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Joan Van Gasken and her husband Mark turned to VOA to help Mark’s autistic brother Brian, 68, live independently in a safe environment after a lifetime at an institution for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Brian has always needed special care. As he got older, habits of pulling his own hair and banging his head against a wall was troublesome. Today, a permanent indentation remains. But pulling his mom’s hair, particularly one day while she was driving a car, became too extreme. Too dangerous. By the time Brian was 10, doctors recommended he move into a setting like Rainier School in Buckley to help with these behaviors born of frustration with communicating his needs to others. Marguerite, Brian’s mother, often made the 1-1/2 hour drive to pick him up, then 1-1/2 hours back to Camano Island, so he could enjoy a stay with her that might last for a few days or weeks. This ritual lasted for several years. As Marguerite aged, and when Rainier School began to close activities like woodshop that Brain loved, finding a closer place in a home-like setting became a priority. In May 2019, Brian moved into a residential facility for adults with developmental disabilities, managed by VOA in Skagit County. Marguerite was pleased at this development and enjoyed her last 5 months being closer to him. In October of that year, when she passed away, his Support Professional, Lisa, helped him navigate this significant life change. Since then, Brian has gained skills like cooking and setting the table, which was always done for him at Rainier. He was able to get his front teeth – lost there years ago – replaced, and he’s proud of his smile. He recently went shopping and picked out his own recliner and sofa, another first. And since Joan and Mark are close by in Bellingham, they pay a visit every other month to take him out for his favorite milkshake. Regional Director of Support Services, Jess Kiepe, says “ VOA has given Brian the power and choice for picking out items for his home like his recliner, [and he] works on his garden with his staff and makes sure to water the plants every day.” Joan expresses her gratitude for giving Brian opportunities for independence. “ His communication skills have improved... He often talks in full sentences now. Brian would say ‘go home,’ which meant ‘go to mom’s house.’ The other day he said, ‘go home,’ and then he said, ‘I am home.’ Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts.” Brian’s story of hope is one of many that might not be possible without VOA. With your help, we can continue to support clients with developmental disabilities. To donate, visit https://bit.ly/hopeisbrewing-22

Dear VOA*, I’m writing this email to give a belated “Thank you!” After surviving the expenses of a lengthy divorce, and finally being awarded custody of my sons in 1997, I found myself spending thousands of dollars more for legal representation to modify our parenting plan five years later. Fortunately, I insisted that my 2nd attorney insert a clause in our parenting plan stating that “any future disputes were to be handled through mediation.” That’s when we were introduced to VOA in 2005. The following investment of just a few hours, combined with the expertise and practical advice of one of VOA’s mediators turned a dysfunctional parenting situation into a partnership. I’ll be the first to admit that the thought of partnering with my ex-wife and her new husband was not an easy concept to get my mind around. However, our counselor gently reminded us that we will forever be tied to one another by the threads of our children. Although we are no longer married, we will always be in the business of parenting our children together, and she showed us different ways that this could be accomplished, starting by lowering our defenses, opening our lines of communication, and listening. As with any good business practice, and following our mediation, my boys’ mother and I would make it a habit to meet regularly and go over things like the parenting calendar, school calendar, and doctor appointments in detail. We usually met the last week of every month. Whenever we had a disagreement, we would “put a pin in it” and revisit the issue at a later time, so that we could finish the task at hand. Usually, if there was a conflict, we’d figure out a way to work through it or compromise. During a 5 year stretch, we were both able to sustain a healthy, functional parenting relationship when it came to our boys. In fact, we decided together at one point that it would be best if our youngest son moved back in with his mother to be successful in school. We took care of the paperwork for DSHS together, and from that point on my oldest son lived with me, and my youngest lived with her until they were out of high school. Our boys still maintained the same parenting plan/schedule for weekends, birthdays, and holidays until their mother suddenly passed away in 2010. Could we have accomplished any of this together without the assistance of Volunteers of America? Possibly, but I seriously doubt it. Sometimes, it’s easy to overlook the people or events that helped you make changes in your life for the better. I realize now that VOA’s work, thoughtfulness, guidance, and practical insight that was shared during mediation is worth its weight in gold, and helped salvage an unmanageable situation. I can’t thank you enough.” *Some content has been changed or omitted for confidentiality and clarity. VOA’s dispute resolution center has served Snohomish, Skagit, and Island Counties since 1982. With your help, we can continue to support those in conflict in finding a path to peace. To donate, visit https://bit.ly/hopeisbrewing-22

The gold Ford Escape is home: the dining room, the bedroom, and the living room. It’s also the office: where they receive and fill Doordash orders. The gold Ford Escape is the last thread that connects Karen Hager, 71, and her son Mikael, 40, to a future with less worry and uncertainty. In October 2021, the landlord at the house in Monroe decided to part ways with his management company and terminated their lease early. Affordable housing was impossible to come by, especially on short notice. Mikael’s sporadic work doing odd jobs and Karen’s retirement from her years as an IT project manager just wasn’t enough. First, they lived at a motel until money ran out, and now, they live in their car. The thing they miss the most? “Bathrooms,” says Mikael. “Having access to a bathroom is the biggest challenge.” Occasionally, they have offers to house sit. It’s those times where they have clean, running water and a bed to sleep in that contrasts to the typical night sleeping in their SUV in a parking lot where they feel relatively safe. Parking lots like the Monroe Library, until another man experiencing homelessness left trash and debris in his wake and caused problems with Monroe Police. After that, nobody could park at the library anymore. So, they moved over to the parking lot at New Hope Fellowship, quiet and out of the way. The same man found that spot, too. One night, his screaming at a girlfriend who lived in the apartment across the street attracted too much attention. And again, Monroe Police forced everyone out of the parking lot permanently. Despairing of finding safety and peace, Karen and Mikael’s fortunes turned upward when the temperature turned down. In February 2022, they connected with Roger Evans, VOA’s Homelessness Prevention Navigator at the cold weather shelter inside New Hope Fellowship where they once parked. They were provided with beds, hot food, and an opportunity. “Roger has been our ‘go-to’ for everything, and he’s made quite the difference. He was able to get us two or three gas cards,” each worth forty dollars, Mikael remembers. They used these cards for startup costs to begin working at Doordash. In July, after more than 900 “dashes,” their delivery days came to an end. Fuel prices keep climbing, so places like Redmond, where business is brisk, is too much of an investment, leaving them with little for fuel, food, or bills like the cell phone. The cell phone where they connect to work. Running water. Internet. Laundry. A table to sit and eat. The things most of us take for granted are the challenges the Hagers experience every day. But they aren’t giving up. Even faced with obstacles, their optimism keeps them working toward stability. They expect to have their own apartment by October 1. It’s month-to-month, but it is more stable than the gold Ford Escape. And they get to stay in Monroe. Without a VOA connecting them to a partner like Snohomish County to help with move-in costs, it wouldn’t be possible. In the meantime, they are living in the converted garage at New Hope Fellowship, guests of church elders Greg and Alva. They have warmth and safety. And while nobody would argue that being cold and without shelter is a blessing, the people they met during these challenging times have been. And they’ve given a mother and her son the gift of hope. Karen & Mikael are on a path to stability that often eludes those experiencing homelessness. Through the work of VOA, partners like Snohomish County, and generous donations from neighbors like you, we can continue to bridge the gap between helplessness and hope. To donate, click here.

Dan Scott’s first Bronze Star Medal from the Army recognized his actions in Vietnam on December 23rd, 1967: "On this date, Specialist Scott was serving as rifleman on a reconnaissance in force mission in a densely jungled area of Binh Duong Province. In the morning, the lead elements of the unit came in contact with a large Viet Cong force employing small arms, automatic weapons, and claymore mines. During the initial barrage, the point man was seriously wounded by a claymore mine and automatic weapons fire, and fell only five meters from an enemy position. With complete disregard for his personal safety, Specialist Scott ran 40 meters through intensive hostile fire to the wounded man’s side and gave him first aid. While treating him, he fired his personal weapon at the insurgents, who had spotted him and were firing directly at him. He suppressed their fire enough to finish treating the casualty and carry him to a position affording cover. His courage under fire and regard for the welfare of his comrades were directly responsible for saving the wounded man’s life." “I think about him all the time,” says Dan of the ‘point man.’ “I grabbed him by the collar and drug him to safety.” Now a regular at VOA’s Carl Gipson Center, Dan Scott saved many lives during his two years of service in the Vietnam War. Born in 1946 in West Seattle, young Danny Scott danced on the line between bravery and recklessness. He and his friends would appropriate long rope from nearby tugboats, take it into the local forest, and climb 75 feet up trees to hang a rope swing to get a thrill. When he was 11, he’d steal his parents’ Domino cigarettes off the kitchen counter and smoke with his friends. One time, he and a friend parked their Schwinn bikes behind a little neighborhood grocery store, snatched a full case of Heidelberg beer, then rode two miles down to Miller Creek, where they stashed it in a cubby in the river so it’d stay cold. “We drank on that case for three or four weeks,” says Dan with a laugh. Then there was the incident with the Secret Service. Dan took Metal Shop at Sealth High School and learned how to make a cast for a 50-cent-piece, then create a forgery made of iron in the foundry. He passed off four or five dollars of his own 50-cent-pieces in the lunchroom, and thought he was free and clear until the Secret Service showed up at school three weeks later. Dan skipped town, hopping on a train to central Oregon, where he found odd jobs for weeks, until his family finally convinced him to come home. He graduated from Sealth in 1965. Drafted in 1967, Dan went to boot camp at Ft. Lewis. “They knocked the snot out of you, knocked the sassiness out of you, and made you into a team member. The Sergeant would come in at 4:30 or 5:30am with a billy club, hitting a garbage can. He was our alarm clock.” He then attended Advanced Infantry Training at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, before his deployment to Vietnam. Dan remembers his M-14 rifle, the concertina wire they used to secure a perimeter, the young faces that made up his Mechanized Outfit, the friendliness of the villagers. He remembers his first bad sunburn and the USO Tour with Bob Hope. For many years, he remembered too much. “After a battle, you have to form a line and survey the area. If they’re dead, you put them in body bags. If they’re wounded, you bring them back.” Dan Scott’s second Bronze Star Medal (First Oak Leaf Cluster) recognized his actions on February 18th, 1968. "On this date, Specialist Scott was serving as a vehicle commander with his mechanized infantry platoon on a mission to escort a convoy from Di An to Ben Cat along Highway 13. Near the abandoned village of Cau Dinh, the convoy was suddenly subjected to intensive rocket propelled grenade, machinegun, and automatic weapons fire from a reinforced North Vietnamese heavy weapons company entrenched in the abandoned village. During the initial moments of the firefight Specialist Scott was severely wounded by flying shrapnel. Although seriously injured, he maintained his exposed position and continued firing his weapon. As the battle raged on, everyone on his vehicle became wounded, causing Specialist Scott to redouble his efforts. He effectively fired both a grenade launcher and his rifle from his exposed position atop the armored personnel carrier and accounted for several of the 84 killed during the seven-hour battle. His courageous determination and perseverance contributed significantly toward the decisive victory won by the friendly forces.” After serving in the Army, Dan landed as a boilermaker building ships, working for Todd’s Pacific Shipyard in Seattle for 28 years. He’s retired now, and he and his wife Susie found the Carl Gipson Center back in January. He likes to play pool and she loves the Clogging Class. “We think it’s a very welcoming place, and we really appreciate that it’s there for us.” As he reflects on his life, Dan underscores how thankful he is for his family and his wife. In addition to the September Veterans Stand Down and November Veterans Day Celebration & USO Dance, the Carl Gipson Center hosts the Heroes’ Café, whose Everett chapter supports veterans on the 3rd Tuesday of each month from 11:30am-2:00pm, with lunch provided. All veterans are welcome. Author’s Note : the complete list of Specialist Dan M. Scott’s awards includes: National Defense Service Medal, Vietnam Medal w/ Bronze Service Star, Vietnam Campaign Medal, Combat Infantryman Badge, Bronze Star Medal w/V Device, Purple Heart, Purple Heart w/Oak Leaf Cluster, and Army Commendation Medal.

Steve Woodard’s future seemed decided by the S’s. Named Steve, his life path started in San Diego. He received a Bachelor of Arts degree in Speech Communication at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, got married to his college sweetheart, and went back for a master’s degree in Education. Seattle brought a PhD in Educational Leadership and Policy Studies with an emphasis in Women’s Studies and Multicultural Education at the University of Washington. A brief stint in San Francisco, followed by teaching with his wife in Spain, brought him back to Seattle. Shoreline, to be exact. Their family eventually moved to Mountlake Terrace... In Snohomish County. But Service is the S he identifies with most. He grew up as a military kid with his older brother Darrell and younger sister Aisha. Their father, a photographer with a penchant for fashion, spent his career in the Navy before becoming a small business owner with their mother. An appreciation for art and a commitment to service were inescapable. So was education. Their parents were each a valedictorian of their respective high schools. And in the Woodard home, two sets of encyclopedias existed on the bookshelf: Britannica editions sat beside a set that explored and affirmed African American history. Mainstream culture wasn’t ignored. It existed alongside, in tandem with, and because of Black history. L-R: Steve, Aisha & Darrell Woodard (ca. 1982) Steve “...always identified as Black. I lived in a home with Black-centric culture.” However, with an eclectic upbringing where education and service were valued, Steve and his siblings were often singled out as examples of what Black children were capable of or should aspire to. While he now realizes this praise was meant as a compliment, “ it was really an injury because White and other Black people would ‘other’ you. It wasn’t a fair way to grow up. But,” he pauses, “life isn’t fair.” So, he spent his career as an advisor and mentor, making education an equalizer rather than a distinction. During his tenure as Dean of Access & Completion at Edmonds College, he improved the student experience by removing barriers like long lines and confusion in the enrollment process. He also refined and ran onboarding summer bridge camps at both UW and Cal Poly to instill collaboration and pride within the student body. Suddenly, opportunities appeared for those who once felt college was an impossible achievement – often students of color or first-generation scholars. Frequently both. One day, he was challenged to dream bigger, so he joined the Board of Directors at VOAWW. That wasn’t big enough. He resigned and immediately transferred to a full-time position at our organization where his mission of Service continues. Reflecting on Black History Month and to prevent “othering,” Steve encourages everyone to “Remember narratives. Be accurate. Know better to do better. And keep history in front of you.” In other words, Study. It’s the S that lets us move forward. Together. Dr. Steve Woodard is the Vice President of Community Engagement at VOAWW and serves on the city council of the City of Mountlake Terrace. He loves celebrating Black History, reminding us that it’s “more than Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass and George Washington Carver.” For further study: Influential Black Educators “Not Black Enough” 10 Black Women Innovators and the Awesome Things They Brought Us

Maud Booth was born Maud Elizabeth Charlesworth September 13, 1865, in Limpsfield, Surrey, England, to a family of social reformers. Her father, an Anglican rector, hosted meetings in the church courtyard for the Christian Mission, later known as The Salvation Army. It was there that she met Ballington Booth. She joined the Salvation Army in 1882 and worked with Captain Catherine Booth, Ballington’s sister. Catherine and Maud went to Paris to share the Salvation Army’s message, but after a cold reception, they were arrested, interrogated, and ultimately expelled from the country. Maud’s father was outraged with the news coverage and demanded she break ties with the Salvation Army and refused to give consent for her to marry Ballington. She waited until she became of legal age and married in 1885, changing her name to Maud Ballington Booth. In 1896, the couple broke from the Salvation Army and founded Volunteers of America, where her influence on the charter constitution directed that men and women were to be treated equally. In her lifetime, Maud Booth organized a group of women known as the “slum sisters” to care for the elderly, sick, and the poorest in London, eventually bringing a version of it to America in 1894. She founded the National Florence Crittenton Mission in 1895, providing support and education to young and unmarried mothers. During WWI, she was appointed as the first woman special agent in the U.S. Department of Justice to investigate violations of the Mann Act, a law passed to prohibit the transportation of women across state lines for “immoral purposes.” However, Maud Booth’s most passionate cause was prison reform. She was a vocal advocate for better conditions for inmates. After starting a prison ministry at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in New York and answering every letter of correspondence personally, she eventually grew Volunteer Prison Leagues. With donations from their local chapters, she built a halfway house for newly-released prisoners. In addition, she provided food, clothing and shelter for their families, ensuring that each child received a Christmas gift as well as new clothing and shoes for school. In 1920, she became the first woman to address a national convention of the Republican Party and used the platform to speak about prison reform. Maud continued to be actively involved in social and prison reform until her death in 1948. An author of several books, a devoted Christian, and an accomplished social reformer, Maud Booth created a legacy that lives on today. At VOAWW, “Maud’s House” is a transitional shelter for women and their children, a nod to her work in San Francisco where she set up a home to care for abandoned youth of any color, faith, or age. Our Maud’s House program keeps mothers and their children together, helping them work through trauma, learn self-sufficiency, and gain valuable life skills. In honor of 125 years as an affiliate of Volunteers of America, we celebrate Maud’s dedication to the most vulnerable among us and applaud all who partner with us in our mission to empower individuals and strengthen communities. Maud Ballington Booth (1865-1948)

Mia Klick never thought she’d be making history. As the second-to-last of five children, a high school dropout, and teen parent, she only knew hardship. Her youth was marked by an incarcerated father and a mother struggling to live. To love. She did the best she knew how, but Mia often stepped in as a caretaker for her siblings. All but one. Her sister, 5 years older, was the mother figure that “blazed a trail, not looking ahead, but looking back, so I could follow.” She barely remembers trips to Canada to spend time with her father’s family, but it’s there that the threads of the Ehattesaht First Nation began to stitch together her identity. As years went by, she connected closely with Tulalip tribal heritage through her mom. Mia is a fixer. A healer. She scraped by, working as a mechanic here and there with other odd repair jobs because fixing things was the next best thing to fixing people. And without a high school diploma, being a counselor or social worker seemed out of reach. Then she found the Tribal Hub at VOAWW in May 2021. In the position of a Hub Navigator, she could use her own past to offer support and advocacy for other Indigenous people. People who have unique needs in health care, crisis services, and legal recourse. People who are often caught between two cultures without the right support from either one. Mia Klick, NSLL Coordinator That summer, Mia was included in a conversation about the possibility of implementing a comprehensive crisis line for Natives. Tribal communities occasionally have had options for counseling or lifeline services, but often not on a 24-hour basis and only at a local level. Vicki Lowe, Jamestown S’Klallam and Bella Coola descendant and Executive Director at American Indian Health Commission of Washington State, and State Representative Tina Orwall asked what it would take to get this off the ground. Mia found her calling. Starting in September as the Native & Strong Lifeline (NSLL) Coordinator, she enlisted the help of the same older sister, the same mother figure who was now working as an Elders Program Manager and social worker with the Stillaguamish Tribe. They knocked on doors, posted flyers, distributed surveys, and analyzed data to determine how best to serve American Indians and Alaska Natives in crisis. With this knowledge, Mia went on to develop a curriculum for Tribal Crisis Counselors by “Indigenizing” the 988 Lifeline Counselor training. For Mia, it wasn’t enough to learn about Native people and their struggles. She knew that counselors had to be Native, and that was the plan all along. Callers do not have to explain their past, their culture, or their trauma for context. So, help and healing begins sooner. Today, big sister works alongside little sister. Rochelle Williams left her position at the Stillaguamish Tribe to become VOAWW’s Tribal Services Manager in January 2022. She and Mia, with countless supporters, brought the Native and Strong Lifeline (NSLL) into reality, the first of its kind in the United States. In fact, it has never been done on this scale with this level of success in history. It is available 24/7 for any tribal-affiliated person in Washington state, regardless of tribal home or enrollment status. Taking it a step further than offering an 800 number, they petitioned to have it incorporated with 988 and succeeded. Callers can choose option 4. Rochelle Williams, Tribal Services Manager Rochelle says the work they’ve done exists so that Native people don’t have to remember their loved ones. “…Native and Strong is here to help keep them here with us. With you. And your family. You don’t have to have memories. You get to keep people around and have them over for dinner. Native and Strong is here to save lives.” Since its rollout in November 2022, Lines for Life in Oregon has called, expressing interest in expanding NSLL into their state. Rochelle has been asked to testify for a bill being written in California’s legislature. Behavioral Health programs in New Mexico and the Navajo Nation have requested meetings. In Canada, Rochelle met with Holly Echo-Hawk, founder of the Reclaiming Native Psychological Brilliance ECHO Program. After her presentation to a crowd of 400, Thunderbird Partnership Foundation asked for insight for adding an Indigenous option at 988, which will roll out in Canada this fall. And, in Montana, Fort Peck Tribes have been moved to open their own crisis line and share it statewide. “People are getting inspired,” Rochelle beams. Would the Native and Strong Lifeline still exist even without Mia and Rochelle? Probably. Tribal crisis lines have been around. “However,” Rochelle concludes, “I can proudly say that our involvement is what has made this line successful and… catching the attention nationwide and in Canada. We knew that the line had to employ Native people… There is no level of cultural sensitivity training or lessons that can be taught that are ever going to be better than having real, live and Native voices on the other end of the line. That was us.” Women’s History Month celebrates the contributions of women to the American narrative. And so, the girl who didn’t finish high school, who often felt “less than” because she was female, and who cared for others before caring for herself stands with her sister who continues to authentically serve her Native community, make connections, and guide the way. Together, they are building a history-making program. Together, they are saving Indigenous lives in the place where the story of struggle begins. How was all this possible? “If people are asking for your advice, it’s because you know more than they do,” Mia asserts. “Now, when I go to meetings, I go in loud. If people are looking to you for your opinion, then it’s valuable to them.” A piece of advice she offers is that “...as a woman, you don’t have to be stronger than men. You just have to be stronger than yourself. Believe that you deserve to be in the conversation.” Mia Klick is the Native and Strong Lifeline Coordinator at VOAWW. Born and raised in Everett, she still lives there with her family. Rochelle Williams, the Tribal Operations Manager, gets the joy every day of seeing Mia come full circle, blazing her own trail and caring for others. If you’d like to get in touch, they can be reached at mklick@voaww.org or rwilliams@voaww.org.

Ronnie is memorable. He won the Halloween 2022 costume contest as Michael Jackson in Thriller – complete with choreography – and has been visiting the Sky Valley Community Resource Center ever since. Ronnie is dependable. Working as a courtesy clerk at Fred Meyer for 21 years, he enjoyed fetching carts and greeting customers. Ronnie is an athlete. Basketball and Bocce are favorites, but he excels at Track & Field, competing in the Special Olympics. Next, he wants to learn Pickleball. Ronnie is 62 and there’s one thing he still isn’t: a reader. At a first grade level of literacy, he enjoys sitting with his niece’s children, reading them simple books. But dyslexia makes for a frustrating stumble over letters that seem to twist and turn. He’s tried “ABC Mouse,” an app designed for young readers, without success. Not one to give up, he connected with the Sky Valley Resource Center. Not only is he able to access resources and one-on-one help to learn to make sense of words, he is also learning money and spending, and works as a paid intern at VOA’s thrift store in Sultan three days a week. He sews small quilts for his nieces and nephews, and even sells them at the farmer’s market for a little extra cash. It’s this yearning for independence that keeps him working to break down this last barrier to success. “I want to walk into Everett Community College and pick up any book and be able to read it.” Ronnie is a dreamer. With the support of the SVCRC, Ronnie can continue to chase his dreams. Ronnie's story is part of our "Home is Where the Heart Is" series of narratives from clients who have been helped by our Community Resource Centers. Services are always free, and we rely on the generosity of the community to help people like Ronnie succeed. To donate, visit www.bit.ly/giveheart23 right now.

“I’ve been struggling since I retired,” worries Bonnie, “with the cost of things going up. My property tax went from $75.00 in 2019 to $289.00 now. That is a huge jump, and my mobile home is only worth $10,000.” On a fixed income at the age of 74, funds seem to dwindle faster each year. Rent increased $100 per month last November, but the check in the mail stays the same. And so, decisions between keeping the lights on, having food, or paying for hearing aids to live alone safely are becoming a way of life. A plea for a little money to get by from her son and daughter in law sparked a conversation. “My son said there [are] programs that could help you.” Looking for resources together, they found Tina at the Lake Stevens Community Resource Center. “I’ve never lived on the system, and I had no clue that there was help.” Bonnie learned she qualified for food assistance. This freed up space in her budget for utilities and her hearing aid. Plus, “... a little extra money. I have never had that before… I haven’t been able to just buy a cheeseburger and fries in years and let me tell you, it is a treat!” Worries weigh a little less, and gratitude comes in waves. “I’m grateful I have food because you helped me get food stamps, I can keep my lights on, and I can hear. I’m sure my son is grateful for you also because I no longer ask him for money.”

“I am 32 years old now, so I can sum it up to 2 decades battling to get my life back.” Most 12-year-olds are in 7th grade and summoning courage to ask someone to the dance, struggling with passing grades, or going to summer camp. Conor McClure was using marijuana daily. Growing up in Ballard with “a great childhood [and] a lot of friends,” he excelled at baseball. Eventually, this earned him a full scholarship to college. Marijuana and alcohol offered relief from feeling awkward and unaccepted there. Years later, these habits made the short leap to being hooked on Oxycontin, ultimately spiraling into an addiction to heroin and meth. As an adult, Conor lived a chaotic existence: hopeless and homeless with fear controlling his decisions. He admits, “I hated who I had become.” Conor’s family loved him through it all, but it was his last attempt at sobriety that brought a new champion to the fight. A case worker at the treatment facility suggested connecting with VOA, and in August 2022, he connected with that champion. Marlydann Dugger, Site Director at the Arlington Community Resource Center, made him “feel some relief, hope, seen, and heard… She goes to work every day and saves lives. She and this organization hear you, they see you, they can relate with you.” With words like compassion, care, grateful, and impactful, Conor describes his experience at the ACRC as life changing. Support from resources to stay housed and secure allowed him to focus on recovery. Today, Conor plans to return to being a journeyman pipe layer. His life is full. He has hope and purpose. He believes he has built “the strongest foundation possible… because of the support of VOA” to maintain his 12-step program and begin to repair the damage to himself and his relationships with loved ones. “I found and feel a new freedom from drugs and alcohol. I could not have done it alone. Thank you for being a part of saving a person’s life.”

Heartache seemed to be a constant companion for Colleen. In high school, she suffered a concussion that went untreated. Its effects visited her in adulthood as a seizure disorder and a diagnosis of traumatic brain injury (TBI). A friendship with a coworker and roommate dissolved into abuse, transforming her home into a battleground. Life got tougher in May 2019 when her roommate abandoned the apartment without warning, leaving Colleen to pay rent she couldn’t afford alone. Eviction quickly followed. She and her 9-year-old son Jackson found a safe haven with friends in Seattle. In October, a seizure-induced fall on the bus left Colleen with five broken facial bones. Days later, feeling crowded, her friends asked the pair to leave. “You learn in your lowest moments who you can count on and who loves you.” She couch surfed, helped her sister with childcare, moved to Eastern Washington to live with her mom. Winter turned to spring. COVID swept through the country. A lack of adequate remote learning resources for Jackson forced them back to the west side of the Cascades. “Help was hard to find because we didn’t have stability,” and living with disabling seizures meant Colleen’s outlook for finding work was grim. Hopelessness and TBI triggered a battle with depression. And one year after her fall injury, living in a broken-down vehicle with only a small space heater to keep warm, Colleen was out of options. She called North Sound 2-1-1, and referral specialists put in a call to Maud’s House on Monday. By Friday, she and Jackson were sleeping in beds. A rocky start in the house learning to live with other moms and children taught her “... a lot about patience and challenging your own judgments,” she remembers. ”Now I have a better understanding for others. I learned… compassion.” Maud’s House Program Manager Natasha Lindsay took time to learn about Colleen’s struggles, to help light a path forward. The first step was to locate a therapist and address past trauma. Next, Colleen was connected to a housing navigator that found local assistance. Assuming multiple diagnoses meant a disability placement that comes with limits, Colleen was shocked to find out it was a permanent placement, giving her freedom to start making her own choices and mapping out her future. Today, she has a small place of her own, continuing therapy and working on a course in data analysis. As a lover of puzzles and statistics, and needing to sit for work, it’s the perfect downshift from her old life and the fast pace of being a phlebotomist on her feet all day. As for Jackson, he can safely walk to school and back home. His own home. Still, Colleen knows, it’s been difficult. “Kids are resilient, yes, but they are also affected. Jackson has anxiety and ADHD. He doesn’t always connect with other kids.” But with an established routine and stable housing, she can focus on helping Jackson, now 12, find his own path to healing. “Last night was the first night in two years – two years – my son slept through the night.” Heartache has turned to hope.

Complex trauma. Assault. Homelessness. Addiction. Recovery. Relapse. These aren’t just frightening words. They are the experiences that affected Kimberly beginning in childhood. The only girl among five children, and the oldest, Kimberly began caring for her brothers starting in their infancy. “My mom and dad weren’t around,” she recalls. Caring for younger siblings meant a permanent state of survival. It meant no time to care for herself, learn skills, or get an education. A high school dropout, like her parents before, Kimberly’s life has been marked with uncertainty, disorganization, and vulnerability, common strands that easily tangle into the chaos of addiction. Yet, Kimberly has pressed on. Fighting her way back from a relapse and learning she was too old for the shelter where she was living, a referral to Maud’s House helped save her from the unknown. “This is a safe space. I feel safe here.” Her daughters, born 12 months apart, are not living with her while she learns to live sober, but her phone calls to arrange a meeting with ECEAP preschool are a symbol of a mother’s love and desire to see her children succeed where she did not. They are living with Kimberly’s mom, who is on her own path of growth, while she presses on. She has sights set on a GED, and then an ID, both necessary to get a job. In the two months at Maud’s House, words that now define Kimberly are safety, confidence, boundaries, responsibility. She has found purpose, along with support in her recovery. “Without Maud’s House, I’m not sure if I would be alive,” she states plainly. “Here is a safe refuge. And they will help you… if you help yourself.” Looking ahead, Kimberly wants to use what she’s lived through and learned to help others who are fighting similar battles. Instead of being described as an “addict” or “survivor,” one day, she will be an “advocate” or “volunteer.” Until that day, she presses on.