Economic mobility usually assumes a starting line: a bedroom to return to, a parent to call, a place to regroup after things go wrong. For many LGBTQ young adults in South Florida, that starting line never existed. 

That’s why Our Fund Foundation, SunServe, and Sunshine Cathedral partnered to build Sunshine Pride House, a 12-bed transitional home helping LGBTQ young adults stabilize, find work, and prepare for independence.

For the residents who live there, that support shows up in small, ordinary ways.

In the evenings, the house settles into a rhythm: dinner prep, shared chores, quiet conversations at the kitchen counter. As house mother, Martha Acevedo anchors the day-to-day life of Sunshine Pride House, creating a sense of consistency many residents have never known. A few nights a week, she cooks home-prepared meals, often inviting residents to join her in the kitchen — chopping, stirring, learning by doing.

For some, the meal itself is the moment that lands hardest.

“Some of them tell me they haven’t had a cooked meal in such a long time,” Acevedo said. “When I serve the food and they say ‘thank you,’ you can see it. They’re kids. They just needed a home.”

Acevedo says the reactions still catch her off guard. What feels routine to her — cooking, setting plates, sitting down together — can feel extraordinary to young people who have spent months or years without a consistent place to eat.

“When I cook, I do it proudly,” she said. “I give a lot of love.”

A Place to Rest Your Head 

According to research from The Trevor Project, 28% of LGBTQ youth have experienced homelessness or housing instability at some point in their lives. Data from True Colors United underscores the scale of the disparity — LGBTQ youth are 2.2 times more likely to experience homelessness than non-LGBTQ youth.

“So these kids are coming to the house because they’ve either aged out of foster care or they’ve been kicked out of their homes because they’re LGBTQ,” said Tony Lima, CEO of SunServe. “You kind of have to start from zero. That’s the common theme of all of these youth.”

Those experiences carry lasting consequences: LGBTQ youth who have been unhoused report significantly higher rates of depression, anxiety, and other mental health challenges than their housed peers. 

“In order to have proper mental health, that’s conducive to living a full life, you need to have a home,” Lima said. “You need to have a place to be able to rest your head.”

That reality isn’t unique to LGBTQ youth, though queer young people are far more likely to experience it — and far less likely to have family support to fall back on.

Elijah Manley’s experience with homelessness began during the 2008 financial crisis, when he was about 9 years old. After his single mother lost her job, his family was evicted and spent years cycling through instability — living in their car, rotating between friends’ homes, staying in an overcrowded apartment with relatives, and at one point sleeping in a storage unit in Lauderhill. Each morning, Manley and his siblings woke before dawn to shower at beach facilities before heading to school, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy without a permanent home.

Manley, who is now 27, was not yet out as queer during this period, and his homelessness was driven by economic collapse rather than family rejection. Still, he says the experience shows how early housing instability — regardless of cause — can derail childhood, education, and long-term opportunity. His family’s situation improved only gradually, and he credits a mix of early work, community connections, and “a little luck” for eventually finding stability — a path he notes many others never get.

Today, Manley points to LGBTQ nonprofits like SunServe as essential lifelines — especially for young people who face both economic instability and identity-based rejection.

“They’re very vital and lifesaving. Without them, a lot of people would be in a much worse situation,” he said. “They keep our communities housed and fed and connected to the social services and healthcare they need. They’re filling a void the government hasn’t filled.”

Manley, who has run for public office several times and is currently running for Congress to represent Florida’s 20th district in West Broward, argues that relying on private charity to fill that void leaves too many people behind.

“These are services the government should be providing or supporting,” he said. “Charity should not be public policy. It should be provided to everybody, regardless of their income, and not dependent on somebody else’s charity.”

Housing is Just The Starting Point

For now, Sunshine Pride House exists largely because private donors stepped in where public dollars did not. While public agencies can and do fund programs that reach LGBTQ people, government funding is often constrained by nondiscrimination and open-access requirements that make it difficult to support services explicitly limited to a single identity group. 

The home is owned by Sunshine Cathedral, while SunServe runs the day-to-day programming and services inside. With no state or federal grants tied to the house itself, its roughly $250,000 annual operating budget is raised through individual donors and philanthropic partners, coordinated in large part through Our Fund Foundation. 

“There’s no way to do this work without being clear about the population we’re serving — and that cuts off a lot of funding possibilities,” said David Jobin, CEO of Our Fund.  

The funding covers housing, staffing, life coaching, and wraparound support — allowing the program to exist in a policy environment where targeting services to LGBTQ youth often disqualifies programs from public dollars altogether.

The idea for Sunshine Pride House began not as a programmatic expansion, but as a personal intervention. More than five years ago, philanthropist Michael Kalb approached Our Fund Foundation with a simple question: what would it take to create a safe, stable home for LGBTQ young people who had nowhere else to go? 

Kalb had been deeply affected after witnessing unhoused youth being mocked in public spaces, and he believed housing could change the entire trajectory of a young person’s life. Working closely with Jobin, that initial conversation grew into a multi-year effort to design a model tailored specifically to South Florida’s LGBTQ youth.

“People hear ‘housing’ and think that’s the solution, but housing is just the starting point,” Jobin said. 

Kalb ultimately invested more than $600,000 into the project, joined by fellow donor Terry Merlin, while Our Fund helped assemble the partnerships needed to make it work. Sunshine Cathedral agreed to purchase and own the property, drawing on its decades of experience managing community housing, while SunServe took on day-to-day operations and services inside the home. What opened first as a pilot in a rented house evolved into the current 12-bed facility — now fully owned, privately funded, and operating as one of the only LGBTQ-specific transitional housing programs in the region. 

“If we want to continue to bring these services to life, that requires funding — and we’re really going to need help to do that,” said John Marler, Communications Director of SunServe. “Government funding has been harder and harder to come by, and foundation funding and corporate sponsorships are becoming more competitive.”

Kalb, who died unexpectedly in December, often said a safe place allows young people to “finally exhale,” and Sunshine Pride House stands as a direct reflection of that belief.

The structure of Sunshine Pride House reflects that focus on stability first, mobility second. The home is designed as short-term transitional housing rather than a permanent shelter. 

They Have Nowhere Elsewhere to Go 

For Mario DePedro, who helps oversee the program, the work often means stepping into roles most parents fill by default.

“We have youth who are just leaving home for the first time and their parents don’t support them. They have nowhere else to go. Now it’s up to us to take the place of what the parent should be,” he said.

Inside the house, residents share bedrooms and follow a structured daily routine. They are required to work or attend school, participate in therapy, and meet regularly with life coaches who help them set goals.

“We call it a future plan. We’re helping them with the goals they want to reach, so they can be successful in their life,” he said.

That plan can include finishing high school, enrolling in college, securing steady employment, learning financial literacy, or preparing for independent housing.

Many residents arrive carrying layers of trauma that extend far beyond the moment they lost housing.

“They’re coming from a lot of trauma,” DePedro said. “Being kicked out at 18 usually isn’t the first trauma — there’s often a cycle of abuse that leads up to that moment.” 

For residents who began adulthood without savings, family support, or stable housing, that planning process can be the difference between cycling back into crisis and building a path toward long-term economic stability.

“They need jobs. They need mental health care. And they need community — they want to feel like they’re not alone in it,” he said.

The needs are immediate and interconnected. That’s why the house is built around flexibility rather than rigid benchmarks.

“This is absolutely not one-size-fits-all. Everything we do is client-centered and client-led,” DePedro said. “The reality is that we’re saving kids’ lives in this house. These are people who have nowhere else to go.”

Because of safety concerns, the location of Sunshine Pride House is not publicly disclosed, and residents are not identified.

“We’re really putting young people on a path for success that they might not otherwise achieve in their life without this lift,” said Jobin. “You hear the words ‘Pride House’ and you think it’s just a roof. But it’s the wraparound services that put young people on trajectories for successful lives.”

Instead of starting a new nonprofit, Jobin said the foundation focused on partnering with organizations already doing the work — bringing together SunServe, Sunshine Cathedral, and others to build a model that could move quickly and last.

Sunshine Pride House doesn’t promise transformation or guarantee success. What it offers is something far more basic — time, safety, and a place to rest their head. For young people who started adulthood with nothing, that pause can be enough to change what comes next.

This article is part of a national initiative exploring how geography, policy, and local conditions influence access to opportunity. Find more stories at economicopportunitylab.com.