By Tonya Adams-Ruffin

In August, I turned 55. Mentally, I like to say I’m 30 — my own little ancient Chinese secret, especially since I have a child who’s now 32. With age comes reflection, and I find myself holding on to memories I can’t take back. Choices I can’t rewind. But every day, I wake up with the same determination: to keep going and to help others do the same.

Not long ago, I was homeless. I had just enough money to rent a room for two nights. But when a local homecoming weekend drove the price up from $79 to $219 per night, I couldn’t keep up. I packed all my belongings into my wheelchair and headed to Jimmy’s Famous Hot Dogs for something to eat. People in the drive-thru saw me sitting in the cold. Some offered money. I tried to turn it down — “No thank you, I appreciate you for offering” — but some were insistent. The kindness reminded me I was still seen.

I called a family member for help moving my things to storage. “I’m on my way,” they said. Hours passed. It got dark. It got cold. I was still waiting.

Eventually, somebody from the restaurant called the Holistic Empathetic Assistance Response Team (HEART) in Durham — a crisis response team that doesn’t treat people like problems, but like people. I only had $98 left, but they helped me find an affordable room, checked my vital signs, and arranged wheelchair-accessible transportation. That night, they were the reason I wasn’t still out there alone. That night, I wasn’t invisible.

Being in a wheelchair adds more complications than most people realize. The aisles in stores are too narrow. Buses often aren’t equipped, or drivers aren’t trained to help people with mobility devices. Sometimes I’m made to feel like a burden just for needing access.

Since arriving in Carrboro and receiving services through IFC, life has been a rollercoaster. I was the only woman sleeping outside the IFC for a while. One morning, I witnessed a stabbing and became the first responder. We called for help, applied pressure to stop the bleeding, and waited with the injured man until paramedics came. That experience was terrifying. But it pulled me into something greater. It led me to IFC’s advocacy program Activate! IFC.

I started with voter engagement and mutual aid. We served coffee and snacks and invited conversation. We created an art circle focused on positive affirmations, designing lotus flowers with encouraging words that we placed around the IFC Commons to inspire hope. I even used the petals to make cards for a dear friend who passed away, a small gesture of beauty during hard times.

I’m also part of the Safe Outdoor Living Campaign. We do mutual aid drops and advocate for a community resource center in Chapel Hill, something our homeless population urgently needs. We’re petitioning for sanctioned land where unhoused people can be safe, and for warming and cooling centers during extreme weather. These aren’t luxuries. These are lifelines.

After a long and uncertain journey, I finally have a place to call home. My personal safe space filled with peace, gratitude, and the warmth of my own touch. With the help of God, my community, and unwavering patience, I overcame homelessness and found stability. My dog KhemiKhai and I are no longer burdened by fear or constant movement. The road was hard and I’m building a future rooted in clarity, dignity, and the promise that things can only go up from here.

Being a part of IFC has reminded me of my worth. And it reminded me of the power of community, not just giving meals and shelter, but giving people their dignity back. I want to help others like I’ve been helped. I want to share safety resources, housing information, and human connection.

Turning 55 doesn’t mean I stop dreaming. It means I dream bigger. For a world where people without homes aren’t treated as less than. For a system that values compassion over convenience. For a community that sees all its members, especially the ones in chairs, on cold streets, or in hard times.

Because we are here. We matter. And we deserve better!