Cornerstone Saved My Life.
Hi, my name is Shelby. I want to share my story.
I’ve been with Cornerstone Housing for Women for 17 years, and it’s no exaggeration to say that this place has saved my life. I wouldn’t be here without your support, and as the year comes to a close, I hope you’ll help Cornerstone continue to offer safety, dignity, and a fresh start to women who need it most.
I grew up in Hamilton, Ontario, the youngest of six kids. My mother raised us alone—my father was never in the picture. We lived in poverty, and I experienced trauma at a young age. There was neglect, verbal and physical abuse, and a lot of hardship that left deep scars. As a child, I remember feeling like there was this invisible wall between me and my family. I was bullied and often compared to my twin sister, always feeling like I didn’t belong. By the time I was nine, I developed anorexia. My illness followed me for years, weighing me down like an anchor I couldn’t shake.
Even during those dark times, I found comfort in words. Writing and poetry became my refuge. I poured my pain into short stories and poems. In those moments, poetry was the only way I could make sense of my life. I also got into photography, a hobby I wouldn’t pick up again until I started living with Cornerstone.
I went to an alternative high school but didn’t graduate. I loved my English class, and it became my lifeline when depression made it hard to cope. I was using words to hold onto hope, even when everything else felt hopeless.
When I was sixteen, I started working as a security guard, but even that chapter was marked by pain. My supervisor preyed on younger, vulnerable women like me, and I was assaulted. That experience added to the trauma I was already carrying, and I tried even harder to disappear.
After leaving high school, I ended up in an abusive relationship. Our relationship ended when he was arrested and put in jail. I moved to Ottawa, hoping to leave my past behind me.
By this point, anorexia had taken over my life. I weighed only 75 pounds when I was admitted to hospital. They helped me regain some strength, and I left weighing 100 pounds, but I was still fragile. After I left the hospital, I was sent to a post-psychiatric care group home. I, once again, was assaulted. The experience nearly broke me.
I moved to Brockville, hoping that a change of scenery would help me escape my past, but for ten long years, I felt trapped, constantly haunted by painful memories. I was in an abusive relationship, and I had nowhere to turn. I struggled to find stability, moving from one place to another, searching for somewhere I could feel safe. In Ottawa, I kept coming back to Cornerstone’s shelter. Although I never spent the night there in those days, I knew it was a place of safety, a place where I felt seen and valued. For a woman who had lived her whole life feeling invisible, that meant the world to me.
My lowest moment came during another abusive relationship. I felt so hopeless that I couldn’t see a way out. I took a whole bottle of pills and called the police, not knowing if I would survive. I was in the ICU for five days. When I came to, I realized I needed a new beginning, and Cornerstone was the one place I could find that. For the first time, I was ready to stay.
All the help I needed was there. It’s not an exaggeration to say Cornerstone saved my life. I moved into Cornerstone’s MacLaren Residence, where I lived for 14 years. It was here that I found my foundation. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t moving from place to place. Cornerstone was my stability, my sanctuary. It allowed me to breathe, to begin the healing process that had seemed impossible for so long.
During my time at MacLaren, I met Nicola, a staff member who has been part of Cornerstone for years. Nicola encouraged me to start writing again, and slowly, I began to reconnect with the part of me that had once found comfort in words. When I felt overwhelmed or had a bad day, I would write. My journal became a safe space, a reminder that I could hold onto my voice and my story. With each page, I began to feel more like myself again.
I now live at Cornerstone’s Booth Residence. When I started to face mobility challenges, Booth became my new home—a place where I’ve found even more ways to express myself. I started making collages, cutting out images of things that bring me joy. My friends call me the Queen of Collages, and I even taught some of my friends here how to do it. I even started a TikTok account to share my art with others.
I’ve also discovered diamond art. Recently, another resident I was close to passed away, and she had started a diamond art piece that she couldn’t finish. I decided to complete it in her memory. It took months, but it was worth every moment. A local framing store, Patrick Gordon Framing Studio, donated their services to frame it, and now it hangs in the hallway of Eccles Residence, reminding me of her and of all the women Cornerstone has helped.
Before Cornerstone, there really wasn’t anything positive in my life. Here I’ve grown and flourished. They really do offer hope and healing. They’re a light at the end of the tunnel.
I still have my good days and my dark days, but I know I can share that with Cornerstone’s staff, and they’ll understand. When I moved into Cornerstone’s supportive housing, the staff matched me with a volunteer who took me out to see the city. I’ve visited the Tulip Festival, Winterlude, and other events I’d only dreamed of experiencing. These small acts of kindness remind me that my life has value and that there are people who truly care.
Cornerstone gave me the foundation I needed to heal, and I am not alone in that. There are so many women out there who need a place to call home, a place to start over. Please, if you can, consider making a gift this holiday season. Your kindness brings hope, healing, and the promise of a better tomorrow to women who need it.
Thank you for reading my story, for believing in women like me, and for making it possible for Cornerstone to be a light in the darkness. I am forever grateful for your compassion.
With gratitude and hope,
Shelby
