With the government shutdown and people not getting their food stamps, I've read a lot of hateful stuff online. Things like, "Why don't you get a job?" or "You can afford lashes but can't afford food?" People say, "That's what happens when you depend on the government, they can take it away." Okay, I kind of agree with that last part, but that's not the point. It's sad when people have to depend on the government.
The point is, I would rather see my tax money go toward feeding people, even if it's junk food. Than see one person go hungry. I'd rather fund food than another corporate tax break. Because the real kicker? Those big corporations cashing in on your food stamps. Places like Walmart and Amazon, haven't paid their fair share of taxes in years. The ultra-rich spend more on lawyers and accountants to dodge taxes than most people make in a year. So if we're gonna be mad about where our tax dollars go, maybe aim that anger upward.
I see those comments online, "Get a job," "Stop being lazy," "Maybe don't buy lashes if you're on food stamps" and every single one cuts deeper than people realize. Because I had a job. I was working full-time. I showed up every single day, even when I was sick, exhausted, or barely holding it together. And it still wasn't enough.
People love to say, "Well, you could've just gotten a second job." As if it's that simple. But when your schedule is chaos, one week mornings, the next week closings, then suddenly overnights. There's no space for another job. I was available seven days a week, taking every shift I could, just to keep my 40 hours. That's not laziness. That's desperation wrapped in determination.
Honestly, why should someone need two jobs just to afford to live? Why should we normalize exhaustion as the price of survival? People talk about "hard work" like it's a badge of honor, but you can't outwork a system built to keep you tired.
He left, and I filed for divorce. It took six months to finalize. The court couldn't even find him to serve the papers. He was homeless, jobless, bouncing from couch to couch like a ghost. Eventually, they posted the notice in the paper. He didn't respond. He vanished like he always had. So our divorce was uncontested.
I had no food in the house. No money for daycare. No backup plan. My mom was the one who told me to apply for government assistance. I was embarrassed. Ashamed, honestly. It felt like failure. Like admitting I couldn't do it all on my own. But she looked me in the eyes and said, "That's what it's there for. For moms like you. Who need help." So I applied.
At the time, I was making about $275 a week at my job working full time with crappy inconsistent hours. That was barely enough to scrape together the bills for the massive house I was trying to survive in, five bedrooms, two and a half baths, and echoed with every empty room I couldn't afford to fill. My daycare bill alone was $900 a month. Let me break that down for anyone who still thinks single moms are just lazy: $275 a week is about $1,100 a month. Minus daycare? That left me with $200 to cover gas, diapers, utilities, clothes, shampoo, toilet paper, everything.
So if you're the kind of person who thinks single moms don't deserve help, congratulations: you're part of the problem. Because deadbeat dads sure as hell aren't footing the bill. Anyway... I got approved.
Childcare assistance covered all but $50 of my daycare. And we got $700 a month in food stamps. We went to the store next door that day. When I say we went to the store… we went to the store. We filled the cart. Snacks. Frozen waffles. Fruit snacks. Cereal. Mac and cheese. Pudding. Juice boxes. Chips. Crackers. Everything. We hadn't had snacks in years.
Sure, I bought the basics. Bread. Milk. Eggs. Ground beef. But I also bought junk. I felt zero shame. Because when you haven't had enough in months, when every meal has been rationed, when every trip to the store meant calculating what can wait another week, you don't judge the junk food. You grab the fruit snacks and the Oreos and the off-brand soda and you put them in your cart like you're allowed to be full. I had two carts. Two. Full. Carts.
When I got home, I cried. Not because I was ashamed. But because, for the first time in years, my cabinets were stocked. My fridge was full. My deep freeze buzzed like a promise. I didn't have to say "no" to snacks that week. I didn't have to say "maybe next time." My kids asked for treats and I said, "Yes."
That yes meant more to me than anyone passing judgment in a checkout line ever could. My babies were happy. Healthy. Loved. They thrived in daycare. Ran in with smiles, came home with glitter in their hair and stories on their lips. It wasn't just childcare. It was safety. Stability. A chance to just be kids.
We moved into my parents' basement so I could save money. It wasn't glamorous, but it was warm and safe. It gave us breathing room, finally.
Then I applied for a promotion at work. I was terrified to even ask. I didn't feel like I was allowed to want more, not when I'd spent so long just trying to survive. But I asked anyway. And I got it!
A promotion. A raise. Almost double what I'd been making before. I wanted to scream. Cry. Dance in the damn parking lot. I called my mom from the bathroom stall at work and sobbed so hard she couldn't understand me at first. I hadn't just survived. I'd made it.
For the first time in years, it felt like the tide was finally turning. Like we were more than just surviving. We were starting to live. We went out for ice cream. I bought real laundry detergent instead of dollar store knockoffs. I said yes to the book fair.
Every penny I saved living in that basement? I stacked it with purpose. I wasn't just saving. I was planning. Planning for a future that belonged to us. Planning for the day I'd buy my own house, plant roots, and show my babies what stability looked like.
My kids didn't just have me. They had all of us. My parents. My brother. My two sisters. A whole team of adults parenting them, loving them, and living alongside them. It wasn't just a basement, it was a village. We lived like that for two years. It was tight. It was chaotic. It was loud and imperfect and exactly what we needed. Eventually, John started getting visits with the kids.
I asked for supervised visits. Because, you know, the cops had been called multiple times, but what do I know? Apparently "a safe environment for children" just means he didn't kill us on record. 🙄
He was supposed to get them one weekend a month. We eventually settled on every other weekend. Which meant...
I could date again. Cue the chaos.
I tell this story not because I think I'm special, but because I know I was lucky. I had a backup system. A safety net made of family. Parents who opened their doors, siblings who helped with my kids, people who refused to let me drown when I was barely treading water. I was fortunate and blessed to have that. Not everyone does. Not everyone can move into their parents' basement. Not everyone has family to watch their kids or buy a gallon of milk when their paycheck runs out. That's exactly why we need food stamps. Why we need childcare assistance. Why housing help matters. Because not everyone has a village waiting to catch them. Some people only have the system and when the system fails them, they fall.
What most people don't understand is how hard it is to get out once you're in that cycle. It's damn near impossible. I was lucky enough to climb out because I had family support, but the system itself doesn't make it easy. The second you start earning a little more money, your benefits disappear. No cushion. No transition period. Suddenly you're making slightly more, but losing way more. They take away your food stamps, your childcare help, your stability. Heaven forbid you try to save anything. If you have "too much" in savings, they cut you off. You can't build a safety net. You can't save for a house. You can't prepare for a rainy day. Sure, you can keep cash under the mattress, but that's not safety. That's survival. It's an endless cycle of poverty, and it's designed to keep people in it. If we're going to tell people to "do better," then the system has to be better. There need to be real, tangible ways out. Not just empty slogans about pulling yourself up by bootstraps you can't afford.
If you claim to be a good person, especially if you call yourself a Christian, you shouldn't be able to turn a blind eye to someone in need. That's not how Jesus lived. He didn't look away from the hungry. He fed them. He didn't ask whether they had a job first. So when I see those hateful comments, I don't just see judgment. I see ignorance. I wish everyone had the kind of support I did. But until they do, I'll keep saying it loud:
No one deserves to go hungry.
No one deserves to struggle alone.
And if anyone ever needs help and I can give it, please reach out. I mean that.