Kimberly’s Story

When Kimberly Gavurnik rolls into the KCB Community Center, you can feel the shift in the room. She’s got a quick laugh, a sharp wit, and a way of making you feel like you’ve known her forever. But her journey to this place, a spot where she’s known by name, where she belongs, wasn’t a straight line. It’s a story of eight years on the streets across Chicago, Texas, and California, a wheelchair that became her only constant, and a longing for freedom that finally found roots right here in Bellflower.

Kimberly’s life has been a whirlwind. A mom to four kids, she spent 30 years waitressing, pouring her heart into raising her family. “Mothering and waitressing, that’s been my life,” she told me during our chat last week. But beneath that hustle was a restlessness. In Texas, where she lived with her youngest son, she felt like an outsider. “I’m not a Southern girl,” she said with a chuckle. “The people, the wavelength, it just didn’t fit.” She stuck it out while her son started school, but in 2015, an arrest landed her in jail for 10 months. When she got out, Texas felt like a dead end. “I needed to get away,” she said. A friend in California offered to help her, so she packed up and headed west in 2016, hoping for a fresh start.

The problem was, that fresh start she hoped for didn’t go as planned. The friend wanted to bounce from motel to motel, but Kimberly wasn’t about that life. “If every penny I made went to bills and motels, I’d hate it,” she admitted. “So back then, I chose the freedom of the streets.” And there began her California chapter, four years homeless, starting in Downey (just down the road from Bellflower). She’d already weathered two years on Chicago’s brutal streets and two in Texas’s heat, but California’s services were a maze. “It was hard to get help,” she said. Then, one day in 2021, a chance stop at a Norwalk food pantry changed everything. Some guys at the bus stop pointed her to LAHSA, which connected her to PATH, and eventually, she landed at New Hope Shelter in Bellflower. “As far as California goes, Bellflower will always be home to me,” she said.

That’s when KCB entered the picture. Kimberly arrived at the shelter in late 2021, battling medical issues that hit hard and fast. “Less than a year after I got here, my hip was killing me.” A hospital visit got her a walker, then a wheelchair, and she’s been in it ever since. She was able to snag a Section 8 voucher through KCB, but hospital stays piled up, and she lost it. “The bottom line? I’m bad with money,” she said, owning it with a shrug. “Waitressing 30 years, I spent everything. Tips are unpredictable! You can’t budget what you don’t know.” Add in abusive relationships and undiagnosed mental health struggles (clinical depression, anxiety, OCD, bipolar), and Kimberly’s road got rocky. “I didn’t think I had issues because I wasn’t crying all the time,” she said. “But taking my daughter to a therapist ended with me getting diagnosed. Without meds, my emotions are a wreck.”

Enter the KCB Community Center. Kimberly first showed up mid-COVID, needing a steady spot for mail. “It was just business back then. I couldn’t even come inside.” Fast forward to now, and it’s a whole different world. “I roll in, get my mail, grab some coffee, eat, use the phone, hang out. It feels like home.” That shift didn’t happen overnight. It started with small things: a place to charge her phone (underrated when you’re on the streets), a cup of coffee she didn’t have to hustle for. “I used to hurry up and leave when I came in here,” she said. “Now? I feel so welcome, I don’t want to go.”

For Kimberly, belonging isn’t about fitting a mold. It’s about being accepted as she is. “Fitting in doesn’t mean being the same,” she explained. “I want people to appreciate my differences, not ostracize me.” At the Community Center, she’s found that. “No judgment, no looking down on me, even with how I look.” Her wheelchair’s been her constant for three years, a part of her identity. “Everything else changes, but not this,” she said, patting its armrest. “Now, the Community Center’s a constant too.” One moment sealed it: when Valerie, one of our staff, struck up a conversation. “Now I roll in, and Javvy and Val and Sam know my name. Everybody does,” she said with a grin. “It’s a family atmosphere.”

That family vibe has lifted her up. “I struggle with self-worth,” she admitted. “Out there, people treat me like a newcomer, even in Bellflower. Here, I don’t feel that.” It’s the little things. Coffee, staff who don’t rush her, a quiet corner to recharge, that make her feel included. “Shelters don’t give you alone time,” she said. “Here, I get that, and I love it.” Relationships have bloomed too. Valerie’s chats make her feel known. Sam, her old housing navigator, explained tough choices with patience. And as for me, I got to use our Love Thy Neighbor Fund to buy her compression gloves for her arthritis and carpal tunnel. “My hands hurt pushing this chair,” she said. “Those gloves help so much.”

Homelessness hasn’t been kind to Kimberly. “Getting around’s the worst,” she said. “I’m always scanning for ramps and it’s exhausting with bags hanging off the back.” Looking homeless changes things too. “People see it,” she said quietly. The Community Center aims to ease that load. Phone charging stations, hygiene items, clothing, whatever she needs. “It takes stuff off my mind,” she said. Her advice to others feeling lost? “Be persistent. Get the help. You never know what you’ll connect to.” Having steady hope gets tricky with bipolar swings. “I can go weeks avoiding a call that’d help me,” she said, but the Community Center keeps her steady. “Coming here helps with that.”

Kimberly’s dreaming again. “I want to travel,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I’ve got Facebook friends who’ve invited me to live with them. I’d love to see the country. Chicago, Texas, California are so different. I want a vagabond life.” Belonging here has fueled that longing. “It’s shown me there’s help, and I can do it,” she said. “Freedom starts with belonging for me.”

To anyone thinking of supporting the Community Center or Love Thy Neighbor Fund, Kimberly’s got a pitch: “Donations aren’t just food and clothes. Gift cards, McDonald’s, Walmart, Dollar Tree, they give us dignity. I can buy my own ibuprofen or socks or coffee. Certain people need certain things.” Her final thought? “You never know what people are going through. Be kind.” When I asked Kim if we could snap a picture of her so people could connect a face to her name, she laughed, and shared a funny experience: “You know a guy recently came up to me and said, “I know it’s not much,” and I thought he was going to hand me some change or a dollar, but handed me an eyeliner instead. Can you believe that!? I guess I needed it!”

Kimberly’s story is why the KCB Community Center exists. From a wheelchair in Bellflower, she’s found a family. To every neighbor like her and those who aren’t, you have a place here. You belong.

Want to help make that happen for more neighbors? Drop by kcbellflower.org or visit us to pitch in. We can use monetary donations (tax-deductible), gift cards, or even just your time. We’re here because, as Kimberly says, kindness matters in community, and belonging is a natural byproduct of that.

Thanks for being part of stories like Kimberly’s. Until next time…

Kimberly heading out for the day with her new compression gloves.