I remember walking down O’Connell Street as a child holding my Ma’s hand and seeing the reflection of Christmas lights in Clery’s window. We’d head down Henry Street, pick up a few bits for dinner, and listen to the buskers playing the usual Christmas favourites.

I found myself sleeping under those Christmas lights I looked at in amazement as a child.  People would rush past with armfuls of presents and I’d wish people a Merry Christmas and I meant it, but I knew I wouldn’t have one myself. 

I haven’t seen my family in years. My parents are gone now—Da passed a few years back, and Ma not long after. I don’t know what’s happened to my sister. The last I heard, she got married, but after Ma died, we lost touch. I’m too ashamed to reach out now, I’m afraid of what she’ll think if she sees the state I’m in. But I do hope she has a home, kids of her own, and that she’s hanging up stockings for Santa, watching her little ones get excited, just like Ma did for us when we were small. 

Most nights, I’d bed down near the GPO – the streetlights made me feel a bit safer. But to be honest, there’s no such thing as being safe when you’re sleeping rough, and there’s no such thing as a good night’s sleep, either.

The cold bites through everything, no matter how many layers you wear, and you learn to sleep with one eye open. Every sound, every shadow felt like a threat.

The ground is hard, and the damp gets into your bones. And the noise—it never stops. Christmas on the streets is just another day, really. You envy the happiness around you – people celebrating, laughing in the pubs – while you’re cold, hungry, and alone.

I’d think about that advent calendar Da gave us. It’s strange, the things that stick with you. All I wished for was just one open door. 

I have to say, Dublin Simon Community was that open door for me, they were there for me in times that I needed support. They’d offer a room for the night, or something to eat – even just being checked on and asked how I was, it made me feel less alone – not so invisible. Thanks to Dublin Simon, I have a roof over my head and a sense of security that I haven’t felt in a long time. Shelter, warmth, food – it’s easy to take these things for granted, but they’ve given me back my dignity, and I’m building confidence again.  

If I had one thing to say to people who support Dublin Simon, it’s that; what you’re doing is special, you help people like me feel like we still matter. We don’t want to be forgotten.