New peer respite center opens in Orlando for mental health, a first for Central Florida

Eva's Casita, a peer respite center run by the local nonprofit Peer Support Space, officially opened its doors two months ago — the first of its kind in Central Florida, and the first and only in the nation designed and led by LGBTQ+ mental-health advocates.

Located in a quiet residential neighborhood just south of downtown Orlando, the new center — staffed with a peer support specialist 24/7 — looks like a normal home on the outside, and largely on the inside as well, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two community rooms, plus a kitchen and a sunroom.

Peer Support Space was formed five and a half years ago, in the wake of the mass shooting at Pulse nightclub. The center is named after the late Eva Fajardo, a local advocate for queer, Hispanic and migrant communities who passed away 18 months ago, as she and the nonprofit were working hard to make the new respite a reality. Fajardo was a “therapist for therapists” after the Pulse tragedy that killed 49 people, says Yasmin Flasterstein, executive director and co-founder of Peer Support Space.

Eva’s Casita is a non-medical space — that is, it's not a treatment facility. It's meant for consenting adults who are struggling with non-urgent mental health challenges, or for those who may be feeling alienated, or otherwise need a place that is safe, low-stakes and comfortable to stay for a few days that isn’t home.

There are more than 40 similar centers across the country, according to Flasterstein, but this is really the first of its kind in Florida, and the first in the nation that is LGBTQ-led.

As a program that relies on nonclinical, peer-led interventions, it’s not meant to be a replacement for medical or mental health care, Flasterstein stresses, even though that’s a common misconception that has concerned some mental health providers. “We’re here to partner,” she explained, during one of several tours Peer Support Space is offering locals, to show off and explain the successes of their first two months in operation. They’ve offered refuge to over 70 guests so far.

Ground rules: You must be an adult age 18 or older; there is no alcohol or non-prescribed drugs allowed onsite; and you must have a home or residence to return to after you leave. You are under no obligation to stay for any period of time, and can leave anytime, including during the daytime to go to work or school. The max length of stay — at no cost to guests — is six consecutive nights, and you don’t have to be local to Central Florida to request a stay .

Entering the homey center — literally located in a home, let’s be clear — visitors are greeted by colorful, contemporary furniture, and a table full of snacks. A large TV in the back game room, visible from the entrance upon an Orlando Weekly reporter’s arrival, displayed a “lo-fi” Animal Crossing video loop that peer specialists found on YouTube.

Flasterstein, who uses she/they pronouns, joked the video — displaying a serene scene of characters from the popular video game — especially appeals to neurodiverse Millennials like themselves.

A lit-up "Peer Support Space" rug that doubles as a welcome sign, also visible from the front door, offers visitors the perfect opportunity to have their own “Instagrammable moment,” as Flasterstein puts it. While something of an indulgence, Flasterstein explains that the eclectic furnishings and interior design helps create a more comfortable environment for visitors, placing it in stark contrast with the sterile nature of a white-walled hospital ward or lockdown facility.

The small center is also decked out with features and technologies designed for accessibility, like a kitchen faucet that can turn on and off with the wave of a hand, a microwave located at knee level, and built-in ramps for parts of the building that have steps. Each of the three bedrooms — painted with expressive murals — welcomes guests with a small gift basket curated to meet any personal needs or requests made during initial intake calls.

The nonprofit’s goal was to make the space accessible, comfortable and inclusive for people of all backgrounds and abilities, according to Flasterstein, who is herself a queer mental health advocate. Flasterstein has lived experience with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (cPTSD). They’ve previously worked in a residential treatment setting, and have worked for local nonprofits, also serving on the mental health response team after Pulse.

The concept of peer respites and peer support isn’t new. It emerged as part of a decades-old reform movement led by survivors of abusive psychiatric practices, inspired by fights for civil rights and disability rights.

What respites are and what they look like in practice can be a bit cloudy for those unfamiliar, but Peer Support Space sees it as a component of what might be a broader treatment plan — or life plan, really — for someone with a past or ongoing history of adversity. A guest might be an adult with chronic depression or a history of trauma, or a queer or trans person living in Florida right now who is feeling alienated or lost in the midst of a political culture war that questions or even degrades them for existing outside of heterosexual or gender norms.

A peer respite isn’t a psychiatric hospital. It’s not somewhere to go if you’re in crisis, but it is a legitimate form of nonclinical care recognized by healthcare experts. It’s sometimes identified as a type of hospital diversion or suicide prevention program.

Research into these voluntary peer respite programs has found that they can help fill gaps in an overburdened or otherwise lacking mental healthcare system, and can reduce the need for intensive inpatient or emergency treatment for mental health or substance misuse. A reduced need for care can also deliver cost savings — a valuable pitch to potential public and private donors.

After the Pulse tragedy in 2016, Flasterstein and others in the local queer community learned the hard way that there was a shortage, or complete absence of mental health professionals who were specialized to treat communities most affected by the shooting, particularly LGBTQ+ people of color and Hispanic communities who primarily or singularly speak Spanish.

There’s also the issue of insurance and affordability. Sure, there’s a therapist here who often treats queer Black patients or speaks Spanish with ease, but do they take insurance? What is the cost of care out-of-pocket? Do they have a waitlist?

“What happens when I think communities fail us, is we turn to one another, and informally that is peer support,” Flasterstein told Orlando Weekly last fall, as they were making progress on the respite development.

Eva’s Casita offers stays of up to six nights for consenting adults at no cost — a service made possible through diverse funding sources, including private donors and public funds.

Last year, Orange County unanimously approved $427,451.63 for the center, and opted to add additional funds to the nonprofit’s program this week. An effort by Florida Rep. Kristen Arrington (D-Kissimmee) to secure $136,000 in state funds for the peer respite this year was ultimately vetoed by Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis last month, along with $32 million in arts and culture funds .

Walking through Eva’s on Thursday, Flasterstein said those state funds would have gone toward things like a tranquil garden space they had imagined for the sizable backyard and other furnishings in their community room to enhance voluntary individual and group activities, like scrapbooking, yoga and journaling.

A state appropriation request record shows the funds would have also supported consulting services to help guide their program forward, as well as building renovations for ADA compliance and other furnishings and supplies. At the center, Peer Support Space offers a variety of basic household items for guests, such as menstrual supplies, Narcan (an antidote for opioid overdose) and clothing or food for adults in need as they leave the center.

Flasterstein said they want people to have the resources they need to be successful on the outside, so to speak, so they don’t return to an unsupported or lacking environment.

However, it is not intended to serve as a homeless shelter or domestic violence shelter. You must have a place to return to after your stay, and the nonprofit may turn away people if they believe an abusive partner or family member could come after them and potentially disrupt the peace of the household and neighborhood.

There was initially some resistance to the respite from neighbors, according to Flasterstein, who at one point mobilized against its development through a Facebook group, adopting something of a NIMBY mentality. Flasterstein, made aware of the concerned neighbors, posted in the public Facebook group to offer a tour of the respite and an ask-me-anything session of sorts on the front lawn.

This show of collaboration and a willingness to answer questions from those worried about potential disruption helped alleviate the apprehension, according to Flasterstein.

So far, in the first two months of operation, Eva’s Casita has welcomed over 70 guests and has collected self-reported data from guests, many of whom voluntarily reported overall improvements in mental health following their stay and decreased thoughts of suicide. Others said they were able to explore new forms of self-care, and felt they were able to connect with others who have had similar life experiences.

Currently, the waitlist for a stay at Eva’s is inching closer to two months, according to Flasterstein, mostly because they closed the respite’s doors for their current two-week “tour-a-thon.” Prior to that, the average wait has been two weeks, although sometimes they will have cancellations that allow people to request and be granted a stay within hours or days. So far, their guests have mostly learned about them through word of mouth or recommendation.

You can learn more about Eva’s Casita, as well as opportunities to donate your time, services or supplies to the respite here .