Ian L. Haddock, GLAAD Award-winning founder of The Normal Anomaly Initiative, a prominent Southern nonprofit uplifting Black and LGBTQIA+ voices, was tossed out of his home for living his truth; now he is creating a home for others like him.
“I didn’t see staying there and hiding myself after I was out as a viable option,” he says of having to grow up quickly as an LGBTQIA+ teenager in Texas. With the help of friends, he found both shelter and a job. “I owe my life to the Black and LGBTQ community,” Haddock says. “The only place I had as a former Church Queen was the club—because the club is the gay church. I was at the club, and I met some older people who were just really kind.”
Those new friends let him couch surf until he could find stability. “They literally invited me, a stranger, into their home,” he recalls. “I was so protected. God really covered me in a way I’m so grateful for—but I almost felt like I didn’t deserve it.”
The journey from teenage uncertainty to adulthood wasn’t easy. Simply surviving his circumstances wasn’t enough. He wanted his experiences to matter to others. That conviction now fuels his work. The community organizer recently announced that he’s opening up his own home to those facing the same instability he once did. His house, on a 9,000-square-foot property in Houston, includes dedicated bedrooms for people in need, and he plans to build another structure to expand that help. “This is why God gave me this house,” Haddock says. “It’s to do what people once did for me.”
While he’s thankful for those who supported him, Haddock is also able to extend grace toward his mother. She was a single parent navigating uncharted territory, raising a Black, gay son. In their community, there were few examples of how to support a child like him. He believes her strictness then came from fear, not rejection. “I don’t think she was a bad mother,” he reflects. “I think she just really wanted to get this child right. That’s a new issue—it’s not you selling drugs or not doing well in school. You’re gay.”
His story mirrors that of many families. According to the National Coalition for the Homeless, “LGBTQ individuals, especially youth, are highly overrepresented in the homeless population. They face significant barriers to finding support services.”
And the problem doesn’t end with adolescence. A 2022 report from The Trevor Project found that “28% of LGBTQ youth reported experiencing homelessness or housing instability at some point—and those who did had two to four times the odds of reporting depression, anxiety, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts compared to those with stable housing.”
Haddock found guidance from older mentors who helped him stay safe as he began dating and entering the adult world. But long-term security wasn’t part of their playbook.
“We had to spend so much of our energy mentoring people just about staying alive,” he says, reflecting on a generation shaped by illness and loss.
When he finally set out on his own, the learning curve was steep. “It was difficult because you don’t know anything about finances,” Haddock admits. “I got all my furniture from Rent-A-Center. I was as happy as I could be.”
But the cycle of short-term survival was costly. “It’s tough when you’ve got to pay them every paycheck,” he says. “It feels like you’ll never own anything.”
Haddock went on to work as a professional organizer focused on stopping the spread of HIV/AIDS. Yet as he met people facing similar struggles, he realized many needed far more than medical support. They needed stability and hope. He’s also vocal about the systemic barriers that keep people unhoused. “It just creates a train wreck, to be quite honest, and it’s being exacerbated by some of the policies,” he says, citing hostile architecture and anti-homeless legislation.
Now, Haddock’s mission is to help the next generation not only survive, but thrive. “Everybody won’t be successful in three to six months,” he says, “but we can give everyone who walks through these doors a possibility model—a chance to see something different.”