Most people know the impact of winter weather on people experiencing homelessness, but few realize the risk that summer heat places on those living on the streets. With temperatures rising and few places to escape from the heat, experiencing homelessness in the summer months is not only uncomfortable, but can be an extreme health hazard. Asphalt and concrete heats from the suns rays, posing a danger to those who may have no other option but to make a home on the street. Hot summer temperatures increase the risk of dehydration, sunburn, and disorientation. Data suggest that heat-related illness is more likely to impact individuals from lower socioeconomic backgrounds and that “very poor, and socially isolated individuals are disproportionally affected by heat waves.”
A few months ago, I wrote a post for this blog about the intersection of trauma, racism, and violence. Since then, my frustration, sadness, confusion, and anger has grown. With continued news of violence, especially against people of color (I use this term to be as inclusive as possible), I feel compelled to follow up.
I want to start with something I wrote in my last post: We can no longer rely on our privilege to shield us from the reality of racism in this country.
Trigger Warning: Violence, Trauma
Being on the streets poses many challenges. Finding food, water, and shelter from the elements is always the top priority. But, the one thing that we (even street folks) forget about is mental health.
While I was on the streets, thinking about my mental health always felt like a tsunami. About seven years ago, I was living on Haight Street in San Francisco. I hung around Golden Gate Park, often sleeping somewhere in the thick of the park. I had been in San Francisco for about three months, had made some great friends, and was in the midst of living the California dream. I spent most of the day hanging out with friends, panhandling, and making music, arts, and crafts - just trying to have a good time. I had gotten in the habit of sleeping with my friends, but one night I didn’t have the energy to make it up yet another hill; if you don’t like hills don’t go to San Francisco without a car. I decided to sleep in Panhandle Park instead of walking all the way back to Golden Gate where my friends gathered. I woke up at 6:30 am, packed up my stuff, and took a quick inventory of my things. I had $20, so I raced to the local coffee place, grabbed breakfast for everyone, and went to Golden Gate.
“You’re going to need to do some homework,” she said.
It was my first week of working at Youth on Fire (YOF), a drop in center and HIV prevention program for 14-24 year olds experiencing homelessness and housing instability.
“Okay,” I replied, expecting to be given some books or articles to read.
“I want you to go home, stand in front of a mirror, and say the words ‘blow job’ and ‘anal sex’ thirty times per day for the next week.”
