Post-Housing Drop
When housing is not the end — it’s only the beginning.
“Marshall” had lived on the streets for nearly a decade. Many days, he was joyful — excited to see and be seen. He’d greet me with a huge hug, and we’d laugh and joke together. But on the coldest winter days, hottest summer afternoons, and during the hardest stretches of outdoor survival, harsh reality would catch up with him — and he’d show up angry, sad, and desperate for something better.
Everyone agrees: No one should have to live unhoused.
Eventually, Marshall became grounded and determined enough for us to walk with him through housing applications — and at last, he got the keys to his very first apartment.
He was thrilled. We were hopeful. We helped furnish his place, stocked the freezer, and even got him a TV.
And then came the almost predictable post-housing, post-crisis drop.
He showed up to Tuesday lunch at the Dry Bones office — angry, withdrawn, and unraveling. “Life was easier when I was on the streets,” he said. “I might as well go back out there!”
We’ve seen it countless times: a friend moves into a place of new stability (alone or with a group), only to experience a surge of loneliness, depression, and intensified mental health challenges.
It’s counterintuitive. You’d think housing would solve everything — but in reality, it often brings up everything that was buried by the demands of survival. The silence of four walls can amplify the soul’s unresolved noise. Stillness doesn’t cause the pain — it reveals it.
Once survival mode lifts, the body and mind can crash. Trauma, fear, anxiety, depression, and long-ignored medical concerns begin to surface — because there’s finally space for them to do so.
Unfortunately, housing is not a finish line — it’s often the beginning of a more vulnerable and honest journey.
When someone is unhoused, their energy is focused entirely on questions like: What will I eat today? How will I stay warm? Where will I sleep? That urgency masks deeper wounds. But when a person moves into housing, those deeper realities can rush forward. Street community is replaced by isolation. Housing options are often located far from familiar grounds. The routine of crisis gives way to an unnerving quiet. Mental health struggles are no longer hidden by the noise of the streets.
Quiet nights behind locked doors can trigger a very real psychosocial destabilization — one that often catches our friends off guard.
So what’s “The Solution?”
There’s not just one.
At Dry Bones, we’ve learned that while housing meets a foundational need in the hierarchy of survival, it’s not the end of the story. Stability opens the door to healing, but it doesn’t walk you through it. Without ongoing relational support, housing alone can actually intensify disconnection. That’s why our presence of love and support doesn’t stop when someone gets housed — it becomes all the more vital.
The practice of companioning may take on different forms depending on circumstances. While we don’t do it all perfectly, we’ve consistently found that deepening belonging, community, and emotional safety is a sacred thread — one that gently weaves separated aspects of life together. This weaving happens before, during, and after crisis and housing.
Want a glimpse of what sacred, simple weaving looks like?
Step into any Dry Bones gathering and you’ll see:
- Housed and unhoused friends gathered in one room – each on a complex journey
- People coloring, doing puzzles, shooting pool, or playing games
- A group strumming guitars and singing Taylor Swift songs
- Friends sitting around a table sharing snacks and conversation
- Someone helping another open their mail (believe it or not, opening mail can be terrifying)
- People crying or laughing — sometimes both
- Hugs, high fives, and secret handshakes
- Someone filling out daunting paperwork with a helper by their side
- Another person quietly collecting hygiene supplies and fresh socks; collecting dignity as their needs are seen and filled
- The sharing of food, water, safe air, and sacred presence
- And so much more
Over the past decade, we’ve been encouraged by growing availability of housing, job programs, medical care, and more. It’s all good stuff! If someone is ready to move beyond survival and walk through the process, there are more resources available today than there were ten years ago (well done, Colorado!). Housing is a huge victory.
Once that step is taken, companioning continues.
And here’s something to contemplate: our street-connected friends aren’t so different from you.
It’s 2025 and so this may feel like a silly question, but – when was the last time your life shifted into a quieter, slower season? Retirement, a child moving out, the loss of a loved one, completing a big goal or project, a career change — these transitions often trigger the same post-crisis drop.
We hope and pray that you, too, are surrounded by people who will sit with you through it all — who will do a puzzle with you, share a meal, go on a camping trip, or simply hold space in the countless ways we all need as your own soul’s unresolved noise finds safe passage.
I could tell a hundred more stories about my friendship with Marshall. He’s steadily been there for me as well. I’m so deeply grateful for companionship, because life is far too challenging to navigate alone.
Dry Bones is deeply curious about the post-housing post-crisis drop. We still have a lot to learn. We’d love to hear your thoughts and experience. We’re also taking our questions to the test-run Wisdom Council that meets in our office on Fridays. We’re excited to keep learning and finding new ways to support this beautiful community of unhoused and street-connected young people.
