Personal Narrative: My Encounter with the Woman from the Homeless Shelter

Alice could feel her pulse pounding in her temples. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her stomach as she constantly fiddled with her knuckles. She walked down the street yelling as her eyes were narrowed to rigid, cold fire. Alice felt surrounded as they threw rocks and spit on her. She lead a protest for women’s rights that caught the attention of many reporters. “ Women need rights, just like men!” They yelled over and over. A police officer ran over to them and told them to stop and threatened them if they did not stop. As they shackled her, the sadness flowed through her veins and deadened her mind. It was a poison to her spirit, as if a black mist had settled upon her and refused to shift. She felt defeated.

“It was December and the weather bitterly cold. She was a tiny mite, the size of five years, though, as afterward appeared, she was then nine. From a pan set upon a low stool she stood washing dishes, struggling with a frying pan about as heavy as herself. Across the table lay a brutal whip of twisted leather strands and the child's meagre arms and legs bore many marks of its use. But the saddest part of her story was written on her face in its look of suppression and misery, the face of a child unloved, of a child that had seen only the fearsome side of life. These things I saw while seeming not to see, and I left without speaking to, or of, the child. I never

Women have proven time and time again that they are capable, strong, and independent. They’ve proven their worth to society and led us to where we are today. While we still face inequalities in our society, we’ve overcome many hardships not only in our home country, but around the world. We can look at each individual woman above and see how her strength, her confidence, and her dedication contributed to the bigger picture. While individually they may seem like small steps, they are raindrops in the hurricane that helped break down the barricades in our world that trapped these women. Each woman helped to destroy the stigma against their weak and frail bodies, their fragile minds and emotions, and their lack of knowledge of the world. Without women, the Allies would have lost the war. It goes to show that sometimes we have to swallow our pride on our social issues and accept that every person is human. Every person is equal, and if given the opportunity, can be just as contributional as their so-called social

Jerry waves as he walks toward me, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks cleaner than normal and wears a bright, broad smile. Today appears to be a good day for him. They weren’t always good days and sometimes it was hard to tell what sort of mood you’d be on the receiving end of. I have been running into Jerry off and on throughout the past couple of months that I have been working with the homeless outreach in my town. Sometimes what he said was meaningful and deep, with great clarity. Other times I could barely understand what he was talking about; it all came out as mumbles and gibberish.

As she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion she remembered the adventures of the day before. When she got home she passed out from the excitement and strain on her heart. She reached down to check her leg and sighed with relief to find a replacement was already attached. She looked over at her nightstand and noticed her spare glass waiting for her to put them on. As she got out of bed all she could think about was how rude she was to Sam. She walked into the kitchen to see her mother preparing breakfast. She looked around and did not see Sam. She didn’t know why she expected to see her but she was upset that he was not here. Her mom turned a saw her disappointment and said “He seem in quite a rush to leave he left his job to help you.” She was startled by her answer and rushed out the door ignoring the cries from her mother. She hurried Sam’s farm almost throwing up because of the strain on her heart. When she reached the farm she found an old man working the fields. She rushed over and asked, “Where is Sam?” The old man replied, “I fired him because...” She didn’t let him finish She rushed to the road the taste of blood in her mouth from running. She saw a man walking on the road looking forlorn. She called out, “Sam!” The man stopped and turned it was Sam he answered her, “Joy?” She ran into his arms and started to cry. Sam confused hugged her back. She thought to herself about how a horrible incident led to her

I had the opportunity to interview a colleague of mine Brenda, who is a teacher in the Deaf and Hard of Hearing department at our school. Brenda herself is Deaf and was raised by Deaf parents, which benefited her greatly. She began at the Institute for the Deaf and Blind, now known as Montana School for the Deaf and Blind, from preschool to tenth grade. Brenda told me that by the time she had become a tenth grader the school district in Montana was more willing to accept a student who was Deaf. Before this time without the proper legislation like the IDEA law, school districts did not have provide free and appropriate education. Even though she was permitted to attend a mainstream high school, she only took elective type classes. She said that

I had the pleasure of interviewing Ms. Yvonne Dill who attended UIC (University in Chicago) at the age of 16, which she is extremely proud to say. “I loved it because it was close to my home, and although I was close, I was still able to be independent and live on my own. I did graduate from that school in 4 years.” I am also close to home and I enjoy my independence as well. The only difference between she and I is the fact that I did not attend college at age 16. During her first few weeks as a freshman she admits, “I was not nervous, and I felt as if I was where I belonged. I adjusted very easily, and quickly. Three of my cousins (all two years older than me, two of which are twins) also attended the school, which made the transition very

Some women suffer such severe abuse, where they have no one to turn to, even their

:In 2018, being a foreign corespondent has become a ruthless job due to war and poor economic stability across the world, yet it’s still a rewarding career that pays good money and lets you and other people see the world with their own set of eyes, so the real question is how will I do this ruthless but rewarding job well, I will do it by taking footage on the ground or taking photos of the battle or what I am seeing with my eyes on the field. But also I will most defiantly make sure that I am unbiased on the field and treat the audience and the footage with unbiased accuracy and determination no cherry picking out little things that I don't like to show the audience. and so that the people that I am on their side

It was a bright and sunny day in Downtown Iowa City. I limped my sore, broken down body between the alleys, craving the shade of buildings to get some time out of the beating hot sun. I can sense the wondering eyes of many people immediately lock into mine as I walk onto the busy sidewalk. I get paranoid and overwhelmed thinking of everything people could potentially be thinking about me. I have never been the type to care of what others think of me. That is only until I made my ways to becoming homeless. ¨You are just a druggie who can’t keep a job,¨ many have shouted at me. Funny thing is they don’t know is why I am even here in the first place. I ran away when I was 16. My Dad abused my Mom, two little sisters and Me. I’ve been

I always had no friends in life .When I went to school, I waited to be spoken to, never spoke, never was outgoing. When I go home, I imagine that my parents are saying “hi”. The home I go to every day is an oak tree in the park on the side where people litter .Every day at the park I dream of a world called Zoreak with mystical creatures. Six months have passed, since my parents disappeared from this world, I believe that they are alive. I am 18 just graduated from my high school since I am 18 I cannot be adopted. When I went to my tree that night I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up something was different I was not under a tree I was in a cotton candy patch there were no car noises and It smelled like fresh fruit. As the homeless person

In the US, I think that there are not sufficient housing to shield all the females and their kids who may need their help. Despite greater motivation of the police departments to administer these laws, and tougher laws against domestic violence the danger to an abused woman’s natural life is massive. When an abused woman is aided with an order of protection, the abuser may still follow and bother the woman with warnings of additional brutality. I have had friend who was abused and learned that more than half the females who leave brutal men are chased, harassed, and driven to go back

The woman described in this article has undergone countless tragedies. From disease to war, she has experienced something I have no faith that I would be able to endure. The article travels through

Abused women shelters are designed to provide protection, temporary housing, counseling and support for persons of domestic violence.

Women’s shelters, also called domestic violence shelters, serve as a community housing resource for individuals who need to escape abusive situations. Past maltreatment could range from physical violence to psychological or even financial control. AOTA (2011) defines domestic violence as: “pattern of coercive behavior designed to exert power and control over a person in an intimate relationship through the use of intimidating, threatening, harmful, or harassing behavior.” Oftentimes, there have been several layers of abuse happening simultaneously. While residents who end up at shelters have typically lived through traumatic experiences, their specific ordeals and personal reactions to them will vary. The people seeking shelter are survivors who have taken the first step towards changing their lives for the better or people in the middle of crisis.