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The Human Side of Skid Row

I’ve been a Skid Row chaplain for about a year now. Its been a powerful year, not just because I am blessed to minister to the most marginalized of our communities, but because I am getting to see a side of the residents of places like the Hotel Cecil in a whole new light.

The other day, a chaplain table regular plopped down unceremoniously in the chair across from me. She was obviously intoxicated… no, she was spun beyond belief. The words were pouring from her mouth, mostly in a drug-jumbled order. Her hands were flailing around, like she was drowning and grabbing for anything to pull her out.

But in the midst of this word-assault, a few doses of her life emerged.

Rose (not her real name, but a name she has used before) does not disclose a lot when she is sober, or sober-ish. This is a common modus operandi for Cecil tenants. I knew very little about her before this. I knew that she was raised in and around East LA. I knew her name. I knew she had a bit of a crush on me. I knew she had children, but didn’t know how many or how old.

Today was different. In between the splaff of words, I found out that Rose once co-owned an insurance business that had three locations. I learned that she had an abusive ex-husband. I also learned that she suffered from several mental health issues and that she struggled mightily to maintain. Though she denied drug use and chalked her extreme “hyperactivity” to not having her meds, it was pretty clear that she was deflecting — a lot.

When Rose would self-disclose, she would look momentarily shocked that she would reveal so much personal information. She tried to take it back, but realized (I think) that the bell was rung, that the words were out and there was no taking them back.

In that moment, Rose showed her vulnerability in ways I had never seen. Her intoxication, her revelations about her past, her denial of drug use, all of this exposed the depths of her pain, her sense of loss. It was a gift, albeit strange. I was given a glimpse of Rose beyond the bravado that life on Skid Row foists on people. I got to see Rose, in pain, trying to neutralize that pain, struggling through addiction.

Needless to say, I don’t condone drug use. But a large part of my work with the Cecil residents is to meet them where they are. For Rose, that was spun like a top. In her vulnerability, she showed me a far more real side of Rose that I doubt I would have seen otherwise. For that I am grateful.

Our work at the Cecil is community supported. Please consider supporting our work with your generous gift. You can make a monthly or one time gift here. Your contribution will help us reach people like Rose so they can have the resources they need to heal, to grow and to thrive well beyond Skid Row.