At 27, I never thought I’d be sleeping in the backseat of my car. But here I am — after a painful divorce, with no home, no stability, just me and a few bags stuffed into a trunk.
The divorce wasn’t just emotional — it was financial devastation. He got the house. I got the debt. Friends picked sides. Family offered sympathy but not solutions. I couldn’t afford rent, and shelters were full. So I turned to the only space I had left: my car.
The first few nights were terrifying. Every sound outside made me jump. I parked in 24-hour store lots, cracked the windows, curled under a blanket, and hoped no one would knock. Showers were at the gym. Dinner was whatever I could find on a dollar menu. Privacy? Gone. Comfort? A memory.
But here’s the thing… I didn’t break.
Over time, I created routines. I cleaned up every morning, kept a journal, applied to jobs from coffee shops with free Wi-Fi, and reminded myself this was temporary. I learned how to live with less. How to protect my peace. And how strong I really was.
Some days are still hard. The loneliness, the shame, the uncertainty — they don’t just disappear. But other days? I feel proud. Because I didn’t give up. I didn’t let rock bottom bury me.
This isn’t the life I wanted at 27. But it’s teaching me resilience, independence, and the power of starting over — even when you have nothing but four wheels and a fighting spirit.
