Saudah — Rising Above
Finally having her own apartment has been an important process of reflection for Saudah. Through the momentum of good things, she is buoyant — elevated — atop a platform of renewed self-awareness and belief. She can see in both directions; not only where she has come from, but also into the future. She is navigating a safe path to avoid the trappings of previous conflicts that would whittle her mind away in pursuit of a fulfilling and peaceful life — her vision of what success looks like today.
“There was one time I was staying at a shelter. It was a six-month program, and I met a few people there. All of us were homeless or getting out of jail. We all have a story — we would eat lunch or dinner together. I actually saw someone [at St. Patrick Center] recently, and they were so excited. They were like, ‘I got a place.’ I was like, ‘I’m actually looking for a place today.’ We were hugging each other, excited, because we’ve been through that struggle together and we made it. It’s really heartwarming to see someone doing better when you saw them down and out.”
For Saudah, this sense of connection is everything. She understands the struggle of simply being seen as human. In a world that too often turns a blind eye to those on the margins, the stoicism that strips away personality — making unhoused people seem more unhuman — is not a quality she admires.
Life has been a winding road for Saudah, marked by challenges that would have shattered most people. Her story is one of survival against the odds — finding light even when the world seemed intent on keeping her in the shadows. When she speaks about her past, Saudah’s words cut through the air with the rawness of someone who has felt the heavy hand of misunderstanding. “I deal with schizophrenia... I had an episode. I wasn’t on my medication, and it wouldn’t have happened if I was,” she says, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the truth. “Instead of 911, it should’ve been 988, the mental health response. But that wasn’t the case, so they just locked me up.”
In those two years behind bars, Saudah felt the crushing weight of preconceived notions that seemed to smother any chance of understanding. “They gave me labels like, ‘Oh, she’s dangerous,’” she recalls. “No one would talk to me. I didn’t have the right mindset to ask the right questions or give the right answers. I was just upset and scared.”
Jail wasn’t just a place of confinement for Saudah — it was a place where her mind felt caged too. “It’s already scary enough being outside, but when you’re locked up, it’s like no one is talking to you or cares about you,” she explains. “Being locked up was bad, but not being on my medication was worse. It’s twice as bad.” Words that paint a picture of a mind at war with itself, and a system that offered no mercy, no reprieve.
Saudah’s journey became one of searching — both for safety and for herself. “I used to walk everywhere. Not even to a destination,” she says, “The St. Mary’s Hospital out in the county...I used to walk from there to the Arch.” She recalls wandering from place to place, each step echoing her longing for something more than just survival.
Yet, even in the bleakness of those nights spent on benches without a roof overhead, Saudah felt an inexplicable grace. “I’ve slept outside on benches, but I was luckily safe. I look back and wonder, ‘How in the world did I make it out?’ That’s just God’s grace… I know it was God protecting me, I know it was.”
Today, she is no longer alone. Saudah found a team at St. Patrick Center who have walked with her through her struggles, helping her find the stability she once thought was out of reach. “Before [my case manager] came along, I had nothing. Now I have my own place, and I’m looking for employment,” she says. With their support, Saudah feels a newfound sense of belonging, a rare feeling for someone who has walked the path she has. “It’s really heartwarming to see someone doing better when you saw them down and out.”
Saudah’s time on the streets has given her a deep empathy for others facing similar struggles. “Now that I’ve experienced homelessness, I totally resonate with people who are homeless. I’m just like, ‘Man, if I had a dollar, it’s yours.’ I have such a passion now for philanthropy because I want to help homeless people. I know what it’s like to be there. It’s my drive, and I wish I could.”
As Saudah reflects on mental health, she speaks of it with a profound sense of urgency, insisting we need more conversations, more compassion. “I think it should be called ‘mind health.’ I like that more than mental health,” she explains. “Then people don’t just make assumptions about who you are. The more we discuss it, the better off we’ll all be, because more people will be like, ‘yeah, maybe I do need help.’”
Her children are never far from her thoughts, and she holds onto the hope of reuniting with them soon. “I haven’t seen my sons since I was locked up. It’s been almost three years now since I last saw them,” she says. The ache in her voice is palpable as she recalls the joy of past celebrations, the laughter and dancing that filled their time together. “Every time we get together, we have a ball...It’s really sad when they leave, but that’s just the way it is right now.”
Through it all, Saudah holds fast to her gratitude. “Your attitude really makes a difference with the journey, and that’s for anybody. My best attitude is gratitude,” she says, finding strength in what she has, rather than dwelling on what she lacks. “I’m good, and anything more would be a blessing.”
This story is featured in More Than A Soup Kitchen Issue 006