Hidden in Plain Sight: The Silent Struggle of Women Living in Vehicles in Parksville and Oceanside…

In the shadow of Vancouver Island’s picturesque beaches, where the salty air mingles with the scent of cedar forests, a quiet crisis unfolds each night. For dozens of women in the Parksville and Oceanside area—from Whiskey Creek to Qualicum Beach—their homes are not cozy apartments overlooking the Strait of Georgia, but the cramped confines of minivans, sedans, and SUVs. These women, often invisible to the tourists snapping photos of Rathtrevor Beach’s sands, navigate a daily gauntlet of survival that strips away dignity, health, and hope. According to the 2025 Point-in-Time Homeless Count conducted by BC Housing, 94 people experienced homelessness in the Parksville-Qualicum region, with 90 of them unsheltered—many in vehicles—and 31% identifying as women.  This isn’t just a statistic; it’s a symptom of a community turning its back on its own.

A Day in the Life: Precarious Routines and Constant Vigilance

Dawn breaks over Parksville’s waterfront, and Sarah—whose name has been changed for privacy—stirs in the back of her 2012 Honda Odyssey. At 52, she’s a former administrative assistant who lost her rental to a landlord sell-off amid soaring costs. Her morning begins with a furtive check of the mirrors: no tickets from overnight parking enforcers, no aggressive knocks from passersby. She drives to the public pool in Qualicum Beach for a hurried shower, rationing her $1,200 monthly disability cheque between gas, groceries, and the occasional laundromat visit.

The day unfolds in a blur of necessity. Breakfast is a thermos of instant coffee heated on the car’s engine block, alongside canned soup warmed the same way—a trick shared among the “car community,” as locals quietly call it. Errands mean circling parking lots at the Quality Foods grocery or the Parksville Community Centre, always ready to move if a security guard approaches. Evenings bring the hunt for a discreet spot: behind a strip mall, along a quiet residential street, or near the weigh station on Highway 19A, where bears have been drawn to encampments, heightening dangers.  For women like Sarah, safety is paramount; many, including Indigenous women who make up 84% of the unsheltered in the count, flee domestic violence, choosing the isolation of a vehicle over returning to abusers.   In BC, 59% of women escaping intimate partner violence face financial abuse that traps them in this limbo, with average one-bedroom rents hitting $2,300—far beyond reach on fixed incomes.

These routines erode privacy and autonomy. Cooking is limited to a single-burner camp stove used sparingly to avoid detection. Laundry? A public machine every two weeks, if funds allow. And sleep? Interrupted by the rumble of passing trucks or the chill seeping through thin windows, even in October’s damp mildness. Jerrold Paetkau, community chaplain with Manna Homeless Society, estimates 60 to 100 people—many first-time homeless like grandmothers and aunts—are enduring this in the area, prioritizing meds and meals over rent to cling to a shred of self-respect.

The Hidden Health Toll: A Body and Mind Under Siege

Living in a vehicle isn’t survival—it’s slow erosion. The confined space, often no larger than a queen-sized bed, fosters chronic issues: back pain from contorted sleeping positions, respiratory problems from poor ventilation, and heightened risk of carbon monoxide poisoning if idling for heat in winter.  Hygiene suffers without reliable access to bathrooms or showers, leading to infections, skin conditions, and the psychological weight of feeling perpetually unclean. Mental health deteriorates too—constant hypervigilance breeds anxiety and depression, compounded by isolation. The National Health Care for the Homeless Council notes that vehicle-dwellers face elevated risks for severe illnesses, from hypothermia in uninsulated cars to substance use as a coping mechanism.

In the 2025 count, 63% of respondents reported co-occurring mental health and substance use challenges, with women particularly vulnerable to trauma from violence.  For those fleeing abuse, the car’s “safety” is illusory: no locks strong enough against intruders, no space to process PTSD. Emergency room visits—accessed by 80% in the past year—burden an already strained Nanaimo hospital, where hypothermia and overdose cases spike without winter supports.  It’s a vicious cycle: illness prevents job hunting, deepening poverty, while the lack of stable rest impairs healing.

Barren Ground: Limited Services and Nowhere Safe to Park

Oceanside’s services are a patchwork at best. Manna Homeless Society offers food hampers and outreach, but no dedicated drop-in center exists for daily needs. The Oceanside Homelessness Task Force, reformed in August after disbanding in May, coordinates sporadically, but lacks municipal backing for essentials like consistent cold-weather shelters—leaving unhoused women to face another winter exposed, as in February 2025 when no overnight options materialized.   

Safe parking? A pipe dream. Manna proposed designated lots in February—secure spots with oversight to shield against harassment and theft—but Parksville’s mayor deemed it a “non-starter,” citing community resistance.   Women park at their peril: RCMP calls rose slightly in early 2025, often tied to encampment complaints, while bylaws target “nuisance vehicles” without alternatives.  For violence survivors, this scarcity is deadly—shelters turn away callers, with BWSS fielding over 52,000 requests last year alone, many from women opting for cars over danger.

Dehumanizing Our Own: The Ripple of Indifference

By allowing women to vanish into vehicles, Oceanside dehumanizes a vital community thread. These aren’t “transients”—82% have been homeless a year or more, 61% five years or longer, many lifelong locals.  We’re eroding our social fabric: families splinter as children couch-surf, workers burn out from exhaustion, and Indigenous women—overrepresented at 84%—bear intergenerational scars from systemic racism.  This indifference festers, breeding resentment—protests at Parksville City Hall in October 2024 demanded shelters, met with zoning excuses—while petty thefts rise from desperation, tainting the “small-town charm.”

It’s self-inflicted harm. Tourism dips as encampments mar beaches; cleanup costs balloon; ERs overflow, hiking taxes for all. In Whiskey Creek, a 2020 trailer fire claimed three lives amid isolation— a tragedy born of neglect that echoes today.  By sidelining these women, we dim the empathy that binds us, turning neighbors into suspects.

Leadership’s Blind Spot: Yards Over Lives

Where is the care? Local leaders fret over unkempt yards and bear sightings at weigh stations—minor eyesores that dominate council agendas—while homelessness claims lives unchecked.  The task force, chaired by outreach worker Shayla Day, begs for zoned shelters and outreach funding, but bureaucratic inertia prevails, labeling solutions “band-aids” unfit for a crisis killing 458 provincially in 2023, with Vancouver Island hardest hit.   This misplaced focus—on aesthetics over agony—signals a poverty of compassion, where the “messy neighbour’s yard” trumps the mess we’ve made of human lives.

It’s not inevitable. Expand safe parking, fund transition housing, recognize “invisible” women in counts. As Paetkau implores: “Everyone deserves safety at least, right?”  Oceanside, let’s choose love over lots left empty. Our women—and our souls—depend on it.

Donations can be made by e-transfer to:

MannaParksville@gmail.com 

Or  cheques can be sent to:

Manna Homeless Society

P.O. Box 389

Errington BC VOR 1VO

Thank you for your love and support!

Robin Campbell

Manna Homeless Society