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“YOU HAVE TO ADAPT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE”: THE STORIES OF STRENGTH AND RESILIENCE OF 208 HOMELESS YOUTH IN NEW YORK CITY AND TORONTO

Sean A. Kidd and Larry Davidson Yale Program on Recovery and Community Health

Presented in this paper are the results of a qualitative analysis of the narratives of 208 homeless youth interviewed on streets and in agencies in New York City and Toronto. The interviews focused on the participants’ stories about their struggles to survive and negotiate meaningful and healthy lives in coming to the streets, living on the streets, and finding ways off the streets. Analysis of the narratives revealed shifts in the youths’ senses of self/identity, and related understandings of agency, self-worth, value systems, and connectedness in their various efforts to adapt to a range of street and nonstreet contexts. © 2007 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.

For a year, starting in the summer of 2003 to the summer of 2004, I wandered the streets and borrowed youth agency offices in New York City and Toronto, having obtained fund- ing to examine resilience among homeless youth. To this end, I sought to access “resilience narratives.” I asked youth for their life stories, what keeps them going, and what they pull from to get by. Exploring conversationally the issues that arose, I tried to get at strength, coming from aspects of the self, from others, and from things people do. Generally, I tried to determine what made life feel worthwhile and meaningful.

The study derived its impetus from the observation that, with very few exceptions, the body of research that has been developed regarding youth homelessness focuses

A R T I C L E

This study was supported with grants from the Canadian Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Canadian National Secretariat on Homelessness. Appreciation is extended to the youth upon whose narra- tives this work is based; Daniel Blausey and The Door, New York City; Diana Walker and Youthlink Innercity, Toronto; and Susan Miner and Street Outreach Services, Toronto. Lastly, appreciation is extended to Eleanor McKenzie for her comments and criticism of early drafts of the manuscript. Correspondence to: Centre for Mountain Health Services—Mental Health Rehabilitation, St. Joseph’s Healthcare, 100 West 5th Street, Hamilton, Ontario, L8N 3K7; Email: [email protected]

upon mental and physical health risks. This has been true of my own work, which has centered mostly around suicidality (Kidd, 2004; Kidd & Kral, 2002). It was, in fact, dur- ing my many conversations with youth about suicide that I became more interested in the opposite questions: How do they make it out here? How do they survive? I was aware of a few prior qualitative works that had looked at street youth coping, including a work of my own that had examined some material on coping that had arisen peripherally to dis- cussions on the topic of suicide. Themes that came out of these studies included the importance of self-reliance, mutual support, and spirituality (Kidd, 2003; Lindsey, Kurtz, Jarvis, Williams, & Nackerud, 2000; Rew & Horner, 2003; Williams, Lindsey, Kurtz, & Jarvis, 2001). There were also a few quantitative studies that linked emotion-focused and disengagement coping styles with greater risk (Unger et al., 1998; Votta & Manion, 2003) and, conversely, less risk and better mental health associated with greater levels of per- ceived resilience (Rew, Taylor-Seehafer, Thomas, & Yockey, 2001). It seemed, however, that the development of an understanding of how these youth survived was in its initial stages and could be furthered through gathering resilience narratives from in-depth exploratory interviews.

I ended up interviewing 208 youth. In parks, on streets, in diners, and in a youth agency in New York, I interviewed l00 young homeless people, individually and in small groups. In Toronto, I did the same, this time on much more frigid streets and in two agencies, with l08 youth. Their ages ranged from 14 to 24, with an average age of 20. I spoke with 122 males and 84 females, of whom 56% were White, 12% Black, 12% Hispanic, 5% Native, and the remainder of mixed ethnicity. Doing 208 interviews for a qualitative study, which typically involve very small numbers of participants, might seem somewhat excessive (although Thomas Minehan [1934] did several hundred more in his study of youth riding the rails during the Depression). The reason for this number of interviews was the structured survey that was completed by the youth following the con- versational interview on resilience. Through this survey, I sought to do a confirmatory sta- tistical analysis of suicidality to address variables that arose in earlier exploratory qualitative analyses (Kidd, 2004). For the structural equation modeling procedure used, at least 200 participants were needed. Statistical findings, thus far, include a confirmation of a model of suicidality centering around the experience of being/feeling trapped (Kidd, 2006) and the finding that perceived social stigma is a major contributor to poor mental health and suicidality (Kidd, in press). The main impact of doing such a large number of exploratory interviews lay primarily in nuance and expression. Many themes had long become saturated (i.e., the same point has arisen often enough to be consid- ered reliable), but involving this many participants increased the likelihood of interview- ing someone who expressed a particular theme with great clarity and detail, and in a way that linked it with other themes coherently.

At the agencies in New York and Toronto, I was given office space, with youth referred to me by agency workers and approaching me of their own volition, having heard about the study from other youth. On the streets, I simply approached kids that I thought were homeless. Sometimes they looked homeless (e.g., sitting on the sidewalk, pan handling, old and worn out clothes, etc.). Sometimes I ran into kids I knew from the agency who introduced me to groups of kids who did not necessarily appear home- less. Also, after having spent a lot of time out on the streets, I would just get a sense that a kid was homeless from some nonspecific ways he or she moved or looked and would make an approach (which was, in a few cases, baffling to both the youth and myself as to how I picked them out). “I” am a 32-year-old (was 30–31 at the time of the study) white male. I am reasonably conventional looking, with no tattoos, piercings, or the like,

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and I conducted the interviews in what I usually wear around the house (jeans, plain t- shirt, etc.). With the participants I would be myself, which is more or less laid back, telling lots of jokes, and I would respect their views and opinions and listen more than talk. To begin the interview, I start with something general, such as “Hi. I’m walking around and talking with folks living on the streets about how they get by.” After an invi- tation to continue I would describe the study in more depth, let them know that they would be getting $20 in McDonald’s coupons for their time (given at the end of the interview), and usually launch in with a question about how they ended up on the streets, which is a good ice-breaker.

As to the reception I received from the youth, in almost every instance, I was made to feel accepted, with people expressing a lot of interest in the project (only six people said they didn’t want to be interviewed), with most of our conversations having a tone of frankness and humor. Though some accepted me at face value, it was more often the case that there would be some initial probing to see if I was (a) genuinely interested, (b) try- ing to help, (c) going to respect their words and ways of communicating, and (d) more or less easy to talk to and not possessing some hidden agenda. What followed was a sense of welcome. People made space for me in their lives and stories, moving aside so I could sit with a group, finding me a piece of cardboard to sit on to provide relief from the frigid concrete, telling their friends that I was cool and they should talk to me. And the stories and communication of meaning were important. People pushed themselves. They strug- gled to communicate what their lives were like, told stories that were hurtful in the telling, sought to elaborate, and sought to make me understand. A few did rush through things. Many appreciated the 20 McDonald’s dollars they were given for taking part in the project. Some said the only reason they talked with me at first were the McDollars, though they almost always spoke of surprise in how interested they became in the inter- view. A handful of people really didn’t seem very engaged, answered the questions briefly, and were probably tolerating me for burgers or because their worker said it would be a good idea to speak with me. These responses were by far the exception, however, with the overwhelming majority more invested in the study than my most optimistic expectations.

Our conversations lasted anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 hours, averaging about 30–45 minutes. Typically, after the more focused interview and survey were completed, the conversation would continue. The participants were often curious about my background, wanted to talk more about where the findings of the study were going, and would share more of their experiences. Sometimes this more casual interaction stretched into several hours, in which I played dice games with train hoppers and watched kids do skateboard tricks in Union Square park. In this time, the more typical social rhythms resumed with kids talking with friends that came by, joking with each other, arguing, dealing and using drugs, and so on. Spending time with these youth was, in a word, easy. On the streets, peo- ple come and go constantly, and most kids seem to be readily able to incorporate anoth- er person into the group. Also, as a few pointed out, I was a novelty: a nonstreet adult who didn’t get something and immediately go away—who seemed to want to hang out.

Interviews were tape recorded, transcribed, and copious field notes taken. I used a narrative analysis procedure to derive recurring themes from the interviews (see Kidd, 2003) for a detailed description of this analysis), aided, in part, by the NVivo qualitative data analysis program. After an initial thematic analysis of the original 208 interviews was completed, I did 28 verification interviews. For these interviews, I sought out youth with whom I had already spoken, and described for them the major themes that had arisen from the larger group of narratives. I then sought their reactions (i.e., whether the theme seemed to fit or not fit with their experience/understanding), and asked them to share

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their thoughts and elaborate upon what I had found. Overall, the participants in these 28 interviews confirmed the themes as they had emerged and are described in this arti- cle, with the interviews serving to help further elaborate the material that had been pre- sented to them. Along with these more formally structured interviews, in dozens of instances, I informally chatted about what I was finding with youth that I ran into on the streets and in agencies after the initial interviews. These conversations were likewise sup- portive of the findings as they were emerging in the analysis. In my field notes, which were recorded throughout the interview process (after interviews, while transcribing, while doing qualitative analysis, and at any random time thoughts popped into my head), I carefully described the youth, their interactions with me (nonverbal and verbal points of note), their interactions with each other, and my reactions to the process of doing this research. These notes helped inform my thought process throughout the qualitative analysis, and helped me better understand the “lens” through which these findings were being viewed. Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw (1995) provide a very helpful set of guidelines for writing good field notes.

Questions of ethics often arise regarding research with homeless youth. For research consent purposes, they are typically regarded as emancipated (Grisso, 1992). The ques- tion of age is often irrelevant, given how few youth will admit being of an age where they fall under the auspices of child protection services. I followed the standard ethical guide- lines regarding abuse and the risk to self or others. In terms of suicidality and general emotional distress, I provided all youth with lists of resources and was able to connect high suicide–risk kids with counselors.

Overview of Theme Structure Analysis

In the following sections, after a brief discussion of the meaning of “the streets,” I lay out the main themes as they emerged in the narratives of the youth. I begin with the most central/core constructs of self and identity, and move through the knowledge and strength of the individual into social sources of support and resilience and into broader issues, such as drug use and social stigma. This presentation of the themes is the inverse of how they emerged in the narratives: starting with more peripheral/general issues and moving to more central constructs of the self, which the youth presented as being what lies at the heart of their struggle. Additionally, I provide an overview of my experience of doing this research derived from the field notes taken throughout the study.

“THE STREETS”

The only accurate single description “the streets” and “homelessness” is that there is a huge range of lives lived by homeless youth. Some live in shelters or sleep on the couch- es of friends, go to high school, have jobs, and have virtually no contact with the street or street culture. Others spend all of their time on the streets and have virtually no contact with any agency, organization, or mainstream people. Some people are out for a few months traveling, have good homes and families, and want to be outside. Others were forced from, or fled, horrific circumstances and have been on the streets for years. Some live in squats in close and supportive communities, others stick to themselves, and still others are predatory, trying to live off other youth in any way they can. Some people have fun on the streets and enjoy themselves, which may or may not have anything to do with

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the “type” of street life they live, whereas others are profoundly depressed and angry. People can cycle in and out of any of the these states over the weeks and years they are out there. There are a few general points that run across much of the diversity. It is important to note that some aspects of homeless life are interesting, exciting, and pro- vide opportunities for learning and growth. “It is cool seeing other cultures and different cities. Once you figure out that you can still go and see the cities even though you are poor, it is f- - king awesome. Once you get on a freight train and you start hauling balls through this beautiful country . . . it is sky high. You have something to be proud of. There are not very many people who would be able to do that.” “Last night for the entire night a bunch of people hung out, break danced, chilled, talked . . . it was great. Life is supposed to be enjoyable.” “I am great! I live in a box!” It should also be highlighted that most of the kids I spoke with had fewer resources to draw on compared with housed youth. Sources of self-respect and support become emphasized, since there are fewer alternatives: “. . . we hang on so tightly to every little shred of anything we get.”

“I Figured Out Who I Am”

A part of people’s understanding of how well they were managing life on the streets had to do with their sense of identity. For some, coming to the streets meant a chance to “kind of know and start acting out who you really are” in a way not possible at home. It can be an important struggle, with survival hinging on the ability to “keep a strong sense of who you are” and not let yourself be “sucked into bad sh-t and o.d. because you are trying to be cool.” One girl described it as a process where initially there were “a lot of problems” because she “didn’t have the sort of groundedness that [she] needed,” though eventual- ly she “figured out who I am” and is trying to “get going with a real life again.”

The narratives suggested that, in part, what people who were talking about identity were getting at was how being on the street, the cultures, and the people can influence their view of themselves and the world. Many times, it was described as a “totally different world” where “people have their own perspective on things,” that “connect in some ways” with the mainstream, and according to one perspective, “kind of brainwashes you.” Some viewed these changes as adaptation. When you are first on the street, “it kind of bothers you that you are doing things that society says is bad and defines as wrong,” but “then you just stop caring . . . not caring in a positive way.” “You have to adapt . . . even for the wrong rea- sons. You have to adapt out of convenience. You have to adapt to get what you want. You have to adapt because you have no other choice. And sometimes it is good to compromise and take other points of view.” These kinds of changes were described as varied: “When people get out on the streets, initially, yeah it bugs them. But eventually they transfer their feelings onto something else, which is lashing out or something. Some people just go numb, though. You can call them anything and they won’t even acknowledge your exis- tence. You don’t exist to them. They just shut you out and you don’t exist.” A few described the changes to their sense of self very negatively, particularly with those involved in the sex trade. One girl said, “You just think that that is all you are meant to be . . . sitting in a crack house or turning a trick or whatever. You just don’t feel like you are anyone. You feel worth- less . . . unless there is money or drugs involved, you are dead . . . nothing means anything.” Getting out of this was “going inside more and getting back to me . . . I was just a dead soul walking amongst people but not a part of these people. Now I am a part of society.”

As alluded to above, a component of being exposed to life on the streets and the kinds of changes that take place there involved a reaction to the degree to which it was a

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life that fit with their understandings of themselves. One girl, describing living in an abandoned building with no electricity, that was “filthy” with “beer and crack and prosti- tutes,” said to herself, “I never thought that I would end up in this situation. I guess that’s why I don’t like . . . this is not what I wanted [crying] . . . What the hell am I doing here?” Such perspective takings can be painful and distressing, but are also motivating, pushing people to find lives that better fit their understanding of who they are. Another girl described this as more of a social process where “I sort of stepped back and . . . seeing my friends that I really cared about being so screwed up, and me realizing that I was screwed up with them. That is what made me strive for different things.” And some described the experience of wavering back and forth in their perspective on their situation: “I have found out more about myself. Like ‘What the hell am I doing out here!?’ Sometimes it will just click and I am like ‘F- -k! I am passed out on the corner of Queen and Spadina. What the f- - k am I doing?’ But, then I think ‘I don’t give a f- - k what other people think. I’m going to do whatever I can. This is the free life right now.’” For a few, though, “Even though my life has been on the outside, I’ve always been inside. Having two lives and keeping them apart was extremely important. It was a self-esteem thing a little bit. It was like, ‘Hi. I’m a crack ho’, and I was going for my grade 12. I wanted more, but I was stuck in a life that I was used to.”

Others focused more on the positive shifts in coming to the streets. One guy talked about how before he thought he was “better than everyone else but when I got here I kind of . . . got morals. And a conscience . . . it has been a good change.” There was a feel- ing that they had grown as people, having developed a “respect for other people,” and “realizing how short and precious life is” in a life where “we each have like five or six friends die a year.”

Once established, breaking from the street mindset, or the values and identity of the streets, was described as very difficult. “Once you get into this lifestyle . . . it is hard to get out. It is a lot of fun. Sort of.” Often described was ambivalence about leaving the streets: “Yes, in a sense, I like it. I would be lying if I said I don’t like it. That’s the only thing I know. That’s what makes me stronger because I know the worst things . . . I know the other part of life.” This came up fairly often, this notion that, “If something is familiar to you, it is com- forting. You know the people in it. You know the lifestyle of it. And there are not too many things that are unexpected. It’s the same and it’s habitual. People fear the unknown. Becoming sober and changing your life is like, ‘What am I going to do? How am I supposed to live? How am I supposed to get money?’ I know this. I am good at this.”

“The Blue Pill or the Red Pill?”

In understanding how they ended up on the streets and stayed there, there were ranging perspectives about choice. Some, in the context of explaining the reasons for their situa- tion, described it as “It’s how I live and it has to be. It is not the choice that I want,” or talk- ing more generally, said, “There is nobody in the world that would want to sleep on the streets and not get help.” Others seemed to find that taking a perspective that they had and have choice in their lives was very important, possibly related to self-respect: “It is my fault because I let them in and I let them do this to me and I never stopped it. I can never blame anything on anybody. It can’t be all like, ‘My mom kicked me out and that’s the rea- son I prostituted.’ It’s me. It’s all me. I kind of took the hard way growing up. It is like the Alice in Wonderland thing: ‘The blue pill or the red pill?’, and I picked the blue pill.” Some, speaking more generally, found that people who “chose this as their way of life are

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happier” and “want to survive by being homeless.” Such people are making a choice and don’t feel as helpless. Still others pointed to a “depth to the reasons why people are on the street,” “some of it is by your own choosing,” with one girl saying it was both choice and lack of choice: “It is not a choice of ‘I don’t want to do dope today. I am not going to.’ You have to. It is like a set of handcuffs. In other areas, I feel like I have more choices than the average person because I don’t have quite as many responsibilities. So I am not tied down in that sense, but I am definitely tied down in the drug sense.”

“I Am Finding the Strength Within Myself”

An important part of coming to the streets is the experience of having to fend for your- self. “At home you are sheltered. You’ve got your mom and your dad or whatever. Out here it is just you. You learn a lot of independence.” This experience of independence and survival was linked with the experience of “people finding pride in being survivors.” It often came up as a process realizing that you “need to do your own thing” and “learn- ing how to be an adult,” which had an aspect of being motivated and not waiting for the help of others. “It means being able to suck things up. You have to get up in the morn- ing and get yourself out there and just do it.” This applied both to what a person need- ed to do to survive on the streets and what he or she needed to do to get off the streets. Although in some ways friends and community on the streets help, some felt that “you get those friends that will help you out, but you can only do that so much before you become a mooch. No one likes a mooch.” And, “I am finding the strength within myself to go on because eventually your friends will not put food on your table or clothes on your back . . . I really rely on myself to get what I need done.” Implied in a lot of these narratives was the idea that if you don’t adapt to the need to be independent on the streets, you won’t survive very long.

Related to the sense of independence and survival is the message that, “You have to be a strong person.” Strength was framed as being crucial in the struggle to survive: “I could let it [crack use] take my life, but I take care of myself. You’ve got to be strong. If you let it get you down and work you over, then you are going to get f- - ked.” It may be something a person had before or something they developed on the streets, such as developing the strength to withstand being hurt by others: “The street, it helped me to be strong. Don’t let nobody hurt you. I used to be really sensitive. I had to get strong because there are people who try to hurt you out there. They treat you like a piece of garbage and you have to get some strength.” Others talked about how, “no matter what situation I walk into, no matter how hard or traumatic, I am going to learn from it and grow from it . . . all the more strong I will get.” In here, are messages of hope that per- sons have the strength to get what they want, with strength tied in both as necessary and arising from adapting to the streets, and helping a person to maintain herself in the face of forces/problems that can drag her down or make her want to give up.

“You Learn Street Smarts”

A key component of adapting to and surviving well on the streets has to do with getting “street smarts,” the degree of which variously involves how intelligent a person is, how good her or his instincts are, and, to some degree, how different her or his background was from the street context. Central to what is learned, along with the details of how to maintain

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yourself from day to day, is how to handle problems on the streets without the help of fam- ily and police, and who to trust. “If you are smart, you have common sense most of the time, so you know how to deal with different situations. If you’re street smart . . . when you are always by yourself and it is just you and your damn friends, you have to know how to deal with the situation instead of just bitching about it.” “I grew by using my instincts. Normally, when you are in a house, all of your instincts are gone. And now when I look at people I learned not to take anything from them.” “. . . you just know when you talk to them [johns] for the first couple of seconds, you kind of get a feeling for what they are like . . . and if I got that feeling, I wouldn’t go.” There was a sense that this knowledge or having good instincts left a person feeling stronger: “When you are outside in this stuff every single day, you learn to deal with it all so much easier . . . it makes you stronger. It is so much easier to deal with.” And people took pride in their knowledge: “It is not booksmart, but it definite- ly gives a lot to a person . . . someone can go to a university and know a lot of sh-t but they would come out here and wouldn’t know what to do with themselves . . . people definitely take pride in that.” It was a knowledge that was brought into the situation, taught to new arrivals by other youth, or learned from observation: “I learned a lot of things from differ- ent people. . . . I am very observant. I kind of learn from what I hear. I talk to people and they tell me their story . . . I kind of take it all in.” “[What helps you to get by?] Not being naïve. Not being taken in by people. Everybody’s got stories and games and drama. They want your body, your money. Everything. [How did you come about this knowledge, did you get burned?] No. You only get burned once, if at all. It is more who you are.” For some, the learning process involved developing as a person, and breaking from a bad past. “Honestly, making those first connections is harder than quitting drugs . . . To fix up that kind of thing and teach yourself how to make those connections and persuade yourself that you just have to do it. It is so difficult . . . you think that it will be the same sh-t that it always was. You have to learn a lot of things. And with this sh-t, there is no f- - king handbook. Everything you learn is by trial and error.”

“It Was Just a Getting Older Thing”

A sense of the past, potential future, and progress over time emerged as a kind of “refer- ence point” against which people evaluated and understood their lives and how they have come to survive on the streets. One aspect of this theme involved people comparing themselves and their lives on the streets with the identity and lives they had before com- ing to the streets. Some saw the change as being a negative one, which served as a moti- vator to change their lives: “I am bitter. I don’t trust people. I am a very negative person. It hurts. I never used to be a negative person . . . I am angry for having to be out here. It is not healthy.” “I stopped using crack and had to tell the girl I grew up with, ‘You were a good friend of mine and I love hanging out with you, but not too long ago, we didn’t do drugs and were virgins and now we are both prostitute crackheads. That’s not cool.” A variation on this theme was the view that a difficult past helped a person to adjust to the streets, though some felt that the streets were very different and difficult regardless of a persons’ past. “My father used to beat me up almost every day . . . but the more time I spend harping on it, the more it is going to eat away at me. I see people who had good backgrounds and they will get in a bad situation with me and my friends and they’re scared. I’m glad I went through what I went through because it pushed me to know the real world, and for that, I couldn’t thank my dad enough.” Others described the streets as being a good fit with who they are; better in many ways than their past housed experi-

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ences. “I’ve been happier living on the streets than doing anything else. I’ve tried a few times over the years to get my life together and it just gets worse and makes me feel worse. And I freak right out. [The streets are a good fit with who you are?] Yeah. The type of person that I am and the kind of people that I like to hang out with.”

Another theme that arose with respect to time, usually among older youth, was a sense that on the streets there is no progress or growth, with some contrasting their lives with those of most people their age: “I just looked at myself and I said, ‘sh-t do I really want to be like this?’ It was just a getting older thing. I am supposed to be getting mar- ried soon and have a mortgage and you know . . . these are things I want and I can’t have it if I am sleeping in an alley.” Implicit to this was a sense of a problem and often a moti- vation to change their lives. “I could be on the streets and begging for change or just liv- ing day to day and living off doughnuts in the SOS drop in . . . you’re not going anywhere. I was just sitting there feeling sorry for myself. When I was 14 years old, I was suicidal and I slashed my wrists to sh-t, so I know what it is like to feel bad for yourself and say, ‘Life is sh-t. Nobody cares.’ You have to be willing to change.” For others, their understanding of either a better future or fear of an unchanged future pushed them to find a better life: “I just don’t let the past mess me up. I am just focusing on my future. I want to be a chef. I want to own my own restaurant.” “I don’t want to end up on the street. Honestly, some of those guys will be asking for spare change for the rest of their lives. That is what motivates me to do my own thing.” A contrast, and potentially a way of not facing the stress of perspective-takings based in a sense of the past or future, is to explic- itly not use time as a reference point: “We live in the moment.”

A final source of perspective, and one loosely based on ideas about the future, is hav- ing a child. Some spoke of how thoughts of being reunited with their children kept them going: “Knowing that I got my two kids. It keeps me going knowing that one day I am going to straighten my sh-t up and get back with them. Sooner or later I won’t be doing this sh-t and living on the streets. It’s in my head every day. It’s what I wake up thinking and what I go to bed thinking.” Becoming pregnant was described as having a major impact, carrying implications of having to improve their lives because their babies needed them to be healthy and responsible providers, and for a few, this was contrasted with how their own lives were worth very little in isolation: “I didn’t want to do dope, but I didn’t have anything to push me not to do it . . . I had nothing to quit for. But once I had my daughter, it was a whole new world. By having a baby, I could get off the dope and put my life in perspective. Which is good, you know? I have a clearer mind on things.” A few emphasized the impor- tance of being better parents than their own: “My son. I look forward to raising him . . . because it is a chance for me to relive my childhood and I will be able to give him things that I never had. The kind of love and respect a child should have, not like what I had.”

“When You Get Out Here and You Find Genuinely Good People . . .”

Although learning to be independent is important, as discussed earlier, there are strong social forces on the streets. One part of the pull to be social has to do with a person’s fears when first coming out on the streets, and feeling more confident and safer as a part of a group: “Some people come out on the streets like any other normal teenager, and then in a couple of weeks, they are dressed all punk or whatever. They feel safe, putting them- selves in some kind of group . . . stronger when they feel like they have a group to back them up.” Others spoke of building independence through learning how to be inde- pendent from others, “I just went from kid to kid until I was able to do it on my own and

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that gave me more self-confidence,” and needing more experienced youth to teach them how to survive, with some feeling lucky in who they first hooked up with on the street: “. . . a lot of people when they first come down here, they think it is cool . . . just sitting around and doing drugs. They don’t know that there is a lot more to it, and you can get into a lot of trouble. It is not just panners and that kind of thing . . . there are strolls and crack areas. A lot of worse things that they don’t see . . . like owing someone money and having to do things they don’t want to do. I was lucky when I came down here that I had a few people show me how it worked and what to do. But I have seen other people who it goes really bad for.”

For many, there was a strong sense of a need for understanding, connection, and sup- port from others. A few spoke of connections with workers: “The guy that I work with here, he has really helped. I could just come in here and we would talk for however long. It makes the stuff come out . . . off my shoulders. It makes me feel good.” Most, however, described the importance of friends and partners, and the understanding of those going through the same thing. “What has kept me going is having someone. Having someone really means something to me . . . someone who has proven they want to help me. If I am alone, nothing is going to work out. It’s not like I can’t do anything alone, but I do need some support. My friends . . . they are the ones that can relate to me most because they are in the same situation. They will say, ‘Look, I am going through this but I am not going to let it bring me down.’” These types of support were described variously as fighting off loneliness, providing security, and contributing to a sense of self-worth. “I hate being alone. Other people give me security. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it is some deeper thing about me not being good enough to do things by myself or something like that, but I like company.” “Part of it is feeling worthy to have the friends that you have. And when the friends that you have are worthy people, over time it gradually dawns on you that you are also a worthy person.” A few contrasted the sense of community on the street with a lack of connection at home. “It is family [street family]. Those of us who don’t have fam- ily . . . we were f- - ked-up kids and we became f- - ked-up teenagers. You never actually feel any connection with the family you have. When you get out here and you finally find gen- uinely good people . . . they are always a part of me.” Overall, throughout the narratives ran a very social tone. One involving “meeting lots of good and interesting people,” with a sense of companionship, camaraderie, and good times with friends.

Some, however, qualified their descriptions of the street community. People talked about how beyond a layer of companionship, few will be there when it counts. “A lot of times you don’t know if these people are actually your friends until it comes down to it. Like, if you go to jail and no one comes to visit you.” “You really can’t trust anybody too much, especially on the street, because a lot of people lie to get what they need.” This was closely related to the notion that a part of street smarts is knowing who to trust. One person separated some of the social elements of connection, understanding, and safety: “Everybody needs to feel loved. It exists on a number of levels. There is protection, you feel safer. It is more peace of mind. What they really lack and need is someone to make them feel human. Someone to make them feel connected. Understanding is fairly easy to find, since we are all in the same boat.”

Some placed a particularly strong emphasis on their partner as a source of motiva- tion and support, in a few cases being the main reason why they decided to reduce their drug use and try to get off the street. “When I first met my boyfriend, I was still using . . . the first thing I felt was that he wouldn’t like a crackhead for his girlfriend. And I started really liking this guy so I started not doing it . . . I stopped completely. And this guy helped me.” “It is him that gets me up, when I really don’t want to. He will say, ‘F- - king

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get up already.’ Sometimes I am walking down the sidewalk and I just sit down and you just feel like staying there and sleeping there and not moving. But he is always pushing me to keep on going.” Others, however, took a more cynical view of partners, describing how intimate relationships come and go very quickly on the streets: “The second I get locked up he is out there bouncing with someone else. That’s boyfriends though. We all know we can’t count on boyfriends on the street. They don’t help you. What they do is stab you in the back.”

Although friendships formed on the streets are important in all of the ways noted above, it can become complicated when a person is trying to get off the streets. Some spoke of how being around their friends who were still on the streets tended to pull them back to it or make them feel awkward, and others spoke of the importance of having strong relationships with people who are not street involved to help support a move back into a more mainstream existence. “Once you get yourself off the street, you are still involved in the street life because everybody knows you. It is like two worlds being com- bined into one, and I am trying to separate from that world, but I can’t because of the friends that I was with out on the street, and we used to look out for each other and they are still there. And I am here. I can’t ditch them.” “For a long time, I thought that you could live two lives, but you can’t. If you are coming out of it, you can’t keep people on the street. And if they are really your friends, they will understand that you are trying to better yourself. They really will. And if not, then they are not your friends. Because mis- ery loves company.” “After my father passed away, my mother and I became close and we were never close. And you know maybe if I didn’t have anyone caring about me, I would be nothing. But I do have people care about me, and I don’t want to disappoint them. That’s what keeps me going. It’s just being able to call my mom and tell her, ‘Oh yeah, I’m good. I still live in the same place.’ It is normal. Not normal is turning tricks on the side of the road. Normal is having a place and paying your bills.”

Related to the notion that it is important to have friends and family who are not street-oriented when trying to get off the street and applying more mainstream values to help motivate and maintain changes, are the comments of a few folks about a loss of that perspective when on the streets: “Because I wasn’t thinking about quitting. None of my friends said anything. They didn’t tell me I looked sh-tty or that I should stop. They all just suggested we go do more. I didn’t really think . . . I knew I had a problem, but I was kind of just waiting for somebody to give me that hand.” “Some people think I am a pret- ty messed-up kid, but I am pretty normal. My friends see me as normal just because we are normal people to ourselves.”

“Our Culture Is Sick”

Being in a position that is stereotyped and stigmatized by larger society arose in the nar- ratives in several ways. It seemed that the youth who held more mainstream values, and regarded being homeless as being “not me,” to a greater extent, were more distressed about their situation and this served as a strong motivator to get off the streets. Others took a stance of distancing themselves from the mainstream and rejecting it from their perspective as an “outsider.” This perspective arose as a way of people defining them- selves (e.g., punk culture), as a point of mutual understanding and agreement among homeless youth, and, potentially, as a source of self-respect and empowerment in hold- ing a critical view on society. “. . . what I think is that our culture, our mainstream culture is sick. I can’t remember who said it, but someone said that rudeness was a sign of a sick

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culture. And, as a pan handler, when I hear, ‘I’m not giving you sh-t to pay for your crack habit.’ . . . I am too fat to be a crack addict. What the f- - k are these people talking about? I know society is sick because of the way that people look at me. A lot of it [coming to understand the problems with society] is about growing up, but a lot of it is about being profoundly rejected by my own society.” Also, being socially stigmatized was described as a learning experience, making people question the superficial judgments of others; “People might say ‘Oh, we don’t judge people.’ That’s not true. Everybody judges every- body. Even if you don’t mean to, the first thing that pops into your mind will be, ‘Oh he’s this. He’s that.’ But, I try not to. I don’t look at them and go, ‘Oh, f- - king rich people.’ You can’t blame them for their lives. I don’t judge people by their looks but by the actions that they do. If they do something stupid, I will judge that action as stupid. A lot of it comes from being on the receiving end of this stuff all the time.”

“I Feel Better About Myself When I Know That I Am Helping Someone Else”

In many of the narratives, descriptions of giving to, and caring for, others emerged as having important implications for street community, in maintaining a sense of self- respect or pride, and in “making you feel good.” This was often held in contrast with the common perception that on the street “The only thing you can really do is take. You have nothing to give.” “I’m not proud I’m homeless, but I’m proud that I can actu- ally go through the day without constantly taking things from people. Even if you are feeling like sh-t, and the other person needs something and you don’t have much, giv- ing will make you feel better. Even if it is a quarter or a cigarette or a smile.” “I have figured out that I feel better about myself when I know that I am helping someone else to not go through any of the things I have been through. My best friend just found out he has AIDS. He was raped a couple of years back by a bum on a train. He has gotten really heavy into drugs, and I forced him to clean up. It makes me feel better knowing that there’s one less person suffering. Because he was going to kill himself. He really was.” A downside to giving, spoken of by a few people, was a tendency to be taken advantage of by others, though this again came back to the idea that you have to figure out who you can trust or adopt the perspective of “I know people take advantage of me, but whatever.”

“I Still Have Faith in Something”

A sense of spirituality was something very central in the lives of some youth, helping them to define, understand, and value themselves; feel a sense of connection and meaning; and have motivation to meet the goals as defined by their particular belief. “Only God really helps. He is the only one who knows me. Who can hear and understand what I say and who doesn’t let me down. He is the only one who really helps.” “I was going to jump off the bridge into the river. It was the middle of winter, and I didn’t bother putting on a coat . . . just walked towards the bridge in my tank top. I had written a note and left it in a plastic bag back with my stuff. But the park I had to go through to get to the bridge was closed. The gate wasn’t supposed to be locked, and that made me think ‘----, what are you thinking? This is not something God would want you to do.’ So, just a lot of things like that. He has put a lot of good people in my way.” “I have religion. I am one of the lucky ones . . . I still have faith in something.”

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“The Drugs Were Always There for Me”

Drug use, in many different ways, ran through a lot of people’s stories about street life and their efforts to survive. With many drawing a distinction between soft drugs (e.g., marijuana and alcohol) and harder drugs (particularly heroin and crack), people spoke of how drugs are a major part of the street context and culture. There are various social aspects to drug use. On the streets, many people spend a lot of time talking about drugs, with the particular drug being used having implications for how people relate to one another, define themselves, and are defined by others. “It takes a long time to relate to people and get respected as a person, but if you want to get into a cool community of people, you just use drugs and it is an immediate in.” “If you sit down and listen to the conversations that go on with the people around here, almost everything revolves around drugs and making money for drugs.” Drugs were also described as a way to get away from bad feelings and experiences. “The drugs were always there for me. When my family was- n’t, when my friends weren’t, when I was feeling sh-tty about working [sex trade], when I was feeling sh-tty about everything, the drugs were there.” “I usually keep pretty f- - ked up, or try to. It keeps your mind off everything. You can be happy.” “When things get real- ly bad, the only thing that keeps me from wanting to just roll over and die is heroin.” The perception that drugs had taken over their lives, however, provided, for some, a strong motivation to quit, use softer drugs, or get out of the street environment. In some instances, the extreme health risks of using hard drugs for a long period of time left youth seeing no other alternative than to get off the streets or die. “[Why leave the streets?] It’s killing me. It is literally killing me. I give myself another year on the streets before I die from drugs.” Generally, though, softer drug use was described as an impor- tant and positive part of the street social environment. “A good time for me is drinking some whiskey. A couple of beers. Good friends. Good times. Good music.”

“Hi, I’m Going Around and Talking with Folks About How They Get By on the Street”

Overall, almost everyone I spoke with said they had a good experience with the interview. Many said it was better than most, asking questions that were important and relevant, and others spoke of how it was good that someone genuinely wanted to know about their lives and do something to help. A few said it helped to talk about their lives and it gave them some more insight into themselves. “I was a little nervous about my situation and stuff. But I felt that since you were doing this for a good reason, I don’t mind telling you my story. Since you are trying to make a change so that people can see how things are for the homeless. Telling them how it is for real.” “It made me put my life in perspective. It made me realize what I have done. It is kind of odd. It actually asked me every single question about everything I ever did. It made me think about my life. It was really weird. Thanks.” A few, though, were pretty neutral about it all. “It was alright. A lot of questions.”

EXCERPTS FROM FIELD NOTES: ON MY EXPERIENCE AS A RESEARCHER

This project was different than my previous research. In sheer size, it was different, with over 200 interviews and many months of being out on the streets almost daily. I engaged in a greater struggle with my fears, hanging out for longer on the streets, sitting and talk- ing to kids after the interview was over, chatting with people regularly over several

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months, and otherwise diving into situations that threatened to give panic attacks to the semiconservative, white suburban corners of myself. I approached large groups of kids, walked through projects, wandered around parks after dark, and otherwise tried to be relaxed and myself with people in situations not very clearly defined. This somewhat clichéd “conquering of my fears” was only a small part of what happened to me in this. It seemed necessary though, as I wrote: “It is liberating to have my fear get less intense. It allows me to think more clearly and connect with people a lot better.” As for what hap- pened to my fears, it was the usual story of their being based on ignorance with the “scary, dangerous people” usually proving to be friendly, having the typical mix of human qual- ities not much related to other people’s convictions and labels. If anything, it became the opposite, with my being less comfortable having breakfast with a business-obsessed rela- tive than sitting on a sidewalk chatting with a group of multiply-pierced punk kids in army boots and studded jackets while a girl’s big black dog struggled to sit in my lap (which was much warmer than the February sidewalk).

My reaction often seemed like a confusion of various views and thoughts. If anything, I felt clearer about my knowledge of youth homelessness before doing this project. One thing that happened was that I experienced a sense of emotional distance from partici- pants’ stories of suffering. I heard and saw things that, from most peoples’ perspectives, would be considered horrific and tragic. I saw young people who had been out on the street for years with no end in sight. I saw people violently ill from narcotic withdrawal, heard about any number of beatings and rapes, heard stories about parents perpetrating the most awful violent and sexual violations imaginable upon their children. Yet despite this, other than feeling regret that the person had been hurt, I seldom felt much in the way of a strong emotional reaction. The only aspects of the interviews I tended to really pull feelings from were the stories of strength, struggle against adversity, and humor. “I am a bit concerned about my lack of any strong reaction. Maybe it is because so much of it seems mundane . . . the exoticism is stripped away to a large degree.” How I made sense of this was that in my many interactions with these kids, the “horrific” events and circum- stances noted above, came up often and were, more or less, the norm. Most told such sto- ries casually.

It also helped to not feel emotionally overloaded. This emotional/clinical kind of distance, paradoxically, allowed me to get closer to the participants, in some respects, allowing me to hear the youths’ stories, respond, and ask questions without having to struggle to contain strong feelings that might seem natural (e.g., sadness, anger) but were different from, or out of proportion relative to, the feelings of the participants. This distance also, I believe, allowed the youth to go farther in their narratives. They did not have to protect my feelings by omitting details, and I reduced the risk of those feelings being interpreted as pity, an instant rapport-killer for most kids. Such detachment, I would argue, is necessary to fieldwork with persons who have, and are facing, extreme adversity. This “clinical” type of distance was, by no means, complete, however. I often felt exhausted after these interviews, particularly after ones in which people seemed to be in the most trouble. I felt distant from important people in my life. I often had vague feel- ings of sadness and worried about kids that I got to know when they looked to be in rough shape. “I am on the train. Tired. I am not clear on my reactions. These are hard stories that I hear. I think that I keep reacting below the surface. I don’t know what that is about.” A lot of these feelings really struck home after one incident in particular. I felt helpless, and deeply sad when I found out that one girl that I interviewed, a person work- ing hard to form a life for herself and remain drug free, someone bright, hopeful, and funny, overdosed and died in a crack house.

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Anger and negative judgments also entered the mix. Sometimes I would get angry at the public, trudging along ignorant of what was going on right under their noses. I got angry at dealers of crack and heroin. I was with very young kids, new to the streets, and saw dealers giving them change and phone numbers. I saw a dealer selling crack to an obviously pregnant girl. I felt contempt for them, despite having interviewed and liked some of them, and knowing that they were very small cogs in the machine and often homeless and addicted themselves.

I also, at times, had to struggle against the judgments and cynicism that arose as I saw, occasionally, sharp contrasts between what people said regarding their strengths and hopes for their lives (a kind of ideal, in some ways), and later finding out that some had done some really hurtful things to others, such as leaving a supposed friend overdosing in a dumpster without help because they didn’t want to miss a movie they were going to, or a guy who beat up his girlfriend on a regular basis. A few times I judged the street and everyone on it with great inaccuracy: “As I sit here on a rainy Sunday morning, the whole street mentality seems kind of pathetic. A thin cover over grubby and dull lives virtually devoid of clean air, nature, books, and any kind of clear thinking.” I myself was no excep- tion from such judgments: “Dilettante. I come here, do my thing, and then disappear and pontificate upon the exotic to others. It is like a poverty safari. I feel pretentious.” In retrospect, this kind of cynicism seems like a form of hopelessness, or a reaction to what can seem impossible: How can any real change come of this? The majority of the time, though, I felt that what I was doing was important, felt admiration and respect for the people I spoke with, and even saw some of the appeals of street life. “There is a wisdom here that few get to in the mainstream with its readymade distractions.” Along with instances where I saw people not living up to the ideals they described to me, I saw a lot of people who did, showing warmth and support and open-mindedness with those around them, and otherwise coming across as strong, insightful people.

One thing that did seem clear was how “real” the time that I spent with these young people felt, and when I was speaking with them, I felt a clear purpose to what I was doing. It was later when I tried to make sense of it all that it seemed to become confused and ambiguous. I felt, at times, like I was in a soup of grayness, having lost moral signposts and shaken beliefs, and wasn’t really sure of what I was doing or if anything could be done. My impression was that the world, as many of these kids see it, is a different one, with different rules, attention given to different things, and different beliefs. Things move differently. And I often found it compelling. Strangely enough, mainstream life can seem pretty dismal in comparison.

DISCUSSION

My understanding of these narratives is one of a very human process of struggle. These were narratives of young people struggling to understand their lives, possibly a greater struggle than most because of their marginalized and often extremely challenging cir- cumstances. It is a struggle for definition and valuing of self, for a sense of a meaningful life, and for connection with others. Reference points used in this process of developing understanding include larger society/culture and/or various street cultures, and under- standings of one’s past and potential future, all of which help the person to position him- or herself, evaluate that position, and, potentially, try to make changes based on those evaluations. The struggle is evolving, as the youth leaves family or other supports, enters a street context, and leaves the street context. The various elements or themes that form

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the substance of these psychological and cultural turns include the need to develop inde- pendence, learn the mechanics of survival, have the strength to maintain one’s self in the face of the various challenges of the streets, and be connected with and supported by oth- ers and return that support. Not surprisingly, drug use influences this process just as it influences perspectives with dependence, and the type of drug used defines the specifics and degree of that influence.

At the core of all of the above is the particular youth, testing, adopting, and reject- ing the various meaning systems made available to her or him, with the nature of this evo- lution of value systems, identity, and means of relating with the world dependent on the youth’s particular background, street context, and learning process. This adaptation, or the particular version of “normal” used, is by no means uniform or unchanging. Systems are shaken and questions arise in the face of any number of contradictions—families are abusive, friends prove untrustworthy, larger society disapproves and enforces disap- proval, health fails, assaults occur, feelings of worthlessness increase, addictions take over, memories arise of how things were in the past, caring and respected supports describe other ways of living that are more meaningful and healthier. However it is described, be it a shift in worldview, value systems, culture, cognitive schemas, or the like, it is the per- son’s view of their world that sets the nature and parameters of their coping, efforts to survive, and sources of happiness. Some youth can negotiate these complex processes and meanings in their lives on the streets, are healthy, and find their lives rewarding. Many others, however, if not at first or throughout their time on the streets, ultimately suffer, stagnate, and decline in mental and physical health in this position.

The humanity of this struggle is evident in the wide range of forums, situations, and times in which it has been documented. It is a process that seems to be highlighted in situations of extreme adversity. Researchers of trauma and severe chronic stress, focus- ing on disrupted life experiences in which a person’s central understandings of identi- ty, relationships, life course, and means of deriving a sense of self-worth and meaning no longer apply, have described a “rewriting” of the life narrative (Crossley, 2000). This rewriting of life narrative is an adaptive process in which persons work to reestablish their sense of self, relationships, beliefs, and goals to fit their changed circumstances, which, similar to the descriptions of the youth, can potentially facilitate personal and intellectual growth despite the challenges involved (Miller & C’deBaca, 1994; Sonn & Fisher, 1998; Tedeschi, 1999).

Some groups for whom this experience of life narrative disruption and “rewriting” has been highlighted include individuals with chronic illness (Good, 1992), Vietnam vet- erans and prisoners of war (Sledge, Boydstun, & Rabe, 1980; Straker, 1975), residents of psychiatric facilities (Goffman, 1961), and concentration camp survivors (Benner, Roskies, & Lazarus, 1980; Bettelheim, 1979; Davidson, 1985; Dimsdale, 1980; Frankl, 1963). A resonance with the experiences of the youth in this study is found in the words of individuals who have survived the most extreme circumstances imaginable, as in the experiences of Bruno Bettelheim and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who survived the whole- sale murder of concentration camps and gulags.

We find ourselves in an extreme situation when we are suddenly catapulted into a set of conditions where our old adaptive mechanisms and values do not apply anymore and when some of them may even endanger the life they were meant to protect. Then we are, so to say, stripped of our whole defensive system and thrown back to rock bottom—whence we must carve out a new set of attitudes, values, and way of living as required by the new situation. (Bettelheim, 1979, p. 11)

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. . . somewhere life was going on! My Lord, we had grown so used to believing that our own life was life itself, but it was going on somewhere out there, some- where out there. (Solzhenitsyn, 1974, p. 361)

The literature on the coping efforts of homeless youth has been increasing in recent years, though it remains minimal in comparison to the much larger amount of literature on risk and psychopathology. The coping literature, a good proportion of which is qual- itative, has highlighted several themes that emerged in this study, including self-reliance, the support of other youth, spirituality, and caring for others (Kidd, 2003; Lindsey et al., 2000; Rew & Horner, 2003; Williams et al., 2001). Very little work, however, has addressed the deeper identity and cultural shifts that determine how homeless youth understand and experience their world, which, in turn, defines and drives their coping efforts. The only sources found were the occasional broad reference to youth’s “adapting” to the streets and some differences found in how homeless youth perceive stressors (e.g., Reid & Klee, 2000; Whitbeck & Simons, 1993) and some discussion of how interventions need to be geared toward the culture of youth homelessness (Barry, Ensign, & Lippek, 2002).

One parallel found was in the adult homeless literature, in which work has focused on the formation of a “homeless identity,” employing a framework similar to that of Goffman (1963) in which the reference group (housed vs. homeless) with whom the individual identifies impacts her adjustment to homelessness and use of services. In such instances, those who incorporate a homeless identity, and affiliate more with other home- less persons, generally have better self-esteem and a sense of competence and agency, though they were found to access services less often and be less likely to transition off the streets (Coumans & Spreen, 2003; Osborne, 2002; Snow & Anderson, 1987; Sumerlin, 1995). The ways in which adult homeless persons use time frames, or conceptions of the self in the past, present, and future with which to locate their self-concept, has also been commented on (Boydell, Goering, & Morrell-Bellai, 2000). The lack of attention to the identity and value system shifts of homeless youth, along with their cultural implications, is particularly striking, given the emphasis upon such shifts and developments in mid-late adolescence, which is when most homeless youth are first faced with the changes and challenges of the street environment. Indeed, though needing further exploration, it might be posited that the developmental process that occurs on the streets may be all the harder to reverse given that most youth leave the streets in early adulthood when the degree of cognitive flexibility is substantially lessened.

The idea, empowering as it is, that, “These kids are like you and me. They are human. They are like our kids” somehow doesn’t seem adequate. In many interactions, I was left with the impression of something more. Most kids with whom I spoke have had opportunities to look into themselves and our society very deeply, based in their view of culture from the outside, as a function of their having to adapt into and out of the streets. Although this “view from the outside” was developed, in many instances, at tremendous cost, and I did perceive instances and aspects of narrow and rigid thinking, I often became thoroughly engaged in conversations with persons able to flexibly look at issues from multiple perspectives and have complex and sophisticated views on any number of personal or social issues. This is something that I would suggest is less readily found among youth who have not faced these kinds of challenges.

From all of this material, the one generalization that would seem accurate would be that there is a compelling need to continue to develop understanding of these kinds of shifts. Although it will continue to be helpful to learn about how youth employ coping strategies in response to various problems, understanding what a “problem” is/means to

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a youth and how those meanings shift and have shifted will deepen our knowledge and ability to help and intervene. This argument for the need to explore youths’ changing meanings/ideas surrounding survival and resilience echo earlier calls in risk domains (e.g., suicide, Kral [1998]).

Implications for Intervention

In terms of developing a strategy to help these youth, along with the better recognized approach of using counseling to improve coping skills, address addictions, and provide for basic needs, it may prove helpful to address the more central adaptive process that occurs in the street context. For youth earlier in the process, or for whom the street value system and worldview has not taken hold, it may be helpful to support them in maintain- ing their “housed” sense of self and an understanding of their life course and values. Contraintuitively, if the stress of being homeless and having not adjusted to a homeless lifestyle is overwhelming and may push the person to suicide or into extreme risk situa- tions, it may help to facilitate a functional adjustment to homelessness. This could involve helping them to form healthy connections on the street, alter values in ways that are empowering and destigmatizing of homelessness, and otherwise maintain a coherent sense of self in the face of various temptations and pressures to enter destructive street lives. The same could be said for those who are living dangerous, unhappy, and self- destructive street lives. The push directly toward a mainstream existence is likely unten- able for youth whose worldviews are strongly tied to a homeless identity and street values. A major achievement may better be understood as a healthier adjustment to homeless- ness, or living a more satisfying life on the streets, with transition off the streets being a far more distant horizon. Lastly, for those trying to transition off the streets, a large part of it may be understood as a cultural adjustment. This is potentially more difficult than going to the streets, because it is adjusting to and accepting a set of values/schemas that, in many instances, had profoundly failed them in the past. It will probably require strong mainstream-oriented supports who can endorse and bolster the positive aspects of larger society and help the person tolerate the ambiguities and fear associated with the shift. It may also help to break apart the fairly common street understanding of a mainstream “monolith”—uniform, hypocritical, and always unfair—and provide examples of less con- ventional mainstream lives that are true to many core aspects of the various worldviews of the streets. It is, for most, however, a transition no less difficult than rewriting a life narrative with profound changes in identity, relationships, understanding of the past and future, and morality.

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Bettelheim, B. (1979). Surviving and other essays. New York: Knopf. Boydell, K.M., Goering, P., & Morrell-Bellai, T.L. (2000). Narratives of identity: Representation of

self in people who are homeless. Qualitative Health Research, 10, 26–38.

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Coumans, M., & Spreen, M. (2003). Drug use and the role of homelessness in the process of mar- ginalization. Substance Use and Misuse, 38, 311–338.

Crossley, M.L. (2000). Narrative psychology, trauma, and the study of self/identity. Theory and Psychology, 10, 527–546.

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