2 weeks Ago By Miriam Wallace
A few months ago, I read that middle-aged single women were among the fastest-growing demographics facing homelessness. I even joked to a friend, “I’m going to become a statistic!” But it turned out to be no joke. It was a Friday in September when I was supposed to collect the keys to a small rental in Balaclava.
I’d been approved, scraped together the bond and first month’s rent with the help of a loan, and was finally ready to settle back into my neighbourhood after months of instability. Miriam Wallace is a single woman who found herself homeless for most of this year, despite 25 years working in the music industry and corporate jobs. Credit: Photograph by Chris Hopkins After signing the lease and transferring the bond and rent to the real estate account, I emailed the agent to confirm the time I could pick up the keys.
The response left me staring at my screen in shock: they had given the home to another tenant, claiming I hadn’t sent the funds in time. I’d done everything right, and after a bit of digging, I found the property relisted at a higher price. It was clear they had chosen someone who had offered more.
With that single email, my shot at stability vanished. I’d been living in a cheap motel, my belongings in storage, and now, with funds running low, I faced the prospect of living in my car. I never thought I’d end up homeless.
I’ve lived in Melbourne for more than 25 years, built my career here, fallen in love here, and formed friendships that became like family. Throughout that time, I’ve been running my own digital marketing and publicity company, and managing events and tours for local musicians and artists, while also taking on contract consulting roles with various government departments. Yet here I was, without a fixed address, constantly searching for temporary accommodation, trying to maintain a professional appearance and hold down a full-time job.
My story, like so many others, highlights a reality that remains largely invisible: the growing demographic of single, professional women quietly navigating homelessness. After COVID, I moved to Footscray to help out a friend who needed a flatmate. I thought it would be a good change, a fresh start in a new suburb.
But it didn’t work out that way. My friend abruptly moved back in with his mother, leaving me with the lease in a suburb I barely knew. The isolation hit hard – I was far from my community in St Kilda, and I was struggling to find a place closer to home.
The rental market had shifted drastically. Listings became bidding wars, and what I’d once taken for granted now felt impossible. I was living the “housing crisis” I’d only heard about in the news.
Desperate, I took a room in a place where the “landlord” promised cheap rent and bills. Little did I know he was illegally subletting the unit. The real estate agency found out and issued a notice to vacate, leaving me without tenant rights and, again, without a home.
After that, I found a room in a share house in Elwood, where I ended up with five housemates, all with vastly different personalities. One man claimed to be a “standover man”. Concerned for my safety, I had no choice but to move into a cheap hotel with my cat, all while holding down a corporate job.
I was still working, still showing up, but the weight of this situation was exhausting. I’d been without a home since May, despite applying for more than 50 rentals and going to six or seven inspections a week. But the property managers weren’t even calling my references.
As a single woman, I didn’t have a chance. Friends told me I needed to put down that I was married to a doctor. At a work gig recently, I told a friend that I’d been living out of a hotel because I couldn’t find a rental.
He looked completely puzzled, unsure of what to say, then just laughed. I laughed too and left it at that, thinking, “If only you knew.” And that’s the thing – people don’t know, because we don’t tell them.
The shame and disbelief keep so many of us silent, even as we try to manage lives that are falling apart behind the scenes. What I’ve learnt through all this is that there’s no real safety net for women like me – single and without family nearby. We’re invisible in this crisis.
Research by Housing for the Aged Action Group and Social Ventures Australia estimates that more than 400,000 women aged over 45 are at risk of homelessness . It was a struggle to maintain appearances while feeling the ground shift beneath me. I’ve seen firsthand how the system isn’t built for us.
We’re told to “pull ourselves up”, but how can you do that when every door is shut in your face? If I could say one thing to policymakers, it would be this: Melbourne needs more housing options for people who live alone. We need affordable, single-person rentals that don’t require us to compete with couples or families. It’s time to recognise that this city’s charm isn’t just in its wealth and development – it’s in its people, all of us, and we deserve a place to belong.
I’d been looking for a home since May, and I was at the point where the thought of living rough felt easier. At least there’s no bidding war to sleep next to a park. I was on the edge of burnout, living with the constant fear that this temporary roof would be the last one I’d find.
I’d thought about going off the grid because at least then, I wouldn’t be fighting this invisible battle every day. But I didn’t want that. I just wanted a home.
Last week, I was finally approved for a rental in Balaclava, just as I was seriously considering trading my car in for a van so I’d have somewhere secure to sleep. I still feel like something might go wrong; it doesn’t feel real yet. I won’t believe it’s mine until I have the keys, have moved in, and brought all my things out of storage.
It all feels like a fluke – maybe I’m just being insecure. Who knows? But I’ll never take having my own place for granted again. And I won’t soon forget how easy it is to fall through the cracks of our society.
Miriam Wallace is a Melbourne-based consultant in digital marketing and publicity, sharing her lived experience to bring visibility to housing insecurity. The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here .
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