How Amber Locklear and St. Joseph Access Center Helped Marc Thrive
This isn’t just a success story. For me, it’s a miracle I worked for with every bit of my soul.
My name is Amber. This January, I celebrated 20 years of being sober. I’ve slept on the same cold pavement my clients do. In this field, it’s called “lived experience.” Now working as a trusted therapist, I help people at St. Joseph Center’s Access Center begin receiving services, whether it’s a hot shower or a doctor’s appointment. I have grown in my role and established myself within the homeless community to be able to support someone on the journey and join them wherever they are, allowing them to find their own way.
At St. Joseph Center, the Access Center isn’t just a building. It’s a frontline intervention for people who have forgotten what solid ground feels like and need access to support.
“At St. Joseph Center, the Access Center isn’t just a building. It’s a frontline intervention for people who have forgotten what solid ground feels like and need access to support.”
When Marc Royston walked into the Access Center in Venice back in 2019, he was a man at the end of his rope. He was coming off a suicide attempt and the brutal reality of the streets. He was wearing “mental armor” so thick it was suffocating him. He wasn’t looking for a service pillar. He was looking for a reason not to give up.
“He was wearing mental armor so thick it was suffocating him. He wasn’t looking for a service pillar. He was looking for a reason not to give up.”
He began eating meals at Bread & Roses Café, which served as another gateway for him to receive the services St. Joseph Center provides. We are connected throughout the community, hoping that a hot meal provides the nourishment, comfort, and rest needed to rethink the possibility of obtaining permanent supportive housing and living mentally well.
People see us now, laughing and celebrating his permanent housing, and they think it was easy. It wasn’t. It was a battlefield. There’s something I recently told Marc that I didn’t let him see back then. I used to go home at night and cry. I would keep Marc in my prayers, asking God daily to guide me on how to best help him.
I saw my own history in him—the terror, the vulnerability, and the exhaustion. When you’ve been there, you carry your clients’ weight differently. You know exactly how easy it is for the street to swallow someone whole. Marc helped me affirm my life purpose. At the Access Center, we know the importance of meeting the client where they are, allowing them autonomy in their decisions; this reminds them of the safe space that has been created for them when they are ready to take that next step.
“People see us now, laughing and celebrating his permanent housing, and they think it was easy. It wasn’t. It was a battlefield.”
I told my team then what I tell them now: “We stay ready so we don’t have to get ready.”
We proved that during the 2025 wildfires. While the city turned orange and the air turned to ash, we didn’t blink. We stayed on the front lines at the Access Center because our neighbors experiencing homelessness don’t have the luxury of sheltering in place when the world is burning. We were the stable ground when everything else was chaos.
Today, through the work of mental health services provided by St. Joseph Center, Marc has maintained his housing, has worked through his trauma, and come out on the other side where he lives grounded and free, walking in his new mantra: “I choose joy.” When I look at him now, I don’t see that terrified knight looking for an attack from every angle. I see a man who has finally taken off the armor.
He’s not just surviving. He’s living with a grace that honestly brings me to tears for a different reason now.
But here is the reality: the safety net is thinning. The Access Center is facing significant funding challenges. Getting permanently housed doesn’t mean we put people in an apartment and say, “See you later.” It takes work. In the field of mental health, we have to be mindful that clients may experience relapse for various reasons related to their unique traumas. With SNAP cuts and reduced local resources, the front-door opportunities we provide at St. Joseph Center, such as the Access Center, could go away.
“When I look at him now, I don’t see that terrified knight looking for an attack from every angle. I see a man who has finally taken off the armor.”
Marc gives me credit for helping him, but the truth is we both took off our armor to listen to each other. Marc showed up for his appointments, and we took it one day at a time, celebrating every bit of his progress. Whatever didn’t work, we worked on it again. Eventually, he found the courage to trust someone who had walked the same path.
“Marc showed up for his appointments, and we took it one day at a time, celebrating every bit of his progress.”
I feel blessed that Marc trusted me on his journey, and we recently got to reunite and laugh together. As St. Joseph Center hits 50 years, we’re staying ready. Because there’s always another Marc out there—and they need to know that we won’t let them fall.
