panels. Keep going, don’t give up, and don’t be a jerk while you do it.”
Now that I’m housed, the thought of going back into that small space makes me hyperventilate. That’s how I know how traumatic the past year and a half was for me. I couldn’t admit my fears while I was immersed in them. I would have given up. I’m stronger now, though. I know how to fit my life into a minivan box and survive until the situation gets better. I’ve always had the knack. It’s my superpower. If I have to invoke it again, I can and I will.