“It was brutal. It was looking close to homelessness and if it wasn’t for my family and friends helping me out financially … I don’t know what would have happened.”
March 2020 will go down in history as an uncertain and frightening time for most of us, but for this Canberra single mother teetering on the verge of homelessness, it was so stressful she “could barely see”.
In late 2019, Felicity, 47, and her almost 14-year-old son decided to join forces with another single mum and find a rental property together, to support each other financially and emotionally while solely raising their children.
After four months of searching, a rental in Flynn came up that was perfect for the blended household of four.
“We found a brilliant place. It had four bedrooms, two lounge rooms and a shared kitchen – it was really great for our situation,” Felicity says.
“We signed a lease and moved in there on 5 March 2020, and three weeks after that is when Covid hit Canberra.”
Just three weeks into her lease, Felicity received a letter that the landlord was invoking the ‘posting clause’, as he was a DFAT contractor and had been ordered to go home.
Felicity says she understands her landlord’s right to use the clause, and that it was not his fault he had to return home, but the timeframe she was given to find another roof over her head was the kicker of the situation.
“I was given five weeks to move. I was so anxious, and it was so stressful I could barely see. I even asked them if the landlord would consider finding somewhere else for their family while I was searching for a new place and it was a straight ‘no’,” Felicity says.
“I was given five weeks to move. I was so anxious, and it was so stressful I could barely see. I even asked them if the landlord would consider finding somewhere else for their family while I was searching for a new place and it was a straight ‘no’.”
“It’s already really stressful being a single parent in the Canberra market – it’s just so expensive and there’s not a lot left over.”
To move into the sharehouse with her friend, Felicity divulged that she was forced to take out a loan to help with paying the bond, four weeks’ rent in advance, and for end of lease cleaning.
Finding herself in the same position just three weeks later left Felicity with nothing.
“I had to crowdfund so I could move again, because I couldn’t take out a loan on top of a loan. It was brutal,” she says.
With the uncertainty of the first lockdown looming, the challenges she faced trying to find a new rental in an almost non-existent market was “frightening”.
“Covid was so new, and no one knew how infectious it was or how much if was going to affect us back then, so no-one was moving. That meant there were very few available rentals,” Felicity says.
“They also weren’t doing inspections, so you just had to apply online and hope for the best.”
Felicity describes attempting to juggle work, raising her son alone, navigating the first lockdown, trying to secure a new rental, all while borrowing money to be able to afford the move, as the most stressful time in her life.
She eventually contacted her “fairly decent” previous rental agent in the hopes he remembered her to be a good tenant and could help her in any way.
As fortune would have it, her previous agent was able to find her a two-bedroom house on the same street where Felicity and her son has lived before the Flynn ordeal.
Although she has since moved from this home, as the owner decided to sell, she has found another rental and has been in the property since October last year.
Felicity says she has been fighting to get the attention of her local Member of Parliament to try and get them to pass through some legislation for better renter protection but to no avail, “of course”.
“People need to think about the human cost. How does it affect people personally? Houses are people’s homes … landlords have to remember it’s someone else’s home as well,” she says.
“The agent said at the time that they chose the application because we were single parents and had a good application, but then had no qualms about kicking out two single parents a few weeks later.”
She describes the mental and physical toll the experience had on her as “traumatising”, not only for her, but her son as well.
“When we went into lockdown my son said to me, ‘tell me we don’t have to move again?’. It affected him greatly, even to the point of getting into trouble at school. The thought of being homeless at such a critical age is so traumatising – it was heartbreaking,” Felicity says.
“There needs to be some kind of insurance for renters. Given just five weeks to move out is not okay and there’s not just enough protection.”
Although she’s glad the experience is behind her, Felicity is loath to see the same thing happen to other vulnerable people in Canberra, and particularly people who are less privileged than her.
“I’m on a fairly good wage myself, and I don’t know how someone working part-time or is unemployed could cope because housing is just so expensive here in Canberra. How do you find somewhere affordable to live that is decent? Where are you supposed to go?” she asks.
“There needs to be more investment in social, community and low-income housing because everyone should have the right and dignity to live by themselves and their families if they want to, and not be forced into sharehouse situations.”
Felicity hopes to see a more even balance between the rights of landlords and tenants in Canberra.
“Landlords need to realise we are people renting homes, not just your investment property,” she says.
“If you can’t afford to heat or cool your rental, you probably shouldn’t be investing in property – it’s probably not the investment for you.”
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