One of the most damaging myths surrounding veteran homelessness is the belief that homeless veterans must be unemployed or unwilling to accept help. After more than 22 years of working alongside homeless veterans nationwide, I can say with complete honesty that belief has never reflected the truth I have seen in the field or lived in my own life.
Homelessness does not happen in isolation. Many of the veterans I serve are working—some full-time, many juggling multiple jobs—and some even have HUD-VASH support in place. Yet they are still unable to secure or maintain stable housing because rents continue to rise, vacancy rates remain low, unexpected crises derail their progress, or disability benefits take months to process.
Others are doing their very best to seek help, but the process is slow and overwhelming. They face long waiting lists, shifting requirements, transportation barriers, or inconsistent follow-up. More often than not, the veteran is trying—but the system is not keeping pace with their needs.
I often hear:
“I’m working, but it’s still not enough.”
“I’ve been calling everyone—I just can’t get in anywhere.”
“I want help. I just can’t get to it fast enough.”
These are not the words of someone resisting support. These are the words of someone surviving.
When we assume a veteran is homeless because they “don’t want help,” we overlook the real issues: housing shortages, economic pressure, trauma, benefit delays, and lack of emergency resources. This misconception places blame on the veteran instead of the circumstances surrounding them.
It also discourages veterans from reaching out again when they have already been met with silence or misunderstanding.
No veteran should ever feel ashamed for needing help.
Homelessness is a moment in a veteran’s life—not the measure of who they are.
Across the nation, several federal programs help veterans rebuild stability:
🔗 https://www.va.gov/homeless/hud-vash.asp
🔗 https://www.va.gov/homeless/ssvf/index.asp
🔗 https://www.va.gov/homeless/gpd.asp
🔗 https://www.va.gov/homeless/crrc.asp
These programs save lives every day, especially when veterans can reach them early.
Veteran housing works best when communities work together. Landlords, local agencies, faith partners, legal support teams, employment specialists, and volunteers fill essential gaps that federal programs cannot always meet. Their support—whether it’s offering a unit, helping with paperwork, providing transportation, or simply showing up—creates pathways that veterans cannot walk alone.
If you’re a veteran or military family member looking for resources, check out Mission Roll Call’s Veteran Resource Directory to see what’s near you.
Correcting misconceptions strengthens advocacy and leads to better outcomes for veterans. When we understand the real causes of homelessness, solutions become more effective, compassionate, and aligned with the needs of those who served.
To learn more about the realities facing veterans experiencing homelessness, visit Mission Roll Call’s Homelessness & Housing page.
Your voice matters here. We encourage veterans, families, caregivers, and supporters to share their experiences through Mission Roll Call’s national surveys. Your stories help shape policy, raise awareness, and ensure veterans are seen and heard.
Understanding the truth brings us one step closer to ensuring every veteran has what they deserve: stability, dignity, and a place to call home.
Yvette Jones-Swanson is a subject-matter expert on veteran homelessness and housing. A U.S. Army veteran and survivor of MST, she brings more than 22 years of frontline experience helping thousands of veterans secure stable housing.
Before I housed anyone, before I trained anyone, before I became a national advocate — I was a homeless female veteran the system didn’t know how to see.
My Beginning — and the Silence That Followed
I entered the Army searching for direction and purpose. Instead, I was met with MST — trauma I didn’t have the language for, and the military didn’t have the courage to confront. The result was a discharge that felt more like being thrown away than being transitioned. I didn’t understand then that this was the first domino that would topple years of instability, abuse, and homelessness.
After the Army, I married a Marine. I thought I was building a new life. Instead, I stepped into a nightmare. He was abusive — mentally, physically, and violently. I lost my first pregnancy because of one of his beatings. Between 1987 and 1993, I ran for my life more than once. And every time I ran, I ran straight into homelessness.
What hurt just as much was the indifference: “We don’t have anything for women like you.” Not from the shelters. Not from the VA. Not from anyone.
I survived by piecing myself together each time the world tore me apart.
Rebuilding — One Bathroom, One Shift, One Degree at a Time
I eventually understood education was my only escape hatch. I took out student loans, pushed through the chaos, and earned my B.A. from Columbia College Chicago.
But leaving him meant survival on my own terms — even if those terms were brutal. When I finally walked away for good, I slept in my car for three weeks.
I cleaned up in gas station bathrooms, switching locations so no one would catch on. But my favorite place — the one that kept me going — was McDonald’s. I’d wash up, do my hair, grab breakfast, and go straight to my new job at the City of Chicago Department of Revenue like nothing was wrong.
And strangely… even in that car, even exhausted and alone, I could feel my life returning. Piece by piece. Day by day.
It wasn’t comfort. But it was freedom. And that mattered more.
The First Apartment — and the First Spark of My Mission
I eventually scraped together enough to rent a tiny studio over a laundromat in Rogers Park. It was small, but it was safe, and it was mine. The building’s owner introduced me to real estate and a world that felt as foreign to me as starting over. But something about it clicked. I earned my real estate license in 1996 from the Chicago Association of Realtors and built a career completely from scratch with zero guidance. No mentor. No shortcuts. Just me, hunger, and the belief that I could rebuild a life worth living.
I grew quickly in the field, leasing hundreds of units, managing 633 apartments across 14 buildings, leading teams, and building systems no one had taught me. But my life changed the day I met a homeless veteran in a wheelchair during a housing workshop I was conducting at Access Living in Chicago.
The moment I looked at him, I saw her — the young woman I once was, homeless, invisible, scared, trying to figure out why the system didn’t care.
I remember asking myself: “If he’s here… how many more are out there?” I soon found out. Through Hines VA and Jesse Brown VAMC homeless walk-ins, veterans began pouring in, telling stories that sounded too much like mine. And that’s when my mission stopped being accidental.
It became personal.
For the past 22 years, I’ve done one thing relentlessly: I filled the gaps that almost swallowed me. I trained leasing agents. I trained VA social workers. I trained investors on how to serve veterans and remain profitable. I conducted workshops at Volunteers of America Illinois, the Cook County Department of Corrections, the Federal Bureau of Prisons, and for 13 straight years at the Forest Park Vet Center.
Everywhere I went, I said it plainly: “We will not end veteran homelessness until realtors, investors, social workers, and agencies speak the same language and work the same mission.” Because that’s where veterans fall — in the gap between systems that should work together but don’t.
Why I Still Fight
Women veterans remain one of the most invisible populations in America. We are often overlooked, misunderstood, and underserved. And homeless veterans, especially women, are still being turned away, dismissed, or pushed into systems never designed for them.
We don’t end veteran homelessness with committees or promises. We end it with systems that see homeless veterans, understand their lived realities, and respond with urgency and coordination. Realtors, investors, social workers, agencies — you all matter. You are all part of this mission.
I survived what the system missed. Now I’m here making sure no veteran has to survive it alone. The system failed me once — and I will not let it fail anyone else.
And to Mission Roll Call — thank you for giving me the space to tell these stories to the nation. People deserve to know what’s really happening, and more importantly, how they can help. This is more than my story. It’s the truth about what our veterans face, and the mission we must finish together.
Yvette Jones Swanson, M.A., is a writer and Mission Roll Call’s subject-matter expert on veteran homelessness and housing. A U.S. Army veteran and survivor of MST, she brings more than 22 years of frontline experience helping thousands of veterans secure stable housing.
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