I was never very good at school but I worked my way up to become an international sales manager. I was travelling a lot, selling very high specification machines, speaking at prestigious conferences, and earning a good wage: £55,000 per year by the end.
In 2009, the company was bought by a group of venture capitalists and I was made redundant as they moved my role overseas.
I was actually happy to jump off that commercial rat race. I had two terminally ill parents, my son was eight at the time, I’d founded a photography business, and my partner and I decided to get married that year too. My head was a pressure cooker.
I was burning through my redundancy funds and within a few years I started to feel myself losing a grip. I’d been doing a lot of wedding photography, but people were starting to use mobiles a lot more and business was slowing down.
My wife announced she wanted a divorce in 2013. It was an amicable divorce and we navigated it to make sure my son was well-catered for but it wasn’t something I wanted.
I was moving from one financial life buoy to another. The sale of the house gave me a certain nest egg. I was going to do a new website, new marketing, I’d network, and it would turn things around.
I was in denial. My head was really slipping. I lost the functional capability of not only working and earning a living but dealing with the things that are important – like paying your mortgage.
I was living between a cottage I owned and with a girlfriend. The cottage needed lots of work doing to it which I was putting off. I stayed away a whole month and when I got back, all the locks had been changed. There was an A4 piece of paper stuck in a piece of cellophane attached to the front door – a repossession order.
My cousin in Clacton-On-Sea has always been like a sister to me. She’d been very supportive so I came down to stay with her and her husband for a short period of time.
I had a one-bedroom apartment lined up, £500-per-month, but I ended up moving into their buy-to-let property just across the road from their house. Even with mates rates it was £930-per-month.
I’d used up all the money from the sale of the cottage and the sale of my house. Then the pandemic struck and a lot of my photography and videography work for weddings and funerals dried up. Thankfully, by this time I’d hit 55 and got access to my pension. I had about £124,000 in the pension so when I was running out of money I began drawing that out.
In this headspace I got myself into difficulties with getting tax returns done on time so there were a huge amount of fines building up.
In July 2021, circumstances forced me to leave my accomodation and I ended up in a hotel with my funds running out. That lasted for a couple of months until I was completely out of money. All the money in my pensions, all my nest eggs, everything from the sale of the houses was gone. I had £200 left.
That’s when I moved into my car. I didn’t tell anyone. My son doesn’t know about any of this at all. I went through that £200 over about two weeks. I was getting washed in Starbucks disabled toilet, eating cold microwave meals. I was too embarrassed to get help.
I felt that claiming benefits was something to be ashamed of; that it was the preserve of social drop-outs. Even when I sat there, homeless, I didn’t feel homeless. As far as I was concerned homeless people were either alcoholics or drug dependent.
Just before Christmas, I was either going to jump off a bridge or get help. That’s when I called Shelter.
It was a real turning point. They listened without judgement and helped me find sheltered accommodation, claim universal credit and housing benefit, and told me about other charities who could help with debt relief.
Thanks to their help, I found temporary accommodation with other homeless people: an extremely modest, no frills place but it was a roof over my head. At first I worried about the type of people I’d meet, living there. Yes, there were a few scallywags, but I found I got on really well with them. If you talk to people with some respect, they’re fine with you.
There was a massive shift in my mental state going to the shelter. I’d been in complete solitude for weeks leading to Christmas.The companionship I received at the temporary accommodation from the homeless and management was a major boost to my wellbeing.
I think my story really goes to show that it’s not a moral failing to be homeless or on benefits. That’s the fundamental takeaway message. What happened to me can happen to anyone.
Now I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ve got help with my mental health, managed to get my websites running again, and I’m hoping to restart work soon. I wish I’d known five years ago what I know now: whatever stage you’re at on that slippery slope, stop yourself from sliding any further. Reach out, get help from people.
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