My name is Brooke Szucs, and I work in a lovely, well-lit office within the sandstone buildings of the University of Queensland (UQ). My family were immigrants from what was Yugoslavia. They didn’t come from much, they didn’t bring much, and they didn’t get much more when they came here. 

Growing up poor, university never felt attainable to me.

I’m the first person in my family to attend university, let alone finish it. 

So, when I was able to get a job in the beautiful Forgan Smith building at the University of Queensland, the most iconic and classic of the heritage listed UQ Great Court, I really felt that I had reached heights no one else in my family had ever thought we could achieve.

Going into my office, so close to the main tower that has the building dominating the landscape and is the focus of so many group and tourist photos, made me swell with pride. I couldn’t believe that someone like me, whose mother used to cry when she was unable to buy me a $5 student ticket to go to the movies, would now be officially working there.

However, while my professional life shows sandstone and suits, I am still the daughter of countryside peasants. While I aim for higher, and enjoy my time in my office, I am reminded of my reality when I finish work for the day.

The Housing Crisis

Before the 2022 floods in Australia, my mother, who raised me alone, and I rented a house together. There was always something broken, and any time we could convince the landlord to fix it, we would get a cheap plastic version to replace it. However, we had space, we had a home. I could help to take care of her when her mental illness flared up, when she was in a car crash, when she just was overwhelmed.

After the floods, the owners sold the house we lived in to pay for repairs to their own home that had been damaged. This was a common story at the time, and we joined so many others who had just been thrust onto the rental market as a result of the floods. Things were even more desperate than usual, as so many houses were now no longer on the market for the exact same reason.

The Brisbane housing market already faced several challenges, including rising property prices that have made housing less affordable for first-time buyers and lower-income households. Increased demand, limited supply, and external factors like low-interest rates have contributed to this affordability issue and were exacerbated by the floods. Moreover, there is a supply and demand imbalance, with housing demand surpassing available supply, resulting in a housing shortage. New construction struggles to keep pace with the growing population and increased interest from buyers.

Furthermore, Brisbane has attracted significant interest from property investors, both domestic and foreign, leading to heightened investor activity. This increased competition for properties has added pressure on housing prices. Additionally, the rental market experienced high demand and limited supply, leading to rental price increases, making it challenging for renters to find affordable accommodations. I’ve given up going to house viewings with 30 other people and calling agents about a place listed two hours ago, only to find it is already off-market. Now, I rely on housesitting jobs where I watch people’s pets in exchange for a place to live. In between housesits, I stay with friends.

Because of this, I have not had a permanent address since the floods passed. That’s over a year of moving from place to place. As academia is considered a place of privilege and high earning potential, I wanted to talk about what it feels like to be in academia while not having a private life that reflects this. I suspect that I am not the only one in my situation, but I feel because of the expectations for working in a university we may feel the need to be quiet.

I was always self-conscious of doing a Bachelor of Arts, considering the stigma around the subject, but didn’t know another way to explore an academic future that was so foreign to the experiences of my family. I always heard that Bachelor of Arts graduates worked at McDonald’s. When I quit Education to do ‘just arts’, my classmates said they would also like to, but ‘have too much self-respect’. Now, I am a research assistant in the School of Law and the School of Business, both of which utilise the skills I learned in my degree. Both of which have more prestige than I aimed for when I started university and would have shocked my teachers who told me to not bother with studies and do a trade or attend a lower-level technical college instead.

The pay is good, especially for someone fresh out of university, but the housing crisis isn’t just about money anymore. I get to go to conferences in Canberra and meet all sorts of important people who then ask me to present for their research groups. I get emails with excited questions about and requests for the academic articles I worked so hard on. I go to the Direct Factory Outlet mall and buy professional clothes that look good and would have cost hundreds of dollars for less than $40. Then I present myself as this neat and put-together person. The person you go to for expert advice, for help, for my lived experience.

My Reality: No Fixed Address

However, wearing these nice clothes and my heels, after a long day of interviewing chancellery members and being on a Podcast for Times Higher Education, I get into my car. My suitcase takes up almost the whole back seat of my hatchback, and a few bags are haphazardly shoved around it. My professional clothes are neatly on top of the suitcase so they don’t wrinkle, but still manage to add to the messiness of the scene. 

Tonight, I’ll go somewhere new. I’ll put the suitcase on the ground and rummage through it because I won’t be here long enough for it to be worth taking everything out. Thankfully, I haven’t spent a night on the streets, but I have spent nights on sofas, sofa beds, crammed into a bed with a friend, or house sitting for total strangers. Always for a few weeks at most. Never moving out of the suitcase.

I can’t stress enough how this impacts my sense of self, as I navigate two spaces that are so different. How am I supposed to act when I am so bone tired from always moving? How am I supposed to act like it’s all normal when I am checking house sitting ads between meetings with university leadership?

I’m a blunt person, so when people ask about my commute or where I live, I tell them ‘at the moment, I x’. When they ask what that means, I tell them I don’t have a permanent address. They normally say ‘oh’ and move on. I can’t expect them to understand what that’s like, but I feel a distance there. They never mention it again. I can’t tell if it’s because they are awkward about the topic, or if they just don’t think I am that impacted because I look so well put together. They see the neatly buttoned and fashionable shirts, not me cleaning the floor with wipes on my knees, in the same outfit this morning, because the beagles I am taking care of this week in return for a place to stay dug a hole and left muddy footprints all over the floor. 

Those who do care are appreciated. But I get embarrassed when I am asked and I can’t report any positive progress, because it feels like they may think I’m not trying hard enough. I explain that I haven’t given up but am now trying to save for an apartment deposit by staying for free at the house-sitting positions. The kind people ask what I will do until then. I reply that it seems it will have to keep going like this. 

The Challenges of Housing Insecurity

Everyone tells me about their upcoming holidays, their third investment property, that they are sending their kid to an even better private school because this one isn’t good enough. I am reminded that I am fundamentally different from those around me. Someone who doesn’t put the camera on when she Zoom calls from ‘home’. Sometimes because of recurring stress migraines, sometimes because I am sitting on the floor of a friend’s living room.

People ask why I don’t stay with my mother, surely, she can spare a room? They don’t understand that she was in the same boat, renting rooms at friends’ houses while their kids were away or from strange people she found off Facebook (who turned out to be horrible). Recently she has managed to get her own place, with one bedroom and a sofa bed for me when I need. But she works early and the sofa bed is in the living room- one can only live like that for so long before the sleep deprivation starts to take a toll.

If I explain this, some of my co-workers will express that they are glad their children will never experience this, as they will always have a room at their place, or an investment property they could use as collateral to buy their own place. It reminds me how the people here come from somewhere so different to me. I’m not even shocked when they reply like this anymore. I don’t think they can really conceptualise what I am telling them about this person in their same office.

Honestly, I am disabled, queer, and so many other things, but this is where I feel the most different. The most ‘weird’. 

Lots of my peers tell me to put in extra time and over time to make more work and get ahead. I don’t have the time. I have to move again tonight. I need to search the house-sitting website to see where my next bed is, because I have given up on going to rental inspections with 30 other people, or that are cancelled before I arrive due to ‘a great offer’. I need to visit my storage to go and get warm clothes, because suddenly it’s freezing, and I haven’t been dressed for this new weather for the last few days.

I have nightmares about moving. Packing my suitcase. Feeling the need to always be prepared to go. It’s hard to sit still and have a pleasant conversation over lunch with someone, when my brain needs to go back to thinking about this part of survival. If there is any update on realestate.com. If anyone has emailed to cancel a pet-sitting appointment. It’s so hard to focus on reading papers, when I am thinking about all the things I need to clean before I move out tonight.

Beyond the physical challenges of constantly moving and lacking a stable address, the toll on my mental health is undeniable. The perpetual uncertainty, the constant need to adapt and find temporary solutions, and the never-ending feeling of impermanence weigh heavily on me, even as my job provides stability and support.

As I strive to excel in my professional role, presenting myself as confident and put together, the underlying stress and anxiety persist. It’s an exhausting balancing act, juggling the demands of academia while grappling with the realities of my housing situation. The constant search for a place to stay each night takes a toll on my sense of safety, stability, and belonging. 

The impact on my mental well-being is undeniable. The chronic sleep deprivation, the constant upheaval, and the feeling of not having a place to truly call my own create a sense of profound isolation. The toll it takes on my overall mental health cannot be understated.

Conclusion

I wish for a sense of stability, and the luxury of being able to focus solely on my professional pursuits without the added burden of housing insecurity. The impacts of housing instability reach far beyond physical discomfort; they seep into the very fabric of my mental well-being, leaving a mark on my daily life and emotional state.

By sharing my story, I hope to shed light on the often-overlooked connection between housing instability and mental health. It’s vital that we recognize and address the psychological impact faced by those who navigate academia while grappling with such challenges. We must foster a supportive and empathetic environment that acknowledges the holistic well-being of individuals, beyond the surface-level appearances.

Be kind to each other and see others in good faith.

Brooke Szucs is a Research Assistant at the School of Law and the Business School at the University of Queensland, Australia. She works on projects pertaining to disability inclusion in education and work. She is an advocate for diversity inclusion and success within education, and spends much of her time on inclusive initiatives and mentoring students from non-traditional backgrounds. 

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