One of the assumptions people often make is that difficult environments are defined by the behaviour of those creating the difficulty.

I am no longer convinced that is true.

Over time, I have come to believe that difficult environments are often defined by how we choose to live within them.

Australia is experiencing a housing crisis. Rental prices continue rising, affordable housing is increasingly difficult to secure, and many people would gladly accept the opportunity to live where I do. I know that, and I remain grateful for my home.

The lake still sits beyond the trees each morning. The seasons still change. Water birds still cross the reserve at sunrise when human beings are not interfering unnecessarily with the natural balance already present there.

Yet gratitude does not require blindness.

It is possible to appreciate where you live while recognising that parts of it could function far better than they do.

Over the years I have watched standards rise and fall. I have watched neighbours arrive and leave. I have watched tensions develop, the organisation change staff, policies come and go, and the same issues repeat themselves in different forms.

What interests me now is not so much the dysfunction itself.

It is how I survived living alongside it.

The answer is surprisingly ordinary.

I planted things, purchased headphones, started playing music that others cannot hear and began writing again.

I learned which battles mattered and which did not. I learned to say no and to put myself first.

I documented what needed documenting and let go of what did not.

I paid attention to people who had earned my respect and spent less time worrying about those who had not.

I grew roses.

I shared herbs, citrus and vegetables.

I learned to read the play.

And perhaps most importantly, I stopped expecting other people to care about certain things as much as I did.

I have demonstrated to others how to stand up for themselves. Along the way, a few people discovered they were capable of standing up for themselves as well.

It was acceptance.

There is a difference.

What happens here after I eventually leave is largely beyond my control. New tenants will arrive. Others will move on. Staff will change. Policies will change. Life will continue, as it always does.

My hope is simple. That people appreciate what they have.

This place has given me shelter, stability, beautiful views, friendships, laughter, lessons, frustrations, roses and food to share, and far more material for reflection than I ever expected. For all its imperfections, it has also been my home.

— Saint Parousia