Marlus Stewart built a life around supporting people wrestling through enormous obstacles. Orphaned at age 11, sober by 35 and running a drug abuse treatment program by her 50s, Stewart had pushed through setbacks with grit and resilience.

Asking for help wasn’t supposed to be part of Stewart’s story. She was the helper.

But in 2019, the unimaginable happened. Stewart’s son, her only child, died of suicide at age 50. Then the pandemic hit. Struggling with health issues, she retired. Her car, which was almost paid off, was totaled. Bills piled up. She missed her son. The grief was unbearable.

“Not having him is really difficult,” Stewart said.

For many renters like Stewart, the high cost of housing can turn a disruption like hospitalization into a crisis. She ultimately found herself sleeping in her car.

Stewart, who is 72 and has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and a pacemaker, was hospitalized repeatedly after a series of sudden blackouts. Needing to be close to family, she gave up her apartment, put her belongings into storage and moved in with her granddaughter. When it came time for her to move out, she couldn’t afford the high deposits most landlords require.

For many renters like Stewart, the high cost of housing can turn a disruption like hospitalization into a crisis. She ultimately found herself sleeping in her car.

Stewart never judged those who sought help. But it felt difficult to be on the other side.

She had been living in her car off and on for about six months when she sought aid through Catholic Charities this summer. She was accepted into a low-income housing program but had to come up with a security deposit.

A caseworker helped Stewart apply to the Chronicle Season of Sharing Fund, which works throughout the year to prevent homelessness and hunger in the Bay Area’s nine counties.

I didn’t have any financial backup, and deposits are so high,” Stewart said. The fund “got me into an apartment. That was very important.

The fund gave Stewart money for a deposit. In late October she moved into a new senior housing complex near Kaiser Permanente Medical Center in Santa Rosa with gardens and a place to walk her dog, a Shih Tzu Chihuahua mix whom Stewart named Mercedes Marie.

“I didn’t have any financial backup, and deposits are so high,” Stewart said. The fund “got me into an apartment. That was very important.”

Once she’s settled, Stewart plans to find grant-writing jobs and find a way to volunteer. She helps watch her great-grandchildren twice a week. She’s eager to get back to helping others.

“I miss that. I really miss that,” she said.

Meaningful work kept Stewart grounded after she stumbled.

After both of her parents died from illness when she was a child, Stewart left the life she had known in Iowa to live with relatives in Larkspur. She entered her teens immersed in Marin County’s 1960s counterculture, partying with Janis Joplin and others. But instead of moving on from those heady days, drugs took over. Years passed in a blur.

In 1985, Stewart decided to change her life. She boarded a northbound bus from Marin to reach a treatment program in Santa Rosa. She thought about her friends and how their lives had been consumed by drug use and scraping by. On that bus, Stewart recalls the moment she decided to be different.

“I’m going to do this,” Stewart told herself. “This is my life now.”

She never looked back.

She entered a residential recovery program run by nonprofit Drug Abuse Alternatives Center, graduating the following year. She attended daily 12-step meetings and got a job delivering plumbing equipment.

I know it works, because it worked for me

But she missed the deep connections she’d found at DAAC. She went back to the nonprofit and got a job answering the phones. She never left, training to become a counselor, then started writing grants. She finished out her 30-year career as managing director.

She stayed close with her son, even as he, too, struggled with addiction. She took in her granddaughter at age 2 and raised her to adulthood on a modest salary. Stewart’s home became a family hub, drawing everyone for Thanksgiving, Christmas and other holidays when she’d cook big meals.

She’d mustered the courage to change her life.

“I know it works, because it worked for me,” Stewart said.

Reach Julie Johnson: julie.johnson@sfchronicle.com