Homeless, smart, savvy and coping

It didn't take long for it all to vaporize.

In the span of a few months, Jamee went from being a hotshot mortgage broker with a six-figure income, a home of her own, a BMW, a Suzuki motorcycle and a second house in the works, to being the newest resident of Jubilee Women's Center.

Homeless. Broke. No options.

"I had to lose it all to figure it all out," she told me the other day. "I live in the moment now."

It's a tune we're all humming along to these days. But some, like Jamee, are singing loud.

Jubilee, a nonprofit facility housed in a former convent on Seattle's Capitol Hill, is seeing more clients like her: Educated, accomplished women who always volunteered at social-service agencies and never dreamed they would ever become clients.

But thanks to the banking crisis and the fast-moving flames of corporate layoffs, there is now a new homeless woman: Smart, savvy — and in shock at her fate.

"They aren't coming from the streets," said Susan Fox, Jubilee's executive director. "They are coming from their own homes."

Since 2006, there has been a 67-percent increase in applications. Forty percent of the applicants have college degrees; 70 percent are 50 and older. College professors. Boeing engineers. Tax accountants.

Many suffered job losses that kicked off depression. Others were underemployed and living paycheck to paycheck, "and then one thing happened," said Andrea Johnson, Jubilee's director of development.

"We are stunned at what we are seeing come in the door," she said. "These are gifted and talented women who are not chronically homeless or being counted in the One Night Count. And it's telltale of what's to come."

Jamee, 30, arrived at Jubilee last month with her entire life in her car. She went from her interview to her new room.

At first, it was hard to believe she was there. She had been self-employed, with a desk in a larger mortgage office. She usually had 10 deals in the works.

One day, one of the banks she did loans with closed. By the end of the week, four were gone. When those deals dried up, so did her commissions.

"I kept thinking, 'I can handle this, I'm OK,' " she said.

Awash in mortgage and credit payments, she gave everything up and moved in with her mother in Tacoma. She became a personal banker, then got laid off. She finally took a job as a custodian at her own church, which gave her a room to stay in.

"I used to help people get into houses, and consult them on ways not to get into this predicament," she said. "But when it came to me, there was nothing I could do about it."

While searching for jobs online at the library, she found Jubilee. (www.jwcenter.org)

"A light bulb went on, I thought, 'Oh, my God, this is me.' I had been deceiving myself."

About 60 women live at Jubilee every year, 34 at a time. Another 500 use the facilities, which include a technology center for training and job-searches; an exercise room; and a boutique filled with free, donated clothing.

Clients pay $250/month, must be clean and sober for three months, or six months out of a domestic-violence situation. They can stay for up to two years before finding permanent housing. The average stay is one year.

Jamee hopes her stay is short.

"I want to take on a new job and work my way up," she said. "I'm open. I'm stable.

"I'm humbled."

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Tuesday and Friday. Reach her at 206-464-2334 or nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.

She has a lot — too much — to give.