Lisa Wiebe, a rural Manitoban who documents her life through photography, shares her journey out of homelessness and the persistent anxiety that it could return at any moment. Her story highlights the lasting trauma and systemic challenges faced by those rebuilding after life on the streets.
Transitioning Back to Housed Life
Wiebe’s time without stable housing ended in July 2019, but the shadow of returning to the streets loomed large. She struggled to readjust to everyday routines after enduring a decade of domestic abuse that drove her to homelessness. Securing a place near her hometown proved challenging; the remote location offered no public transportation, and rent consumed nearly 90 percent of her employment income assistance. This left her with just over $100 monthly for food, essentials, and bills.
Isolated without nearby resources like grocery stores, doctors, or transit, Wiebe depended on volunteers from Steinbach Community Outreach for rides. When those weren’t available, she walked 11 kilometers each way to access support. Without cellphone service or internet she could afford, she trekked to a local convenience store for public Wi-Fi to arrange help or contact her doctor—until the owners locked it down with a password.
Physical and Emotional Toll
Life on the streets left Wiebe with lasting injuries, including nerve damage in her shoulder and right arm from hauling her belongings in a backpack, plus osteophytes on her cervical disc. That harsh winter, limited food access led to starvation and a malnutrition diagnosis, impairing her ability to digest solids. Volunteers stepped in to provide necessary supplements, aiding her partial recovery.
She spent those months in isolation, enduring severe pain and cold in a dim basement suite she called ‘the rabbit hole.’ Many nights, she curled up by the baseboard heater in the fetal position, overwhelmed by agony and despair.
Navigating the Pandemic and Relocations
As spring arrived and the COVID-19 pandemic intensified, Wiebe couch-hopped in Steinbach to stay near vital resources. Eventually, she rented an upstairs suite downtown, hoping proximity to support would foster healing. But in early 2021, her landlord displaced her to accommodate another tenant, thrusting her back toward the brink of homelessness.
After four months of searching, she found a spot in Crystal City, three hours west of her hometown. Two years post-homelessness, mental health support remained elusive; one doctor suggested prayer, while another dismissed her struggles as avoidance of work. Approval for disability benefits came later, providing some relief.
Ongoing Fears and Path to Recovery
Four years on, Wiebe remains in the same stable home with supportive landlords, free from immediate housing threats. Yet, daily fear grips her—the dread of sudden eviction or relapse into instability. She battles complex post-traumatic stress disorder, marked by worthlessness, self-loathing, intense flashbacks, and hypervigilance, as if teetering on a cliff’s edge.
A recent mental health evaluation brought a proper diagnosis and the start of treatment. Wiebe notes that society often assumes housed individuals from homeless backgrounds are ready to work and thrive, overlooking the deep trauma requiring resolution. Her emotional support includes her cat, Loki, and mementos like her son’s stuffed rabbit and handmade blanket.
The recovery road from homelessness is rugged and unforgiving, Wiebe emphasizes. Success demands perseverance, and she hopes her experiences foster greater empathy for those feeling invisible and hopeless, inspiring them to persist.
