Posted on Sep 1, 2020
VA got me off a merry-go-round life and into social work serving other veterans
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Image: VA Community Employment Coordinator Jackie S. Nguyen (left) and Legal Outreach Specialist John Hoots (right) at a July 2020 Stand Down, where they provided veterans who are homeless or at risk of homelessness with counseling, services and supplies.
I work at a Honolulu law firm assisting my fellow veterans who are homeless or housing insecure with obtaining the Social Security income they have earned so they can live in safe housing, independently.
My clients relate to me as a veteran, sure. But often their initial impression is that I’m one who made it: My professional work clothes and manner might signal that I transitioned from military to civilian life with ease.
When they hear my reality, that I faced their same struggles not long ago, their jaws drop. That’s when I find new openings and make new connections.
Living in a blur
It was just 13 years ago that I was wearing a far different uniform and was in a far different place: I was exiting prison, wearing a state-issued jumpsuit and carrying $20 to my name. I was heading downtown, right back into the merry-go-round life of alcohol, drugs, homelessness and short-term chef jobs that landed me locked up in the first place.
I didn’t see myself as an Army veteran, even though I’d joined at age 17 and served for four years. I didn’t see myself as an addict, even though I drank and did drugs. I didn’t see myself as homeless person, even though I spent six years on couches and sleeping outside.
I didn’t connect the dots. I always worked as a cook. I made money. It was all kind of a blur.
Turning to VA for the first time
Exactly one month after getting out of prison, on Jan. 8, 2008, I woke up on a friend’s floor. I felt restless and irritable. I checked into a homeless shelter and saw a flyer from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). It asked, “Are you a veteran?” and it had a phone number. This time, I called. A caseworker answered and asked me where I was. He was coming to get me.
That phone call changed my life. I had never reached out to VA before. Something finally changed in me, and I was ready to reach out.
That night, I got a bed in a facility, where I felt safe and comfortable sleeping alongside other veterans. The next day, I was assigned a case manager. I was eventually assessed for substance use disorder and referred to a six-month treatment program.
Jackie Nguyen, VA’s community employment coordinator, worked with me from day one. She helped me obtain transitional housing for nine months through US Vets, a phenomenal program in part funded by VA’s Grant and Per Diem initiative. VA provided me with employment services such as resume classes that I could take in the facility’s computer room and job search assistance. I saw all these people helping me, and I just took everything they offered.
I eventually moved into a permanent home, and left the chef’s life for a social work career, first at Honolulu’s Institute for Human Services and now at Hawaii Disability Legal Services, where I work with about 15 to 20 veterans at a time.
Winding path to a new career
I get that not every veteran is ready to make a change or go through the process of enrolling in VA. When I share my story, though, some of the resistance goes away. If you’re not in VA, first get your medical records, enroll in VA health care and explore what other services are offered, from housing vouchers to employment services.
I literally had a VA counselor put my resume together, walk me down to a job center and now I am able to get other veterans into safe, stable housing and, if they can work, into employment. And I tell employers: If you take a chance on a veteran, VA helps that veteran stay employed.
If you’re resistant to VA, my advice is don’t do what I did, and delay care. If you’re on a merry-go-round of miserable, reach out to VA and get off.
I work at a Honolulu law firm assisting my fellow veterans who are homeless or housing insecure with obtaining the Social Security income they have earned so they can live in safe housing, independently.
My clients relate to me as a veteran, sure. But often their initial impression is that I’m one who made it: My professional work clothes and manner might signal that I transitioned from military to civilian life with ease.
When they hear my reality, that I faced their same struggles not long ago, their jaws drop. That’s when I find new openings and make new connections.
Living in a blur
It was just 13 years ago that I was wearing a far different uniform and was in a far different place: I was exiting prison, wearing a state-issued jumpsuit and carrying $20 to my name. I was heading downtown, right back into the merry-go-round life of alcohol, drugs, homelessness and short-term chef jobs that landed me locked up in the first place.
I didn’t see myself as an Army veteran, even though I’d joined at age 17 and served for four years. I didn’t see myself as an addict, even though I drank and did drugs. I didn’t see myself as homeless person, even though I spent six years on couches and sleeping outside.
I didn’t connect the dots. I always worked as a cook. I made money. It was all kind of a blur.
Turning to VA for the first time
Exactly one month after getting out of prison, on Jan. 8, 2008, I woke up on a friend’s floor. I felt restless and irritable. I checked into a homeless shelter and saw a flyer from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). It asked, “Are you a veteran?” and it had a phone number. This time, I called. A caseworker answered and asked me where I was. He was coming to get me.
That phone call changed my life. I had never reached out to VA before. Something finally changed in me, and I was ready to reach out.
That night, I got a bed in a facility, where I felt safe and comfortable sleeping alongside other veterans. The next day, I was assigned a case manager. I was eventually assessed for substance use disorder and referred to a six-month treatment program.
Jackie Nguyen, VA’s community employment coordinator, worked with me from day one. She helped me obtain transitional housing for nine months through US Vets, a phenomenal program in part funded by VA’s Grant and Per Diem initiative. VA provided me with employment services such as resume classes that I could take in the facility’s computer room and job search assistance. I saw all these people helping me, and I just took everything they offered.
I eventually moved into a permanent home, and left the chef’s life for a social work career, first at Honolulu’s Institute for Human Services and now at Hawaii Disability Legal Services, where I work with about 15 to 20 veterans at a time.
Winding path to a new career
I get that not every veteran is ready to make a change or go through the process of enrolling in VA. When I share my story, though, some of the resistance goes away. If you’re not in VA, first get your medical records, enroll in VA health care and explore what other services are offered, from housing vouchers to employment services.
I literally had a VA counselor put my resume together, walk me down to a job center and now I am able to get other veterans into safe, stable housing and, if they can work, into employment. And I tell employers: If you take a chance on a veteran, VA helps that veteran stay employed.
If you’re resistant to VA, my advice is don’t do what I did, and delay care. If you’re on a merry-go-round of miserable, reach out to VA and get off.
Posted >1 y ago
Responses: 8
I am keenly appreciative that I can connect with veterans through various Facebook pages to help those with PTSD. The PTSD Paper I wrote is a road map and it can be accessed by a link to a website. I can do all this from home.
The narrative above in the initial post reminds me of the people I turned to for help. They cared about me and made things happen. They were in my corner and navigated for me. When I said I needed to stop drinking they sent me to a month long rehab center. When I told them I did not feel human anymore, they sent me to an impatient center. They cared about me and made things happen. They gave me a second chance in life.
The narrative above in the initial post reminds me of the people I turned to for help. They cared about me and made things happen. They were in my corner and navigated for me. When I said I needed to stop drinking they sent me to a month long rehab center. When I told them I did not feel human anymore, they sent me to an impatient center. They cared about me and made things happen. They gave me a second chance in life.
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