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Homelessness vs. Housefree: Redefining the Narrative in a Housing Crisis

In a world grappling with a global housing crisis, the term “homeless” is often wielded as an insult, a label meant to degrade. But why should it? I’ve noticed a recurring theme in the comments on my videos: some viewers assume I’m homeless because I live in a van, while others suggest I “find a man with money” to solve my supposed problem. The irony isn’t lost on me—those same critics might call women “gold diggers” in the next breath. What strikes me most, though, is the use of “homeless” as a slur, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. I don’t consider myself homeless, but even if I did, I wouldn’t see it as degrading. Here’s why we need to rethink our perceptions of homelessness and distinguish it from the choice to live “house-free.”

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The Housing Crisis and Misconceptions About Homelessness

We’re living through a housing crisis that’s pushing people to the brink. Young adults can’t afford to move out, families are spending half their income on rent, and even full-time workers are living in their cars. Yet, the stereotype persists that homelessness only happens to the lazy, the addicted, or the irresponsible. This narrative is not just wrong—it’s harmful. It lets us off the hook, giving us an excuse to look away instead of helping.

Have you ever stopped to talk to someone experiencing homelessness? Their stories often reveal a complex web of challenges: mental health struggles, physical disabilities, family tragedies, childhood trauma, PTSD, or addiction as a coping mechanism. Sometimes, it’s just a string of bad luck that spirals out of control. If we were in their shoes, with their background and limitations, we might end up in the same place. Not everyone has access to education, a supportive family, or the invisible privileges many of us take for granted.

Why I Don’t Call Myself Homeless

I live in a van by choice, not necessity. I have money, food, shelter, and a savings account that’s probably healthier than some of the folks offering me charity. People often assume I need help, offering food or a place to crash. While I deeply appreciate their kindness, I don’t need it. Why would I sleep on someone’s couch when I’m perfectly comfortable in my own bed? I’m not rejecting help out of pride or because I think I’m “better” than those experiencing homelessness. I simply don’t need it, and I’d feel guilty taking resources from those who do.

For example, while doing laundry in Perth, I parked near a food bank without realizing it. People saw my van and urged me to get free food, insisting, “It’s free!” But I don’t need free food—I can afford groceries. A single mother of two nearby had every reason to use that food bank, and I’d rather those resources go to her. If I showed up demanding a food package tailored to my vegan diet, I’d probably look like I was out of touch. I’d rather go hungry than compromise my values by eating meat, but that’s a choice I can make because I’m not in survival mode.

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Homeless vs. Housefree: A Crucial Distinction

The difference between homelessness and being “house-free” isn’t just semantics—it’s about choice, resources, and need. In New Zealand, anyone without a fixed dwelling—like people living on boats or in vans—is counted as homeless, regardless of their financial situation. This inflates their homelessness statistics compared to Australia, where the Australian Bureau of Statistics only counts someone as homeless if they lack suitable accommodation alternatives. If you have the means to rent or buy a home but choose not to, you’re not homeless by Australia’s definition.

This distinction matters. Conflating chosen alternative lifestyles with genuine housing insecurity muddies the conversation around a serious social issue. Homelessness is about a lack of choice—people who would choose stable housing if they could afford it or access it. My van life is a deliberate choice, one that allows me to swim with dolphins and live my dream. I’m not struggling; I’m thriving. But the housing crisis is real, and it’s affecting countless people who don’t have the options I do.

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The Stereotype of the “Irresponsible” Homeless Person

Some comments on my videos claim that “law-abiding citizens” are tired of people like me leaving trash and feces everywhere. It’s ironic, given that I’m meticulous about leaving no trace. In fact, I often pick up litter left by others—housed or not. Van lifers like me have a lot to lose: possessions, savings, and, in my case, the risk of deportation to New Zealand if I break the law. (No offense to Kakora, but I prefer Australia’s warmth!)

Now, consider someone who’s genuinely lost everything—home, job, support system, hope. When you’re battling mental health issues or addiction, and society has written you off, the motivation to follow social norms like “leave no trace” might wane. This isn’t an excuse—it’s an explanation. Banning alternative living won’t solve this; better support systems will. We need to address the root causes, not just the symptoms.

How to Support Van Lifers and Those in Need

If you want to help a van lifer like me, offer a parking spot in your driveway for a night or a hot shower. It’s simple, costs nothing, and doesn’t make me feel like a burden. But when I decline offers of food or shelter, I worry it might discourage people from helping someone who truly needs it. That’s why the homeless vs. house-free distinction is so important. One group needs compassion and systemic solutions; the other just needs respect for their lifestyle choice.

Final Thoughts

The housing crisis is a wake-up call to rethink how we view homelessness. It’s not a personal failing—it’s a systemic one. By understanding the difference between those who choose to live unconventionally and those who have no choice, we can focus our energy on supporting those in genuine need while respecting alternative lifestyles. Have you ever considered this distinction? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

As for me, I’m off to find a shower and a new parking spot. After three months in a driveway, I’m back to the wilderness. But don’t worry—I’ll be gone before sunrise, leaving no trace.

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