Why I Joined an Intergenerational Housing Experiment

Last January, midway through my third year as a psychology student at Mount Royal University in Calgary, I needed a new place to live. At the time, I was going through a separation and paying $800 a month for a campus dorm room. The situation wasn’t ideal: I was 45, more than twice the age of most of my neighbours, and the noise through the thin walls was a near-constant distraction. But when I looked at rental options near campus, they were easily more than double what I was paying.

One day, I spotted a flyer on campus. It was an ad for a pilot project by the Canadian Alliance for Intergenerational Living, or CAIL, a Calgary-based nonprofit that offered students affordable housing in vacant units at Silvera, a local retirement community. I thought the concept was an innovative solution to address two of Canada’s most pressing crises: an aging, often isolated population and a housing market where affordability is slipping further and further away.

The idea of living with seniors resonated with me on multiple levels. I used to work as a paramedic, where I treated many seniors and saw firsthand the challenges they faced when their health issues were not properly managed. After that, I ran a side business teaching fitness classes, mainly for older adults who wanted to stay mobile and healthy. Those experiences made me feel naturally drawn to helping the seniors at Silvera. On a practical level, the financial relief was an undeniable draw: my room at Silvera, subsidized through the government-funded CAIL pilot, would cost only $530 a month. It was also just a short walk from campus—perfectly suited to my needs. 

In exchange for cheap housing, students would have to volunteer 30 hours each month socializing with seniors or attending group events, which I was happy to do. I decided to apply. The screening process for the program was similar to a job application: CAIL staff interviewed me several times to assess my suitability. During those conversations, I discussed ideas like leading fitness classes and facilitating group workshops. In the spring, I was accepted as a pilot participant and became one of Silvera’s 1,800 residents at the end of August.

My room—a 450-square-foot studio with a private bathroom and kitchenette—was tucked into a bright, airy building full of windows and plants. The common areas had quiet nooks for studying and reading, which I used right away. But my new life required some adjustments. My apartment didn’t have an oven or stovetop, so I ate my meals in the dining area, along with the rest of the residents. I adapted to their schedule—the stereotypes about seniors having dinners as early as 4 p.m. are very true. I completed many of my 30 volunteer hours during those mealtimes, socializing with residents. It almost felt like a high school lunch period, sitting with different people every day, swapping stories and laughing a lot. Many of the residents were in their 80s or 90s, with a few even surpassing 100.

One of the first residents I bonded with was like the friend you meet on your first day at a new school, the one who guides you through the details of daily life and welcomes you into their social circle—except she was in her late 70s. She talked about her family, including the loss of her daughter and husband, and her time volunteering with the Calgary Stampeders, the local CFL team. She proudly showed me pictures of herself with the players.

She once joined me in my Psychology of Aging class at Mount Royal University. Sitting together in the taxi, she was practically buzzing with excitement, eager to meet new people. In the lecture hall, she encouraged my classmates to visit seniors like her and told them how valuable social interaction is at any age. Another day, she needed help setting up an Uber account to get to a doctor’s appointment. I sat with her, downloaded the app, created a password and arranged the ride. The next day, she made it to her appointment without a hitch and, when I saw her afterwards, she was relieved and grateful. I helped another resident create a digital life history using a website called KinCapsule. It had videos, photos, audio recordings and digital documents that he could share with his family. He wanted to preserve his story for his loved ones, especially since both his sisters had recently died. He spoke openly about how those losses affected him, as well as the death of his mother when he was just nine years old. He showed me how early traumas shape a person’s journey—a concept that fascinates me as a psychology student.

Most of the residents relied on walkers. Right away I knew they could benefit from fitness classes. I started hosting classes three times a week at Silvera as part of my volunteer hours. I taught mobility and balance exercises, as well as strength training with light weights and resistance bands. The response was incredible. One day, a visually impaired resident approached me after class to say that my instructions were so clear that he was able to follow along with ease. He never missed a class, and I always made sure to adapt exercises or provide hands-on guidance whenever needed.

Of course, our community at Silvera faced the same challenges as all retirement homes. Just weeks after I moved in, a flu outbreak brought group activities, including my fitness classes, to a halt. The atmosphere grew heavy. The only thing we were allowed to do near other people was have our meals at separate tables in the dining area. Outside Silvera, I spent time on campus, where life bustled along like normal.

One of the more emotional challenges has been the constant presence of loss. Residents leave unexpectedly—whether due to illness, relocation or death—and ambulances often arrive several times a week. It’s been hard to build relationships only to have them end abruptly. I don’t even have the chance to say goodbye. It takes a toll on the residents too. When one person died a few weeks ago, many of their friends could not express the grief they felt. Many seniors from this generation struggle with sharing their feelings, and while one person briefly opened up to me, they didn’t give me much of a window to provide emotional support. 

During my years as a paramedic, I saw how emotional distress and loneliness can transform into physical pain. I met seniors who called 911 only to feel dramatically better just from talking to me on the way to the hospital. Even small gestures can make a big difference, as I observed when my 26-year-old son visited me at Silvera one day. The moment he walked in, he was swarmed by a group of residents, particularly the ladies, who gushed over how handsome he was. He’s shy, so he squirmed from all the attention, but even that brief visit lit up their day.

I’m set to move out in April when I graduate, but I’d love to extend my stay as I begin my master’s degree the following academic year. Looking ahead, I dream of working in-house at a place like Silvera, teaching staffers and residents alike the importance of fitness and companionship. I also hope to expand the life history project I started with one of the residents into a larger research initiative or a formalized service in retirement homes, offering seniors a way to preserve their memories.

Intergenerational living is a win-win. Younger people gain access to affordable housing, and seniors receive companionship. A government-funded program like ours relieves pressure on both the housing market and the health-care system. Whether by placing students in retirement homes or encouraging seniors to rent rooms to students, these approaches allow different generations to support and learn from each other. In the end, bridging those age gaps will create a sense of belonging for everyone involved.

—As told to Ali Amad