Two Years In: The Table is Full
- Kristen Detweiler Short
- Jun 24
- 3 min read
Two years ago last week, I turned off the lights in the dining room of Haven Homes of Detroit for the very first time. It was the night we had our first two residents were stepping into their new season with hope about what they would find through our program. I had no idea what to expect, so I stayed the night at the house just in case anything came up. I couldn’t sleep, partly because of logistics, but mostly because of the racing thoughts in my head.
We had no blueprint for what the next day would bring. Just a table, a house, two residents, Alice and Beth (the first members of our leadership team) and a dream that Aaron and I had held quietly and closely for years- finally alive, real, and breathing in the form of community. That night was filled with hope, expectation, and a healthy dose of fear.
Now, two years later, I still feel hopeful. I still feel fear. But I no longer feel as naïve as I was back then. These two years have been the most stretching, humbling, and transformative years of our lives. We've cried and laughed and prayed our way through situations we didn't even know to imagine with our staff and residents. We've held the weight of grief and witnessed resilience that refuses to be erased. We’ve walked through realities we weren’t prepared for: systems of inequity and trauma far deeper than anything our personal experiences had shown us. And through it all, we’ve learned: this work changes you.
The women who were here that first night are now graduates of our program: “Sisters for Life” in the truest sense. They are strong, steady reminders of why we do this. And while this journey began with Aaron and me, it has never really been ours alone. Somewhere along the way, Haven Homes of Detroit grew into something bigger. It gained a soul of its own, held together through the stories, strength, and steps of the women who have lived here and our team of staff that have given this program depth and life.
This is their story now.
HHD has become a place of welcome and challenge. Of healing and growth. A home that meets each woman where she is, and invites her to imagine who she could become. It is powered by a staff that shows up with consistency and compassion. Held together by a board of directors who steward our mission and guide our growth. Surrounded by supporters who believe in the dignity and possibility of every survivor.
And even though the journey here has included more loss and heaviness than I imagined we we see, it has also overflowed with more joy than I ever thought I’d get to witness.
I look back at that first night, the sound of the plate being rinsed in the sink, the footsteps upstairs, the quiet of the dining room under a single light, and I know I’ll never forget it. But now, when I see that same room, it’s filled with life. With celebration. With staff and residents gathered around the table for “phase-up” parties and everyday dinners. Brimming with everything that equals a full table.
Two years in, we’re still building. Still becoming. Still believing that healing is possible and still humbled to be part of it.
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