HOPE COS

Looking for a different way to support your recovery?

Not every recovery activity has to happen around a table or in a meeting. Sometimes, creating something with your hands can open the door to reflection, conversation, and healing in ways you didn't expect.

We're proud to host CaitSpace Expressions Sessions for Art in Recovery on the 1st Friday of every month at Hope COS at 1930 West Colorado Ave 80904.

**Ring the HOPE COS Doorbell on the West Side of the building. **

No artistic experience is needed. Just come as you are and be open to the experience.

For questions, contact Cait at [email protected]

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HAPPY FRIDAY!
WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!
Join us every Friday for a virtual conversation with our community. Each week we’ll ask a simple question to spark conversation, share perspective, and remind each other that none of us have to do life alone. ❤
Your answer, no matter how small, might help someone else today.

The Trail…

Sherry didn’t think of herself as homeless.

Not really.

She still had a job. Three of them, technically. Cleaning offices from 6:30pm-5am 5 days a week, stocking shelves early mornings four times a week, and doing occasional yard work when people in the neighborhood needed help.

She worked more hours than she ever had before.

It still wasn’t enough.

When the rent on her apartment went up the year before, she had tried everything to keep it. Took extra shifts. Sold furniture. Stopped buying anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

In the end, the numbers just didn’t work.

At first she stayed with a coworker. Then a cousin. Then the back seat of her car until it finally stopped running. Someone told her about the camp along the trail behind the rail line where people were setting up tents.

“It’s quiet back there,” they had said.

Quiet was relative.

The camp had its own rhythm. The crunch of gravel on the trail when someone walked through. The sound of tarps snapping when the wind came down from the hills. The occasional argument that echoed through the trees late at night.

Sherry kept mostly to herself.

Her tent was tucked just far enough off the main path that people didn’t wander by unless they meant to. She woke up early, packed up anything valuable into a backpack before heading to work, and came back after dark.

Most people assumed she was struggling with something.
Addiction. Mental health. Something else…

The truth was less interesting.

Life had just… gotten expensive.

Sometimes in the evenings she would share a drink or take a couple drags from whatever someone was passing around. Mostly just to quiet the constant knot of worry in her chest.

But it wasn’t something she chased.

What she chased was stability.

A door that locked.
A place to leave her shoes without worrying they’d disappear overnight.
A kitchen where she could cook something other than instant noodles.

One afternoon she was sitting on a folding stool outside her tent, repairing the strap on her work bag with a small sewing kit, when she heard voices coming down the trail.

Not the usual camp voices.

These were upbeat. Organized. Out of place.

She looked up.

A group of four people was walking down the dirt path carrying backpacks and tote bags. One of them had a cooler. Another had a bag slung over their shoulder that rattled softly with packages.

They stopped every few tents to talk with people.

Sherry watched quietly.
They weren’t rushing.

They were asking for people by name.

Remembering things.

“How did that job interview go, Monty?” one of them asked someone near the creek.

Another volunteer handed a guy a pair of gloves.

“Told you we’d bring bigger ones this time.”

When the group reached Sherry’s part of the trail, one of them waved. “Hey there.”

Sherry nodded cautiously.
“Afternoon.”

A tall woman with a braided ponytail stepped closer.

“We’re doing outreach today,” she said. “Water, snacks, hygiene kits, socks. Anything you might need.”

Sherry hesitated.
“Water would be great,” she said.

The woman handed her a cold bottle from the cooler.

“Thanks,” Sherry said.

“No problem.”

They stood there for a moment while Sherry took a long drink.
“You been out here long?” the woman asked.

“Couple months.”
The woman nodded.

“I’m Tasha,” she said. “Part of a peer support and outreach team.”

Sherry raised an eyebrow slightly. “Peer support?”

“Yeah,” Tasha said. “People who’ve been through hard seasons of life helping others navigate theirs.”

Sherry looked around the camp.

“This feels like a pretty big season.”

Tasha smiled a little. “Sometimes it is.”

She gestured toward the trail.

“We’ve got an office a few blocks from here. Coffee, showers, laundry, peer support if someone wants to talk things through. Sometimes we can help people connect with housing or other resources.”

Sherry looked down at the bottle in her hands.

“I’m working,” she said quickly, almost defensively. “Just… trying to get back on my feet.”

“That’s great!” Tasha said without missing a beat. “A lot of people we work with are. But it doesn't mean you might not need help with something else. And if you do need support with something, you're welcome to come chat. We'd love to see if there's something that we can help you with. No strings.”

There was no judgment in her voice. Just acknowledgment.

“We’re here if you ever want to stop by,” Tasha added. “Even if it’s just for coffee before work.”

Behind her, the rest of the group had started moving further down the trail, chatting with other people in the camp.

Tasha handed Sherry a small card. “Address is on there.”

Sherry turned it over in her fingers.
“Thanks,” she said.

“No pressure,” Tasha said with a small shrug. “Just another option.”

Then she waved and jogged down the trail to catch up with the others.

The woods settled back into their normal quiet.

Sherry sat there for a while, listening to the wind moving through the trees.

She looked at the card again.

For months, her life had felt like an endless series of calculations.

How much gas could she afford. How many hours she needed to work to eat that week. How long she could keep pretending everything was fine.

But the people who had walked through the camp that afternoon hadn’t treated her like a problem to solve. They saw her as someone who might need a little support.

Sherry slipped the card into the pocket of her work bag.

In a few minutes she would head down the trail toward the bus stop for her evening shift.

But as she packed up her sewing kit, she caught herself thinking about something she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine in a while.

What it might feel like to have a place to go that wasn’t just temporary?

She zipped up her bag and stood.

At the edge of the trail, she paused and looked toward the direction the outreach team had come from.

Maybe tomorrow morning, before work, she would follow that path.

Just to see where it led.

********************************
Note:
The stories shared here may be fictional or based on real events that have been fictionalized to protect identity. When stories are inspired by actual experiences, names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. While not every story reflects a specific real event, the challenges represented are very real for many people in our community.

🪶Did you know Hope COS hosts two Wellbriety meetings every week?

Wellbriety combines the Twelve Steps with Native American teachings and traditions, including the Medicine Wheel, the Cycle of Life, and the Four Laws of Change, to support recovery and healing.

Learn more about the Wellbriety Movement: https://wellbrietymovement.com/

Looking for a different way to support your recovery?

Not every recovery activity has to happen around a table or in a meeting. Sometimes, creating something with your hands can open the door to reflection, conversation, and healing in ways you didn't expect.

We're proud to host CaitSpace Expressions Sessions for Art in Recovery on the 1st Friday of every month at Hope COS.

No artistic experience is needed. Just come as you are and be open to the experience.

For questions, contact Cait at [email protected]