On his first night on the street, Dan Steele slept in a car park next to the Bournemouth police station. He vividly recalls the odd mix of fear and security he felt—just enough protection to rest, but not enough to let his guard down.
“You learn a lot about yourself when you’re on the street,” he says. “You don’t realise how strong you are until you have to be.”
For four months, the streets were his home—doorways, car parks, shopfronts—anywhere with enough shelter. But what many might assume was the lowest point of his life, Dan remembers with surprising fondness.
“Honestly, it was one of the best times of my life,” he says. “It’s not as bad as people think. Or at least, it wasn’t then. Now? It’s much worse.”
His journey to homelessness began after his mother passed away. His already strained relationship with his father crumbled. “He’s old-school—doesn’t believe in mental health issues, let alone addiction,” Dan says. With nowhere to go, the streets became his home.
Daily life was a relentless cycle of survival. Mornings started early—up before 6am, out of the car parks before security could move him on. McDonald’s in town was the first stop, a place to charge his phone, warm up, and plan the day.
“If I had money for coffee, great,” Dan says. “If not, I’d figure out how to get some.”
For Dan, addiction was both a cause and a consequence of his homelessness. Financial assistance, such as Universal Credit, barely lasted days, pushing him towards crime to sustain his drug dependency.
“It goes against who I am,” Dan says, “but when you have an addiction, it makes you into someone you’re not.”
Bournemouth, Christchurch, and Poole (BCP) has long struggled with homelessness. Government figures from autumn 2022 recorded 64 rough sleepers in the BCP area—the third-highest in the UK, after Camden and Westminster. This statistic underscores the broader issue of homelessness in the region.
During his battle with addiction, Dan says he attempted suicide 29 times. After the 29th attempt, Dan saw his choices starkly: recover or die.
But recovering from addiction is not simple. What saved Dan wasn’t a programme—it was one persistent woman from the support service, With You. “She just wouldn’t give up on me,” he says. “She made me believe, just a little bit, that I was worth saving.”
Slowly, Dan started attending recovery groups. He cut ties with the people pulling him back into addiction. And while he still avoids certain areas of Bournemouth, knowing the temptations lurking there, he’s now clean for more than 18 months.
“I’m finally becoming the person I was meant to be,” Dan says.
Now, he isn’t just focused on staying clean—he’s giving back. He volunteers with the HealthBus Trust, an outreach service providing healthcare to rough sleepers. He’s also awaiting clearance for a formal role at We Are With You, helping others like himself find a path out of addiction.
“I get a buzz from helping people,” he says. “That’s what I want to do—get paid to help people.”
His long-term goal? A stable job in support services, helping addicts recover. “There’s nothing more rewarding than knowing you’ve made a difference,” he says.
Dan is clear: there is support available in Bournemouth—but not enough staff, not enough funding, and too much stigma.
“There’s this idea that people ‘choose’ to be homeless, or that addiction is a moral failing,” he says. “It’s not. If it was easy to stop, people would stop.”
His advice to someone newly homeless? “Don’t be too proud to ask for help. Services exist—but they won’t chase you. You have to reach out.”
For the first time in 50 years, Dan is glad he’s alive. “There were years where I didn’t [want to live],” he says. “But now? I do.”
Dan is proof that homelessness and addiction aren’t life sentences. That recovery is possible. That one person believing in you can be the difference between life and death.
And now, Dan is ready to be that person for someone else.
