Personal Experience at the Hannah Home in Alabama: Homeless Shelters Are Not Necessarily "Rock Bottom"

Ordinarily, women's shelters are established for a variety of reasons. For the battered and abused women and children of our society, these homes can mean a safe and secure place to live, sleep, and begin a new, productive life. For those who are displaced, or have no home of their own, the shelters meet the many needs for a woman and her children, as well as single women.

For me, it meant an alternative to prison while attending counseling for drug addiction in 2001. What I found in the surprisingly warm, attentive atmosphere are things I will never forget.

When first hearing of the alternative plan for my sentence, I was happy to be able to leave jail, and of course ready to be just about anywhere authorities would allow me to be instead of behind bars. But I viewed a woman's shelter quite differently than they in fact are. Upon entering the group home in a county to the north of my own here in Alabama, I met smiling faces and warm reassurances that everything would be okay.

The huge house was set back from the road, a large, refurbished colonial style house with a balcony jetting out from the second tier. Gone With the Wind immediately came to mind when I first saw it. Grand oak trees and a meticulously cared-for lawn set the look and clean, organized feel for the place. It appeared safe. It seemed like home.

The director of the home inspected my belongings from jail, and since I had been there a while, I had accumulated many letters and legal documents, pictures, and so forth. I had not known that she would have to painstakingly sort through and pull every page from every envelope upon my arrival, searching for drugs or weapons, and had regretted that I had not arranged for a family member to pick up my property at the jail before being sent to this smiling woman.

Yet, not once did she seem dismayed, not once did she make me feel as if I were a burden. At least an hour and a half later, I was able to begin the intake process into the home. The friendly director and an assistant went over the rules of the home and what was expected of me while I was there. With exception of the requirements of the courts in my case, I was to apply myself and my behavior in the same manner that every woman there was expected to.

There would be "chores" that a home worker would check every night, and the job would change on a weekly basis. I would one week be expected to straighten and clean the foyer and stairwell, one week clean the television/sitting room area, one week sweep the large porches and dump ashtrays since the women were allowed to smoke outside. One week I would be expected to clean the bathrooms, one week the dining room, one week the kitchen. One day a week, I would be in charge of deciding what everyone would eat for supper and cook it, then clean and put away the dishes.

It didn't seem far from ordinary life to me, in fact, I was grateful for the work after having sat in jail for so long with nothing to do. After hearing the ways of the home, I was taken to a room on the lower floor of the big house, and my bed was pointed out to me. Two sets of bunk beds and one single bed was arranged in the cheerful room, very much unlike the gray painted, cement block walls of the cell I had become accustomed to seeing.

There were blankets and pretty comforters and coverlets, dust ruffles, candles, dressers, and fresh flowers in vases. I remember seeing two pillows on my bed and smiling probably almost as much as if I had walked into Heaven and was touring my mansion. I had not had a pillow for four months, and anything resembling a pillow in jail would have been considered "contraband" if constructed from extra uniforms, towels, or t-shirts.

I left the mesh shower bag I had bought from the commissary in Jefferson County Jail on the bed and pressed my hand down on the mattress. It felt like the softest mattress I believe I had ever touched. The director then gave me a voucher coupon for clothing to buy at the Alabama Thrift Store, which in part funded the home. She took me there and to the bank to cash the check that the jail had issued to me when I left, the remainder of money "on my books" there.

As we rode around town, she steadily assessed me, I assume wondering if I would be a problem at the home, given the knowledge of my past. I got to know her too. She was a courageous, bold woman for her age, younger than myself and driven with a purpose beyond her years. We became friends quickly, something easily acquired given her caring nature.

Back at the home that evening, I was introduced to the other women who were living there. Most of the women worked, their money being saved and the director allotting them a percentage of their paycheck every week for things they wanted or needed for them or their children. I was not allowed to work for pay, the judge over my case telling the director that in the State of Alabama, drug traffickers were not allowed work release of any sort, and I was not to leave the home for any reason alone, nor be taken into Jefferson County for any reason unless cleared beforehand by him.

Instead, the director enrolled me in a local computer course, filling my days with as many projects as possible, since my evenings would be filled with drug counseling. I prepared to live the next six months in this manner as an alternative to prison, my husband having bore the greater sentence of three years in Alabama Department of Correction's custody.

The women and children in the home came from different backgrounds and different places, and one had even been a "mail-order-bride" from Africa who had left her abusive American husband. Every race, religious background, and life experience passed through those rooms during that six month period, it seemed, even though it was a women's shelter in rural Alabama.

On Sundays, we went to different churches, depending on the religious preference of the women, but mainstream Christian churches, nonetheless. The weekend worker was a complete delight to be around, the women looking forward to every Friday evening when she would appear and hug the women and excitedly plan the weekend.

All of shelter's workers were kind, humorous, and full of hope, regularly engaging the women in activities and conversation. Problems arose and were met with fairness, new women came and went, and life was good. I learned there that no matter what life throws at you, just keep on smiling, keep on pushing forward. There is always someone around who truly cares.

The camaraderie and friendships born during that six month period are just two of the blessings I will take with me the rest of my days.