My son and I live with the constant threat of being homeless. Housing is my election priority
The Liberals announced a national housing strategy, but progress has been hard to see
This First Person article is the experience of Anna-Ise Dutka-Stainbrook, a single mother who lives in Saskatoon. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
Last summer, as I lay awake awaiting a forecasted storm, I left my windows open to feel the warm breeze.
As the first lightning strike lit up the night sky, I heard the boom of thunder. Then, like an echo, I heard screams from the homeless encampment on the river bank — the terror of those without shelter who were exposed to the storm and its potential dangers.
That terror hit me close to my heart, aching with the memory of how close my eight-year-old child and I had been to living on the streets ourselves.
In 2017, the federal government launched a national housing strategy, which ended up providing a payment of $500 to low-income households. That one-time amount didn't even cover a third of my monthly rent of nearly $1,600 for our one-bedroom apartment in Saskatoon.
This federal strategy promised more than $115 billion over a decade to help house more Canadians, but more than seven years and billions of dollars later, housing doesn't seem much more affordable or attainable, especially for low-income renters like myself.
Everybody deserves to have a place to call home.
Nearly on the streets
I never expected to have a lapse in housing, but in May 2023, I had to leave a dangerous apartment situation. I'd heard my neighbour and a friend discussing their use of "jib," or meth, through our improperly-sealed wall. It explained some of the symptoms I had been experiencing might have been the result of second-hand exposure, such as heart palpitations and insomnia. I complained to the property managers, but was told they needed to witness the drug use to evict the other tenant.
Despite a month after diligently looking for new housing, I didn't have any leads. I was forced to quit my job as a live goods vendor under immense stress; I could no longer maintain the eight- to 12-hour days that were required to perform the job well.
I began frantically calling shelters to find beds where my child and I could sleep. In that moment, I felt scared and vulnerable in a way I had never felt before.
Then, a couple I knew offered to let us stay with them while I continued looking for a place to call home. I was grateful to have a place to go, but it was a month of unprecedented turmoil.
These friends were dealing with complex mental illness and substance use I was not fully aware of. It meant that while my son and I were not homeless, we continued to live in an unsafe environment.
The fear crept back into my chest and I felt unable to make good decisions as a mother.
It became worse as I chose to join in my friends' substance use one evening while my son was not home.
It resulted in a lapse in my hard-won sobriety. I don't believe that would have happened had we had access to safe and stable housing.
The next day, I knew I needed to leave or risk everything I loved.
Thankfully, another friend of mine extended her kindness and gave us refuge for the remaining months of the summer. I contributed to the childcare and housekeeping in her home, always feeling like I had to do something more to deserve the help. I also put these pressures on my child, trying to influence his behaviour to fit into the home where we were taking up space.
By September, I was finally able to find a quaint apartment for us to move into quickly. I also found a new job through the recommendation of a friend, detailing vehicles at an auto-body shop.
I still practise forgiving myself, and ask: Has anyone predicted one day they may be without a home?
These days, I feel so lucky to have a home with my child and our sleepy, silly cat. It's simple and small, but when the sun shines through the windows, everything feels OK.
But every month when my rent comes up, dread sits heavy on my chest as I finish earning the remaining amount. The same fear happens when my leasing term comes up, and I think, 'Do I brave the risk of finding somewhere more affordable, or do I choose to stay somewhere that requires the majority of my finances to occupy?'
As we approach the federal election, my vote is still undecided. I have yet to see a party platform that prioritizes affordable, safe housing for everyone in Canada and offers a promise to introduce federal rental cap guidelines. Right now, in my own province of Saskatchewan, we do not have a rent regulation policy, and there are no limits to how much a landlord may increase my rent.
Politicians who earn a higher wage must understand — and have compassion for — what it's like to be a lower-income earner, struggling to keep a roof over their heads.
We're coming out of the winter deep freeze, but now summer storms loom on the horizon.
When money is tight, and bills begin piling up, do you fear homelessness? Or do you falsely believe that your government will ensure you are safe during the storm?
This isn't just my reality or the reality of those you see on the street.
It is all of ours.
What's the one issue that matters the most to you in this federal election? CBC News will publish a range of perspectives from voters who share the personal experience shaping their choice at the ballot box. Read more First Person columns related to the election here.
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