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If you're homeless and in college, what do you do when the dorms close? She faced it.

How one young woman not only escaped homelessness and finished college but is helping others.

This is an original piece by Jessica Sutherland, first featured on Bright and reprinted here with permission. To read more pieces like this, go to Bright and hit the follow button.

The Secret Lives of Homeless Students

After years of homelessness, I graduated college and a competitive master's program. What about the other million-plus homeless students in the U.S.?

By Jessica Sutherland


Did you know that there are an estimated 1.2 million homeless students in American K-12 schools? For many years, I was one of them. My mother and I lived in the same motel room from kindergarten through third grade; after a few years in a “real" home that ended when I was 11, we spent the next six straight years in a cycle of chronic homelessness in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio.

To many people, homelessness evokes images of bums in tent cities, or families sleeping in a station wagon. While we spent our share of time sleeping in a shelter or a car, my childhood homelessness was mostly spent doing what my mother — still, to this day — prefers to call “bouncing around": living in motel rooms, or sleeping in whatever extra space people could find for us in their homes, for as long as we could stretch our welcome. Occasionally, we'd have an apartment for a few months, but we'd never have any furniture, and we'd always get evicted.

Refusing to call our lifestyle “chronic homelessness" didn't mean we didn't keep it a secret, or feel ashamed of it. I spent most of my teen years attending school illegally in my father's sleepy hometown; I was intensely aware that I needed to seem as normal as possible to avoid detection. I didn't completely know the consequences, but I was certain that if people found out, I would get removed to foster care and end up in a new school.

Left: 7th grade yearbook picture. We were living with my godmother when this was taken, but by Christmas, we were in a shelter. Right: 8th grade yearbook picture. We were definitely homeless and I cut my own bangs. All images via Jessica Sutherland and used with permission.

Foster care sounded better than my makeshift life with my mother, but I refused to risk losing my school. My school was my safest place, full of friends I'd known forever — even though I had to keep secrets from them. After spending just one week in a Cleveland public school while staying at a downtown shelter in seventh grade, I was very aware of the quality of education I would lose if we ever got caught. My suburban school was the ticket to the future I knew I was supposed to have: a college education.

I was given several advantages at birth — an able body, an active imagination, a pretty face. From a young age, I developed a sense of entitlement to go with them. When a stranger drew my portrait on a bus when I was in preschool, my mother told me it was because I was the most extraordinary little girl in the world. My early elementary years were spent in a magnet school that laid a great academic foundation and cultivated big dreams. Even when my grades dropped, as homelessness became my normal existence, it never occurred to me that I might not go to college.

I was finally removed to foster care senior year, but thanks to some powerful and clever people, I didn't miss a day at my beloved high school. However, I wasn't able to take my college entrance exams until after graduating — at the top third of my class (literally, I was 101 out of 303). I took the ACT the Saturday after receiving my diploma, with none of the prep most of my friends had, and still managed to swing a 30. I was ecstatic: with that score and my decent GPA, I had a great chance of getting into college next year. I was certain that a life full of opportunity and success would follow.


I only got senior pictures because the photo company chose me to use in advertising, so they were free.

My foster parents made no mention of forcing me out of their home once I turned 18, but as my birthday loomed, I realized I had no plans for my life between high school and college. I began to work more hours at the 24-hour diner by the freeway, saving money and sleeping little. I knew I needed to figure out what happened next. I was about to be a legal adult, but I still felt very much like a foster kid.

A late-night TV commercial caught my notice after a long shift at the diner: the nearest state school, Cleveland State University, was still accepting applications. I dragged a dear friend on a campus tour the following week. It was weird to be choosing a college in July. My friend was going to a fancy private school a few hours away, but she validated my excitement when we toured the largely commuter school's lone dormitory, a converted Holiday Inn.

“I can see you living here," she said. And so I applied.

At my interview, the admissions officer asked me why, with stats like mine, I would ever apply there. At the time, the school was not known for high standards of admission.

I didn't tell her I was a foster kid with nowhere else to go; I didn't tell her it was my only chance to avoid a gap year; I didn't tell her the structure of the dorm seemed like a better idea than living on my own at 18. I simply expressed my desire to learn.

My acceptance letter arrived within the week. My beautiful parents allowed me to stay with them, rent-free, for the two months between my birthday and the dorm's move-in day. I checked the right boxes on my FAFSA and got grants and academic scholarships I needed to cover most of my expenses. I walked onto two sports teams, in order to cover the rest without loans.

I was going to college, without a gap year interrupting my education. But it never occurred to me that I might not graduate.

"However, a familiar panic set in: where would I live until then? I didn't want to take summer classes just so I could keep my dorm room."

I breezed through my freshman and sophomore years. Those are the days I think of fondly as my most typical college experience.

As a cheerleader for a Division I basketball team, and a mid-distance runner, I was more sheltered and supported than I realized. A small staff oversaw my medical health, while another tracked my academic performance and guided me towards graduation. Thanks to mandatory team study halls and frequent physical therapy in the training room, most of my social circle was comprised of other athletes.

Getting tossed in the air as a CSU Vikings cheerleader.

I traveled for my teams, and I traveled with my friends. I spent spring break in Florida and threw up in the sink of a beachfront McDonald's (to this day, I can't hold my alcohol). I was assigned a crazy roommate who used to stand over me in my sleep, but it wasn't until she threatened to throw me out of a window, in front of our RA, that I learned that I could do something about it. I was upgraded to a large single, and my baseball-playing boyfriend began to spend the night most of the time. I worked at a ridiculously expensive clothing store in a nearby mall.

I was a normal college kid.

Freshman year.

By the end of sophomore year, I was eager to keep up with my friends who felt they were too old for the dorm. I agreed to move into a house with a fellow athlete that coming fall.

However, a familiar panic set in: where would I live until then? I didn't want to take summer classes just so I could keep my dorm room. Even if I did, I would still have to move out of the dorm for two weeks between semesters. I'd spent those closures at my foster parents' house in the past, but the room where I slept had since been converted to an office.

“I have an idea," my baseball-playing boyfriend said to me one night. “You should move into my room for the summer. My mom won't care." He was headed out of state, to play in some competitive league for the entire summer.

“No way. I could never ask her to do that. She'd never say yes."

“I already asked her. She already did."

"Nobody was keeping me in line; nobody was telling me I was allowed to make mistakes."

Junior year was a disaster. My friend and I found an apartment, but she secretly decided to transfer schools mid-year, so she never signed the lease. When she moved out, I was responsible for more rent than I could afford. I soon began working at a downtown brewery more, and going to school less. There was nobody to ask for help or guidance, and my attempts to live with other roommates failed miserably.

Ultimately, I broke the lease and moved into a much cheaper and crummier apartment in a much worse neighborhood. My baseball-playing boyfriend and I fought constantly, and finally broke up. I dabbled in a different major, and my grades plummeted. I'd quit athletics that year, and my life suddenly lacked the excitement and structure it once had. Nobody was keeping me in line; nobody was telling me I was allowed to make mistakes.

For the first time in my life, I got an F on my report card. I decided I needed to take a semester off.

When I told my family about leaving school, nobody challenged me. Nobody told me it was a bad idea to drop out, that nearly half of college dropouts will never return to finish their degree. At 20, completely on my own, I needed an advocate, a mentor, a bossy guide to force me to take the harder road.

But as much as I needed a kick in the butt, nobody told me to keep going. So I didn't.

I dropped out for what became five years, before finally hitting a ceiling at my sales job that could only be shattered with either three more years of experience or a college degree. My boss had always insisted that I was too good for sales, and he strongly encouraged me to finish my bachelor's so I could have more choices.

So, at 25 years of age, I decided to finish what I had started, and returned to Cleveland State as a junior. I didn't have the support of the athletic department, but I had enough life experience to navigate the madness of choosing the right classes and filling out endless paperwork. I knew how to pay bills and keep a roof over my head.

In the meantime, Cleveland State had made vast improvements, and so tuition had tripled. I had no choice but to take out loans to offset what grants didn't cover. I took work as a cocktail waitress to pay my bills.

My first Film Festival, with a film I made in undergrad.

In 18 months, I had my degree — and decided to continue my education even further. After internships and student projects at local news stations and with the Cleveland Indians, I knew I wanted to work in film and television. I had always fantasized about attending film school, but it wasn't until two of my CSU professors pushed me to apply that I thought I might actually get accepted. They were right about me: I got in everywhere I applied, and chose the University of Southern California (USC) School of Cinematic Arts for my Master of Fine Arts.

While packing to move to Los Angeles, I found a box with abandoned applications and glossy USC brochures from years past. USC had been my dream school for nearly a decade, especially while I was dropped out of college. I smiled to myself as I realized how far I'd come. That abandoned dream was about to become reality.

By 2012, I had a master's degree from USC and a good job at Yahoo!, which I thought was everything I wanted. I always knew I would tell my story one day; now that I had a happy ending, I had the power to help other homeless kids like I once was.

Graduating USC.

Eventually, I went to observe “Mondays at the Mission," a wonderful life skills class for teenagers at the Union Rescue Mission on Los Angeles' Skid Row. When a scheduled speaker got stuck in traffic, I was asked to share my story as a backup. I remember feeling unbelievably nervous. Though it was my story, there was a lot to say, and I had nothing prepared. Before I could say no, founder Christopher Kai assured me that my story was worth telling. I pushed through, speaking for 45 minutes.

I wanted those children to know they had nothing to be ashamed of, that homelessness is not permanent, and that scars heal. Most importantly, I wanted them to learn to ask for help. Once I'd learned to ask for help, to accept it, and to trust others, my life got so much better. I told them that nobody was waiting for them to fail. They had to be brave and open up to trusted adults.

My speech captivated the kids. One student asked me why I didn't cry as I told my sad story. I said that even when things hurt us, wounds heal. Scars remind us of the pain we've survived, but they themselves do not hurt anymore.

After class, a soft-spoken boy named James lingered. I only came up to his shoulders, but his shyness made him seem half my size. “Do you think you could help me get into college?" he asked.

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. I'd barely gotten into college myself, but…

“Absolutely."

The first photo James and I ever took together.

A year later, my young friend was accepted into 9 out of the 13 schools he'd applied to. In the end, he chose Howard University. He also chose student loans, which are, with rare exception, a necessary evil when attempting to better oneself through higher education.

When his Parent PLUS loans were declined, due — somewhat ironically — to his family's poverty, I created a crowd-funder for him on Tumblr, using the hashtag #HomelessToHoward. It went viral overnight. Within two weeks, we'd raised so much money that I had to apply to start a nonprofit in order to protect the funding as scholarship, rather than income.

I had a master's degree in my dream field, from my dream school; I was on track to a decent career as a producer. While I'd always hoped to inspire young people with my story one day, I hadn't planned to give up my producing career just as it began. I was ill-equipped to run a nonprofit to help homeless kids. But by this point, I'd realized that my life doesn't always go according to plan.

"Yet somehow, when all was nearly lost, someone always saved my day, cheered me on, and pushed me forward. What if Homeless to Higher Ed could be that someone for the 56,000 homeless kids in our colleges today?"

Most nonprofits start with an idea. Planning comes next, then fundraising, and then hopefully publicity. My organization, Homeless to Higher Ed, was built in reverse: We raised money and went public before I knew what our precise mission would be.

I watched my young mentee closely as he transitioned to a college student and mini-celebrity. I quickly realized that money didn't provide everything he needed to thrive; there was so much more to it than that. So I began researching homeless students in American colleges. And I was shocked to find that I could see myself in the statistics.

There were over 56,000 homeless and aged-out foster youth enrolled in American colleges in 2014. I learned that more than 90% of them won't graduate within six years. It took me nine years to get my bachelor's.

Even in a dismal economy, unemployment rates decrease as education level rises: to wit, education is the most reliable escape from poverty. And the most consistent indicator of success in college is whether or not the student's parents attended college. I had no college-educated relatives guiding me.

I also learned that homeless college students tend to be secretive. Fiercely independent. Eager to fit in. Afraid they have no right to be in college. Ashamed of their poverty. Paranoid about what poverty says about them to others. These traits combine to make them hard to identify — and it's even more challenging to get homeless students to accept help, much less ask for it. Daresay that most of them think they don't need it.

I'd never really thought about the odds that I'd beaten to get where I was. To me, it was the only normal course for my life, and failure wasn't an option. Except, of course, for all those times when it was.

Yet somehow, when all was nearly lost, someone always saved my day, cheered me on, and pushed me forward. What if Homeless to Higher Ed could be that someone for the 56,000 homeless kids in our colleges today?

“Homeless college students? That's a thing?"

Six months after incorporating the nonprofit, I had our mission: to normalize the college experience for homeless and aged-out foster youth. This also means that we need to de-stigmatize homelessness, so students in need will self-identify and get the help they need.

I often joke that my greatest shame is now my claim to fame. It's now impossible to Google me and not know that I spent a long time homeless. It's not something I've hidden about myself; I've been open about my childhood for my entire adult life. However, homeless students in college are often quite ashamed of their background, and struggle mightily to hide it. In fact, that 56,000 number is likely just a fraction of the actual homeless and aged-out foster youth in American colleges today, since it's based solely on students' willingness to self-report.

9 times out of 10, whenever I tell someone that I am building an organization that helps normalize the college experience for homeless students, the reaction is, “Homeless college students? That's a thing?"

Yeah. It's a thing. But it doesn't have to be.

Holly Morissette/LinkedIn
When a Patagonia employee breastfed her baby in a meeting her male VP's response was a masterclass in workplace values

Years after first engineering it, Patagonia's approach to the "family-friendly workplace" is on a whole new level that still deserves our attention - and praise. Unfortunately, parents all over the U.S. are struggling with burnout, high costs, unreliable childcare, poor paid leave, and more — in short, they're hanging on by a thread. But it's extremely reassuring to know that there are still some companies that value parents in the workplace and are fighting hard to keep them happy.

The outdoor clothing and gear company has made a name for itself by putting its money where its mouth is. From creating backpacks out of 100% recycled materials to donating their $10 million tax cut to fight climate change to refusing to sell to clients who harm the environment, Patagonia leads by example. It's made them not only an admired brand when it comes to values and integrity, but a beloved one with its own customers, who are fiercely loyal.

That dedication to principle is clear in its policies for parents who work for them, as evidenced by a 2019 viral post from Holly Morisette, a recruiter at Patagonia.


patagonia, workplace, office, career, benefits, paid leave, parental leave, parentingPatagona has always done a great job taking care of its employeesYukiko Matsuoka/Flickr

Morissette's stunning story begins with bringing her baby into a meeting at the office and proceeding to breastfeed as the team around her continued to discuss ROI, KPIs, EBITDA, and all those other acronyms corporate office culture loves so much.

That's when a male colleague took note of what she was doing.

Morrissette described the incident later on LinkedIn:

While nursing my baby during a morning meeting the other day after a recent return from maternity leave, our VP (Dean Carter) turned to me and said...”There is no way to measure the ROI on that. But I know it’s huge.”

It got me thinking...with the immense gratitude that I have for on-site childcare at Patagonia comes a responsibility to share a “call to action”. A PSA to tout the extraordinary benefits that come along with not asking employees to make the gut wrenching decision to either leave their jobs or leave their babies. TO HAVE TO LEAVE THEIR JOBS OR LEAVE THEIR BABIES. That perhaps just one person will brave the subject with their employer (big or small) in the hopes that it gets the wheels turning to think differently about how to truly support working families.

That with a bit of creativity, and a whole lot of guts, companies can create a workplace where mothers aren’t hiding in broom closets pumping milk, but rather visiting their babies for large doses of love and serotonin before returning to their work and kicking ass.

It’s no wonder that Patagonia has 100% retention of moms. Keeping them close to their babies keeps them engaged. And engaged mothers (and fathers!) get stuff done.

Thank you, Patagonia, for leading the way.

patagonia, kids, children, parenting, employee benefits, company culture, parental leave, paid leaveWhile nursing my baby during a morning meeting the other day after a…www.linkedin.com


The post gathered massive attention on social media where commenters were smitten, if a little jealous:

"I was never so confident to nurse during a meeting, but I love that you were. I especially love the response. No different than an adult eating a protein bar. No one should bat an eye."

"I am in absolute awe over your story and I thank you so much for sharing it. We go to work to support our families, but we stay with great companies because they support us as people, as humans, and they see us and appreciate us where we are at. Beautiful."

"Amazing! How I wish I had this with by kids. One of my "fun" memories was when I worked for an insurance company with no room available for nursing moms. I pumped 3 times a day in an empty office with no window shades nor a lock."

Just the first eight words of Morissette's post are extraordinary. "While nursing my baby during a morning meeting..."


the office, office, workplace, career, parenting, working moms, breastfeedingNot sure if Dwight Schrute would be as accomodating.Giphy

As if that's totally normal. As if everyone understands that working moms can be much more engaged and efficient in their jobs if they can feed their baby while they go over sales figures. As if the long-held belief that life and work must be completely separate is a construct that deserves to be challenged.

And then the comment from her male colleague about the ROI (Return on Investment) of breastfeeding—witty, considering the time and place, and yet so supportive.

On-site childcare so that parents don't have to choose between leaving their jobs or leaving their babies. Letting life integrate with work so that working families don't have to constantly feel torn in two different directions. Flexibility in meetings and schedules. Allowing for the natural rhythms and needs of breastfeeders. Making childcare as easy and accessible as possible so that employees can be more effective in their jobs.

All of this seems so profoundly logical, it's a wonder that more companies have not figured this out sooner. Clearly, it works. I mean, who has ever heard of a 100% retention rate for mothers?

But that's not all folks! Patagonia has extended its support for parents in recent years by allowing up to a staggering 16 paid weeks off. Parents and non-parents alike also enjoy top-notch healthcare, college tuition reimbursement, and so much more.


Patagonia founder discusses why the company's values are so importantwww.youtube.com

The company could almost be a case study in employee retention when it comes to parents. Experts say the things workers value the most in their career when they have children are paid time off, flexible scheduling, and help with childcare.

One more thing that makes a huge difference? A great manager who understands and supports the parent's needs. In this case, maybe one who doesn't flinch at a breastfeeding mother in the workplace.

Patagonia's got it goin' on. Let's hope more companies take their lead.

This article originally appeared on six years ago.

Man walking his dog saves boy who fell into the Seneca River

The thing about community is you don't have to know the people in your community to look out for them. Thankfully this is something that has resulted in neighbors helping neighbors in mundane and extraordinary situations. One little boy in New York is still alive thanks to one of his community members looking out for him when he found himself in pretty serious trouble.

Ed Rohmer, 61 was out walking his dog near the Seneca River in Baldwinsville, NY when he spotted seven-year-old Makai Bays walking with his bike across Lock 24. Where the boy was walking sits atop a water filled area that is opened and closed to raise or lower boats in the canal like an elevator. Makai stopped pushing his bike and, instead, climbed onto the large locking area where he sat dangling his feet. This prompted Rohmer to call out to the boy, hoping to stop him from making a grave mistake.

But just after Rohmer yells to the boy to be careful, Makai slipped off the lock and plunged into the frigid water below. The man attempted to cross the lock to get to the boy, but Rohmer tells syracuse.com that his dog Maggie refused to go over the grates. It didn't stop him from going after the child desperately trying not to drown in the cold river. Rohmer spotted an older kid on a skateboard and handed his dog over to them, then he rushed to try and get Makai out of the river.

All of this is happening while Makai's mom, Taylor Provost was at work. The mom of four left her 18- year-old daughter to babysit her younger siblings while Provost worked an evening shift. Makai was out with two other little boys playing when the kids got separated after deciding to go to the park. It was then that Makai, who had recently moved to that part of town, ended up next to the river where he fell in.

Thankfully, Rohmer happened to be nearby. After he witnessed the boy fall into the river, he rushed to save him—and then called 911. When the man made it to the edge of the lock he could see Makai hanging onto a log. It turns out the little boy didn't know how to swim, so the log was the only thing keeping him afloat. However, with the water so cold, it would only be a matter of time before he could no longer hold on.

Rohmer told syracuse.com that he yelled down to the scared boy, “I’m here. I'm going to help you."

The good Samaritan held the boy's bike over the lock and instructed him to grab onto the wheel so he, Rohmer, could use it to pull him up. Unfortunately, Makai's hands were so numb at this point that it was too painful for the boy to hold on. After a couple of failed attempts to grab his bike's wheel, the little boy slipped under the water. In an instant he was gone; one of his shoes floated to the top of the water where his head had just been.

In a Facebook post, Rohmer wrote, "He grabs it but says he can’t hold on, it hurts his hands. I get him about halfway out of the water and his hands slip off due to him being weighed down by the water and cold and scared. I try this two more times and his head goes under water as [he] falls back in on the second and third try. At this point I’m thinking I’m going to have to jump in if he doesn’t come back up. But i have no idea how I’m going to get him or myself back up."

Just when he was about to hop into the water with no idea how to get out, police and volunteer fire fighters show up. They all work together to figure out how to get the boy out after the bike and life ring didn't work. Eventually, one of the firemen put on special gear while Rohmer held onto his ankles, and lowered him down while another fireman helped from another angle to get the boy out of the freezing water.

After several hours in the hospital and likely lots of hugs from his mom, Makai is back home without injury. Just days after his near death experience in the Seneca River, Makai got to meet his real life hero with his mom and sister by his side.

It takes a village, as they say.

People who work with children—teachers, coaches, mentors—are often beloved by the kids they serve, especially if they're good at what they do. Those caring adult relationships are important in a child's life, but they can also lead to some awkward situations as kids learn appropriate ways to show affection to different people. A baby might cover their mother's face with slobbery kisses, but other adults may not appreciate that very much. As kids grow, they learn what's okay and not okay, not just from their parents but from the village of adults in their lives as well.

A perfect example of what that looks like was shared in a video showing a swim instructor at the end of a swim lesson with a toddler who hugged him and then went in for a kiss. The hug was expected and welcome—"Thank you, Mila. I love Mila hugs!" the swim coach said. But when she started to go in for a kiss, he immediately pulled back, gently saying, "No, no kissy. No kissy 'cause I'm coach. You only kiss Mommy and Daddy, okay?"

The little girl looked a bit dejected and started to cry, and he quickly gave her an acceptable alternative. "Okay, hey! High five!" he said, while holding up his hand. "High five 'cause we're all done!" She calmed right down, gave him a high five, and then he moved on to clean-up time.

Watch:



His expression at the end of the video says it all—he knew that was a teachable moment that could have gone very wrong, but he handled it with clear professionalism and toddler-friendly expertise. People loved seeing such a great example:

"So sweet... I sometimes have young clients who want to give kisses and it's so cute but you do have to tell them "no" because it's an important boundary to learn. Not everyone wants kisses!"

"On top of knowing not to do it to other people, it also teaches them for themselves that other people shouldn’t be just giving them kisses."

"The kid is absolutely adorable but that coach is on another level. Creating the boundaries while keeping it cool and recording the whole thing so the parents are extremely comfortable. Dude is setting a hell of example."

"It sounds like he's got a good balance between encouraging her growth and setting appropriate boundaries. Kids can be incredibly affectionate, and it's important to gently guide them in understanding what's suitable."

Jake Johnson Fox GIF by New GirlGiphy

"I also think it’s important for the parents’ comfort that a grown man swimming with their young girl isn’t overstepping boundaries/being predatory. From the outside looking in, it’s hard to know for sure when something is innocent or not. It’s better to just stay away from those situations as a whole."

"The little girls I used to babysit always tried to give me kisses (they were between 2-5) and I had to tell them that I’m not related to you, so you can’t kiss me. You can hi-five or hug me, but no kisses! They still give me running tackle hugs when they see me!"

A few commenters pointed out that some cultures see kissing as totally acceptable, as it's frequently used as a friendly greeting for people of all ages and genders. But even in those cultures, boundaries based on relationships and contexts are important to learn, and it's helpful when adults help teach those lessons so it doesn't all fall on the parents.

Well done, Coach. Thanks for giving us all such a fabulous example to follow.

This article originally appeared in January

Joy

Woman shares the one heartwarming request she got while visiting a nursing home

A beautiful story reminding us that some things never change.

@brittanydspivey/TikTok

We need more stories like this.

When vocal coach Brittany Spivey’s mother passed away in 2022, she began sharing her grief journey—and all the discoveries and transformation it brought—online. Including one particularly lovely story involving her visits to a nursing home.

As Spivey explains in the video below, once her mother had passed, she no longer had living parents, or grandparents, which prompted her to start making visits to her local nursing home. She arrived with flowers in hand and asked the front desk person which residents haven’t had many visitors in awhile.

Much to her surprise, the front desk worker replied that most residents don’t get visitation all that often. That day, Spivey was assigned two sisters, each of whom hadn’t expected anyone to come. After chatting together for a few hours, Spivey had “fallen in love” with each of them, and felt like she had been “sitting with her grandma and mom all over again.”

@brittanydspivey If youre in the mood for a beautiful story time 🥹🫶🏾❤️ #storytime #nursinghome #family ♬ The Song of Angels - Before the Throne

Pretty soon, Spivey began making regular visits, which included dropping off occasional gifts. To make sure she was actually getting her gal pals something they’d enjoy, she asked them, “Is there anything you need?”

Their response? “Girly things”: Butterfly hairclips, lip gloss, hair bows, little accessories, even a jewelry making kit. Not the basic toiletries or clothing items Spivey anticipated, but full-on kiddie toys.

Of course, Spivey was happy to oblige. The next day she and her daughter arrived with little trinkets to help make them “feel like the girls that they are.” And after that, the sisters got so excited each time they would see her.

“It was so beautiful. I miss my mom… I miss my grandma…so beautiful because I still get to have that relationship,” Spivey concludes> She then encourages everyone, but especially those who have lost a loved one, to dedicate a free day to their local nursing home or assisted living facility, and particularly to seek out the residents who don't get regular visitors.

@brittanydspivey 🥹❤️🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾
♬ flower day - jeanie

Spivey’s story certainly touched many viewers, and even inspired a few folks to follow in her footsteps.

“Because of this, I have volunteered for a nursing home this Thursday. Thank you.”

“I’m gonna volunteer. I’m going to be unemployed and it sounds like a beautiful way to connect. We’re human and want connections.”

Others chimed in to share their own beautiful experiences.

@brittanydspivey Replying to @earthtotiana this comment makes me SOOOO happy ! 🥹🫶🏾❤️ Heres another update! #nursinghome #love #family ♬ Secret Place - Deeper Soaking Worship


“I did this. I met a man who cried every time I left, and forgot me every time I came. He showed me photos one day, and I realized he was my neighbor from across the street when I was a kid.”

“I became penpals with a man in a nursing home during Covid. We wrote to each other every week for three years. He passed away a year ago and I miss Harold every day.”

A few nursing home workers also noted how it is indeed a precious thing when someone visits, and how easy it really is to make their day: “I work at a nursing home, especially with dementia residents. No one visits them, and all they do is pace around the halls calling out for loved ones. It’s heartbreaking.”

“I work at a nursing home. It’s so true! They just want love, someone who listens to them, and simple things.”

This story beautifully captures how with age comes a return to childlike joy. Many of us in our inherent (and taught) fear of growing older forget that it also comes with this blessing. It also reminds us that while we might not be able to physically interact with those who have moved on, we can still experience the deep connections created by those relationships if we only seek them out.

Science

A scientist created a 'utopia' for mice and then they all started dying

The results are fascinating, but are they relevant to humanity?

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How could Mouse Heaven go so terribly wrong?

In 1968 John Calhoun, a scientist and animal behavioralist, decided to create a "utopia" for mice. It would have unlimited food and water, with beautiful nesting spaces and plenty of materials for the mice to make cozy homes with. Sweet experiment! the mice were probably thinking. Much better than the Maybelline trials we're used to.

However, there was a catch, of course. There was one thing the utopia would be lacking, and that would be physical space. As the mouse population grew, overcrowding would become an issue, and Calhoun wanted to study the problems this would potentially cause. That sound you hear is the collective sigh of the disappointed mice who were stoked about the 24/7 all-you-can-eat buffet.

The experiment, dubbed Universe 25, began when Calhoun introduced four mouse "couples" into the utopian complex. A year or so later, it was overrun and the conditions had turned hellish, even though the mice had not run out of food or water.

mouse, mice, animals, science, research, studies"The conditions had turned WHAT?"Giphy

Initially, for just the eight original mice, the square box Calhoun built included 256 nesting boxes (or apartments) stacked on top of one another. Water bottles and food dispensers were located all along the nesting spots, and mice could travel throughout the complex at will via mesh tunnels. The starter mice were also screened for diseases and the population was obviously protected from predators. The climate was controlled and comfortable. Conditions were perfect.

The first mouse pups showed up a little over three months later, with the population of the colony doubling every 55 days. Nineteen months later, there were 2200 mice living inside the box. With such perfect surroundings, the infant mortality rate was practically zero, leading to the rapid rise in numbers.

mice, mouse experiments, scientific research, animal experiments, overpopulationJohn Calhoun poses with his rodents inside the mouse utopia.Yoichi R Okamoto, Public Domain


By month 19, this rodent utopia had become an overcrowded hellscape. Calhoun noticed three alarming trends, in particular.

In short, everything was devolving into chaos and the very society of the mice began to collapse at a rapid rate.

The "Beautiful Ones" and the "Dropouts": Mice have a complex social hierarchy ruled by dominant alpha males. Sam Kean of Science History Institute Museum & Library notes that, in the wild, non-dominant males (the ones who lose macho showdowns) can skip town and start over somewhere else. But in the close quarters of Calhoun's experiment, with nowhere to hide, they were forced to hang around and viciously battle with each other over scraps. Eventually, non-dominant male mice, which Calhoun called the "Beautiful Ones," withdrew from society completely and only ate, slept, and groomed themselves.

Though resources were unlimited, certain aggressive males hoarded them anyway: The alpha males ruled over everything in the once-utopian mouse society. They kept harems of females in the apartments to mate with and fought fiercely to defend their territory. But new waves of hungry young male mice kept coming and coming, and eventually even the most dominant alphas abandoned their posts. This led to more attacks on nursing females, which in turn led to more mothers kicking their pups out of the nest early.

Birth rate declined dramatically: With the non-dominant males giving up completely and focusing on #SelfCare, dominant males too exhausted from endless battles, and females sick and tired of it all (many became asexual hermits by the end), stopped mating and giving birth entirely. Once this happened, the society was doomed. Even with plenty of food still available, cannibalism was rampant.

Calhoun was not shy about drawing parallels between his research and humanity. "I shall largely speak of mice, but my thoughts are on man, on healing, on life and its evolution," he once wrote.


mice, mouse experiments, scientific studies, universe 25, sociology, overpopulationAlpha male mice, anyone? Photo by Kanashi on Unsplash

There are aspects of his wild experiment that certainly sound familiar.

We live in a world with plenty of resources for everyone, but a few select people hoard more than their fair share. When you think of the rodent "apartments," it's hard not to picture densely packed urban environments where people are stacked on top of each other at every turn. Maybe on some level some of us can relate to the “Beautiful Ones” and their urge to not participate in all the ugliness and just sequester and groom themselves. You can make an argument that when the mice stopped having to worry about food and shelter, it removed the element of challenge from their lives and left them lost–like many of us are lucky enough to not have to wonder where our next meal comes from, and maybe that has something to do with our never-ending search for meaning. Some even go so far as to link more people choosing to delay having children, or not have children at all, with the collapsing society of the mice.

But Calhoun's work has also been heavily scrutinized, with some claiming it's based on shaky science. And in the end, there’s the small matter that humans are not mice. We are infinitely more complicated, and so much better suited to adapting to our environments. Kean writes, "Ultimately Calhoun’s work functions like a Rorschach blot—people see what they want to see."

It's fascinating and thought-provoking nonetheless.