Struggling with Homelessness, Ontario Works, and Co-Parenting: Feeling Like I'm Losing the Fight

Struggling with Homelessness, Ontario Works, and Co-Parenting: Feeling Like I'm Losing the Fight

I know it’s been a minute since I’ve posted. Life’s been… heavy. Chaotic, really. I went to a Christian business retreat last weekend—needed it, honestly. Spiritually, it was worth every second. But the trade-off? It threw my whole routine into a tailspin. Because I was gone two nights, I lost my shelter bed. That’s the policy. I get it. Still stings. When I got back Sunday, I crashed on the chapel floor. Just laid there, exhausted. I got a bed again on Monday. Grateful doesn’t even cover it. Praise God for that.

This week, I’ve been pitching in at my church. We cleaned out storage, tidied the parking lot—someone trashed the place, glass everywhere. It felt good to be useful, to do something with my hands. My pastor asked me to join him on a hospital visit, which I did. Scripture says go two by two, and in times like these, having someone by your side feels… necessary.

I’m still looking for work. Desperately. I hate this life. Hate constantly being broke. Hate needing help just to exist. I’ve got basic needs I can’t even meet right now. I’m not picky—I'll take whatever job I can actually get to and afford to keep. But even that feels out of reach some days.

Seeing my kids this week? Barely happened. Only saw my second oldest. My ex has made it nearly impossible to spend time with them unless I do it her way. She’s moving the goalposts constantly. I tried to take my youngest to the library for story time on Tuesday—something simple, something sweet—and I wasn’t allowed. She’s decided I’m not to be alone with the two youngest anymore. No explanation. Just… control.

Right now, I’m scraping by on $325.85 a month from Ontario Works. That’s after a deduction because apparently I’ve got an “overpayment” from 2015. Seventeen bucks a month gone until that’s cleared. Meanwhile, my ex pulls in about $5,000 a month between child tax credits and assistance. And somehow I’m still the one she’s asking money from. Twenty bucks on Tuesday? I gave it to her. Eleven more on Wednesday? I didn’t have it. I said no. That was enough for my daughter to tell me, “Mom says if you don’t do everything she wants, you won’t see us.” Truth is, she does that anyway.

She’s weaponizing access to my own children.

I’m trying to play nice. I really am. I want to co-parent. I want peace. But she’s backed me into a corner where being nice is just letting her walk all over me. I had to go to my support group Wednesday. Thank God for them. The facilitator connected me with the Separation Planning Hub of Eastern Ontario. They specialize in high-conflict breakups—because that’s what this is now. I never asked for war, but if I want to be a father to my children, I have to fight.

She acts like I need to earn the right to see them by jumping through her hoops, giving her money, agreeing to her rules. That’s not how it works. Legally, morally—it’s not her decision to make alone. I have rights. And my kids have a right to their father.

What’s killing me is knowing my children are stuck in the middle of this mess. I don’t badmouth their mom to them—I won’t do that. They deserve better. But she’s already filling their heads with lies. My oldest? Doesn’t want to see me. She thinks we don’t have a car because I crashed it on purpose. It’s nonsense. But what can I say when she won’t even look me in the eye?

Only my second oldest has really been around. She wants to see me. We cross paths near her school. That’s it. I haven’t seen my youngest two since early this month.

My ex plays this game where everything looks legitimate. She says she's “not preventing access,” but then she keeps the kids busy or makes them available only when I absolutely can’t come, like during church tomorrow. And yeah, it’s Mother’s Day. I’m not trying to take that away from her. But let’s not pretend this is coincidence.

This whole situation is tearing me apart. I’m trying to cope, trying to stay grounded, but the truth? I’m barely holding it together. I’m exhausted. Spiritually drained. Emotionally raw. I feel like I’m screaming into a void, just trying to be a father to my kids—and no one’s listening.

Right now, I’m losing the fight.