Research & Public Health Nonprofit
Serving the Unhoused in San Francisco
Volunteer as a research assistant, outreach associate, or business intern and learn while helping your community. Online and in-person internships are available.
Mission Statement
Delivering holistic support to San Francisco’s unhoused residents by meeting immediate needs and connecting them with resources that foster long-term stability. Through dedicated research, we also develop innovative solutions to create lasting, sustainable impact.
Support Us In Transforming Lives
Donations go straight to providing food, medical supplies, and clothing for the unhoused. Funds are also used to further our research efforts.
Homeless Heartline
Connect with a trained volunteer to explore accessible resources, find a safe space to express your feelings, and learn effective coping skills in a non-clinical setting.
THE SAD TRUTH
Being homeless in San Francisco is like standing on the edge of a city that never truly sees you. The streets, once filled with hope and opportunity, become a maze of hardship where each day is a battle against the elements and the invisible walls of society’s indifference. Picture this: you wake up on a cold, unforgiving sidewalk, the fog rolling in from the bay, chilling your bones. The city buzzes with life around you, but you’re left in the shadows, fighting for space, for warmth, for a moment of peace.
There’s no shelter from the biting wind or the relentless sun. Finding a place to sleep becomes a nightly struggle—every corner of the city is claimed by someone else who’s just as desperate. Even if you manage to grab a spot, you’re haunted by the fear that your few belongings could be stolen or that you might be forced to move on by the authorities.
Food is scarce, and navigating the city’s labyrinth of services often feels impossible. The average person might walk into a store without thinking twice, but for someone homeless, just walking inside can mean facing suspicion, hostility, or outright rejection. Your stomach growls, but your dignity takes a deeper hit each time you’re turned away.
And yet, the worst part isn’t the hunger, the cold, or the exhaustion. It’s the way people look right through you—like you’re part of the city’s landscape, but not part of its people. The isolation is suffocating. You hear laughter, see friends meeting for dinner, feel the life of the city moving forward, but you’re stuck, unseen and unheard, hoping that someone, anyone, might offer more than a passing glance.
