Stop calling us lived experts and other cute names just stop

23 April 2023

We live in a community that desperately wants to help, yet our well-intentioned gestures often land with unintended consequences when they strip us of our dignity. When people rush to label us as "lived experts," "survivor experts," or even affectionate nicknames like "cute names," they inadvertently remind us that we are still defined by our status rather than our humanity. It is time to pause and listen not to what we have been through, but to what we are building today.

The Weight of Unintentional Labels

In the world of social services, language is a powerful tool, but it is often wielded without considering its impact on the person on the receiving end. We hear phrases like "you're a lived expert on homelessness" or "your story is a cute name for resilience." While these comments may seem supportive on the surface, they carry a subtle, suffocating undertone. They suggest that our primary identity is still our struggle, that we are only valuable because of the specific challenges we have faced.

This dynamic creates a barrier where genuine connection becomes difficult. When a volunteer or advocate says, "You are the expert on this," it implies that we are being observed from the outside, analyzing our condition rather than being invited into the solution. We want to be treated as whole people with complex lives, families, and hopes, not as case studies or symbols of survival. The problem isn't that we are experts; it's that the label stops us from simply being who we are.

Why "Lived Experts" Fails Us

The concept of the "lived expert" is often praised in academic and advocacy circles, yet in practice, it can feel patronizing to those currently in crisis. The term suggests a hierarchy where someone who has been homeless for years is placed above those who are currently trying to find housing. It creates an implicit expectation that we must recount our trauma, analyze the system's failures, and teach others how to navigate the maze of bureaucracy.

Instead of being heard, we are often expected to perform our expertise. We are asked to explain why the system failed us, to justify our presence on the street, or to critique the very agencies trying to help us. This shifts the focus from our immediate needs to our role as educators or commentators. We do not want to be experts; we want to be clients, friends, and neighbors. We want our stories to be told by us, not used to define our value to others.

Shifting the Narrative from Expertise to Partnership

To truly support our community, we must reframe how we view our contributions. We are not experts because we have suffered; we are experts because we have learned how to survive and thrive despite immense odds. However, the moment we are called an "expert," we are reminded that we are still victims of circumstance. The shift needs to happen in how we speak to each other and how we address one another.

When we stop using these specific labels, we open the door for authentic partnership. It means recognizing that while I may have been on the street for ten years, you might have a brilliant idea for a shelter, and together we can build something better. It means seeing my experience as a resource for wisdom, not a title that defines my worth. We need to move past the need to categorize ourselves and start building relationships based on mutual respect and shared goals.

The Danger of "Cute" Names and Insincere Compliments

There is another layer to this issue that often goes unnoticed. When people say things like "you're so cute" or use endearing terms to describe our situation, it can feel dismissive of the gravity of our reality. Homelessness is a crisis that threatens basic survival, food security, and safety. It is not a charming story to be told, nor is it a cute nickname for our resilience.

Reducing our struggle to a "cute name" trivializes the pain and fear that many of us carry daily. It turns a serious humanitarian issue into a light-hearted conversation, which can feel insulting to those who know the depth of despair hidden beneath the surface. We appreciate kindness, but we do not appreciate having our hard-won dignity painted over with affectionate nicknames that ignore the structural realities we face. We need empathy that acknowledges the weight of our story, not a sugar-coated version that makes it seem like we are lucky to be alive.

Moving Forward with Genuine Respect

The path forward requires a conscious effort to change how we interact within our community and with the organizations serving us. We need to stop accepting labels that reduce us to our problems and start engaging with each other as complex, capable individuals. This means listening to our voices without expecting them to serve as a reference guide for others. It means offering help without attaching conditions or special titles.

We invite all volunteers, advocates, and community members to reflect on the words they use when speaking with us. Ask yourself if these words honor our humanity or if they remind us of our deficits. True support comes from treating us with the same respect we would offer any other neighbor, regardless of our housing status. By dropping the labels and embracing genuine connection, we can build a stronger, more supportive network that truly lifts us up.

We should stop using terms like "lived expert" or "cute names" because they reduce our complex humanity to simple categories.
Real support means listening to our needs rather than expecting us to teach others how to survive.
Kindness should not come with a label that reminds us we are still defined by our homelessness.
We deserve to be seen as whole people with dreams, fears, and strengths, not just statistics.
Community growth happens when we stop categorizing ourselves and start building bridges of trust.