Why Don’t They Just Move to the City?:Understanding the Real Barriers Facing People Experiencing Homelessness in Rural Communities

“Why don’t they just move to Edmonton or Calgary? There are more services there.”

It’s a question we hear often, and one that comes from a place of wanting to see solutions. But when we really listen to the stories of people experiencing homelessness in our community, we begin to understand that relocation isn’t a simple fix. It’s often not an option at all.

At our shelter, we believe in keeping client voices at the centre of the conversation. Many of the people we support have tried relocating, or thought about it, but face a long list of emotional, financial, and structural barriers that make staying closer to home their only option.

For many of our clients, this is home. They were born here, raised their children here, worked in the area, or have family buried nearby. Even without housing, they may still have deep connections to the land, the people, or the places that shaped them.

Leaving behind those ties can mean losing the last threads of connection to identity, culture, and belonging.

To move, you need transportation, money for food and rent deposits, access to affordable housing at your destination, and the ability to secure employment quickly. For someone experiencing homelessness, these things are out of reach. Many are living day-to-day, with no savings, no car, and no support network in another city.

What looks like a “choice” to stay is often a lack of choices.

Trauma rewires how people experience the world. For those living with PTSD, anxiety, or complex trauma, the idea of starting over in a new city, with unfamiliar streets, new systems, and no supports, is not just stressful, it can feel impossible. Routine and familiarity can offer a small sense of control in a life otherwise marked by instability.

Add in barriers like untreated mental illness, past experiences with violence, or fear of urban shelters, and the idea of moving becomes not only impractical, but unsafe.

Many rural residents experiencing homelessness have fled violence, whether intimate partner violence, trafficking, or abuse. For these individuals, staying local may be about safety and survival. Urban centres may not feel safer; shelters in bigger cities often have long waitlists, higher populations, and fewer trauma-informed, culturally safe spaces for Indigenous, 2SLGBTQ+, or disabled folks.

Being closer to known service providers, even in limited rural systems, can feel less risky than starting over somewhere unfamiliar.

Some of the people we work with have moved to cities. They’ve tried. And they’ve come back. Maybe they couldn’t get a shelter bed, couldn’t navigate city transportation, or were retraumatized by previous experiences. Sometimes, they were targeted or harmed for being visibly homeless. Sometimes, the help they needed just wasn’t available fast enough.

Returning to a smaller community, where they at least know the streets, the service providers, or a friendly face, often feels like the only viable option.

We understand that homelessness is a complex and emotional issue. It’s okay to have questions. It’s okay to not understand the full picture right away. But when we start with curiosity instead of judgment, and compassion instead of blame, we can begin to see each person not as a “problem,” but as a person, with a story, a history, and a right to dignity.

The question isn’t “Why don’t they leave?”

Instead it’s “What would our community need to look like so no one feels like they have to?”