I’m not writing this for pity.

I’m writing it because if I don’t, I’m gonna lose my mind.

Because when you fight every day just to keep your family together, and the world keeps pretending you don’t exist—

this is what it feels like.

I’m a father. Four kids. A partner I love more than anything. I work, I hustle, I stretch every dollar, every hour, every ounce of energy. And still, it’s not enough. Not in a place like this.

I’ve applied for help more times than I can count. RAFT. Shelter. Programs that say they’re here for people like me. I fill out the forms, upload every piece of proof they ask for, make the calls, follow the rules—and nothing happens. Or worse, everything just times out. No explanation. No landlord response. No accountability. Just silence.

You know what it feels like to explain to your kids why we can’t stay?

Why they can’t hang their drawings up on the wall?

Why their toys have to stay in boxes just in case?

That’s not a life. That’s a trap. A slow burn. A deep kind of tired most people don’t understand.

Massachusetts calls itself a leader. They talk about solutions. They cut ribbons and make promises. But people like me—real people—we’re stuck floating. Moving from place to place, begging for stability, trying to raise families in a state that looks the other way every time we reach out.

I’ve been to court.

I’ve slept in places that weren’t safe.

I’ve kept the lights on when I didn’t know how I’d do it.

I’ve held it together for my kids even when I was falling apart inside.

And still, I show up.

Still, I fight.

Still, I smile for them.

I’m not some soft version of a struggling dad you see on a flyer. I’m rough. I’m tattooed. I play punk rock. I say what I mean and I don’t sugarcoat crapt. But I love my kids harder than anything. I’m loyal. I’m present. I’m here. Even when the system wants me gone.

I’ve done everything they’ve asked. Every requirement. Every paper trail. Every hoop. And it still ain’t enough. You get used to the sound of your own voice echoing in empty inboxes. You get used to being put on hold until the call just ends. You get used to that deep pit in your stomach when you realize no one’s coming to help you.

That’s the truth of it.

No one’s coming.

So I show up for my family.

I show up—every damn time.

But I shouldn’t have to do this alone. No one should.

This system is designed to wear us down.

It’s not broken—it works exactly how it was built.

It gives hope just long enough to watch it fall apart again.

And then we’re the ones blamed for not “trying hard enough.”

I’m done begging.

I’m done pretending.

I’m done writing nice emails that get ignored.

So I’m saying it now—loud, raw, honest:

We need a home. Not a maybe. Not a “we’re reviewing.” A real home. A safe one. A place to breathe, to grow, to just be.

My kids deserve that.

My partner deserves that.

I deserve that.

This is my voice.

I will not be ignored.

I’m not going anywhere.

I’m not backing down.

And I’m not staying quiet.

I’m still here.

Still loud.

Still refusing to disappear.

Because if nobody else is gonna fight for us—

I will.

*****

Chris Caswell is a writer from Lynn, Massachusetts, who tells real stories about life, struggle, and resilience. Drawing from his own experiences, he writes with honesty and grit to give voice to those often ignored. This is his first nonfiction story submitted for publication, and he’s committed to sharing raw, authentic narratives that matter.

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