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Susan calls her car her “tiny house,” because for now, it is the only home she has.
A lifelong Fayette County resident who will turn 60 in June, she never expected to be here—parking in familiar places, moving when she needs to, and trying not to draw attention. During the day, she finds ways to pass the time—reading, listening to podcasts, or stepping inside a nearby store for a short break from the heat. At night, she sleeps in her car.
“I guess it’s just pride,” she said. “You don’t want everybody to know that you’re living in your car.” That’s why Susan’s name was changed in this story, to keep her anonymity.
A sudden stop
For nearly four decades, Susan worked in health care, helping care for others in moments that mattered most.
“In my career, I can’t count on my hands and toes how many lives I’ve helped save,” she said.
She supported herself, raised a family, and built a life rooted in Fayette County. She describes herself as someone who had always been independent.
“I was a single mom, and I’ve always done everything myself,” she said.
But a combination of life circumstances and health challenges changed that. Susan said she is now disabled and unable to work. She has applied for disability benefits and is waiting for a decision.
“I went from being able to work to not being able to work and having no fallback,” she said.
Looking back, she said long-term financial strain also played a role in leaving her without a cushion.
“I’m not a good picker in men,” she said with a laugh. “My picker is broke.”
She also spoke about a past struggle with alcoholism, saying she had been sober for years before a single relapse several years ago. She said she is now sober again, but the ripple effects of that period contributed to financial instability.
“It just takes one bad decision,” she said. “One bad decision can take you there.”
She has been living in her car for a few months.
A car, a cooler, and daily routines
Now, her routine revolves around survival.
She keeps food in a cooler.
Recently, she was approved for food stamps. That has made it easier to keep consistent groceries on hand.
A close friend lets her come over every few days to shower and helps with laundry. Public spaces fill in the gaps—places to charge her phone, use the restroom, or briefly sit indoors.
“If it’s too hot outside, because it’s really hot, you’re living in your car, and if you go into an establishment for so long, people start looking at you,” she said.
Cold weather brought its own challenges.
One night, when temperatures dropped to 27 degrees, Susan said her car battery died after she accidentally drained it. With no way to start the car and no one available to help, she spent the night in the cold.
“I couldn’t crank my car,” she said. “I couldn’t find anybody to jump me off.”
She stayed there through the night, unable to warm the car, and with no warming shelter available in the county.
“I’ve never been so cold in all my life,” she said.
The next day, a stranger helped her get the car running again.
The people who notice
For many Fayette County residents, homelessness is not something they regularly see. But for those who begin looking, it becomes harder to ignore.
Krissy Coakley, a 24-year-old Fayetteville resident, said her awareness started with a single encounter. Since then, she has spent time checking on several individuals experiencing homelessness, often after long workdays.
“I’ve kind of gotten connected with another lady…and then another lady who is also in the parking lot,” Coakley said. “So it’s kind of my eyes have been open to the need and the community and the borderline crisis we’re in.”
Coakley works in auto sales and regularly puts in long days. Even so, she said she tries to stop by in the evenings, bringing supplies or simply sitting and talking.
“I think it was good for her just to have someone to sit and talk to, and someone that just not walked past her as they’re going in a grocery store,” she said.
One interaction, she said, shifted her perspective.
“She looked at me…and she said, ‘How’s your day?’” Coakley said. “I can’t even begin to describe how that has absolutely shattered me and shifted me.”
Easy to overlook
Both Susan and Coakley describe a version of homelessness that does not always match public perception.
There are no large encampments or visible shelters in Fayette County. Instead, people move between parking lots, cars, and temporary arrangements, often blending into the routines of everyday life.
“It makes you wonder just how many other people there are,” Coakley said.
Susan said she regularly sees several others in similar situations.
“I’m not the only one,” she said.
The result is a population that remains largely unseen—present, but not always recognized.
Few places to turn
Both women pointed to the same challenge: a lack of clear, local resources.
“There’s nothing here to help people,” Susan said. “To get help, you have to go out of the county.”
Coakley echoed that concern, saying she has struggled to connect people with consistent support.
“There’s not a community outreach for anyone that’s struggling,” she said. “It almost comes down to a lack of funding, a lack of awareness, and then a lack of education.”
Without centralized services, she said, individuals often rely on informal networks—friends, volunteers, or small acts of kindness from strangers.
Holding on to hope
Susan said she believes her situation is temporary.
“I just know this is not forever,” she said.
For now, she continues her daily routine, largely out of public view, in a county where homelessness is easy to miss unless someone is looking for it.
Next week, The Citizen will introduce you to nonprofits serving the homeless in nearby Coweta.
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