newly poor (Page 4)

This “no groceries challenge” lasted just a month, and not even that (twice I bought fresh fruits and vegetables). Last night I went to the grocery store and bought, within reason, what I wanted. IMG_2724Like the challenges before, my perspective about what I “need” has adjusted to a more sustainable level. And, as it was before, I was full of gratitude when I had the option of going for the fresh produce. Not everyone gets to do this.
When I write about the no groceries challenges, or being “newly poor,” I write mostly for people who have backgrounds like mine. I hope to share with people who have always meant well; who embraced what I’ve always considered the liberal philosophies of helping those who need help the most. Even as I approach financial stability, I want to call on those many months where I lived with less than I’d ever known before.
I understand better why people who need the most help feel condescended to or patronized by well-meaning people. I also understand better why it seems poor people support policies that are “against their own interests.” I want to help people like me to do what they have intended to all along. There is a change in perspective that needs to happen. Instead of “helping them,” we need to “help each other.” I’ll write about it more in my newspaper column, but I’ll likely continue sharing thoughts here that are less fully formed and more personal.
(And, I expect to resist the temptation to go to the grocery store for “just a few things,” whenever the mood strikes.)

In the last year, I’ve spent a lot of time and energy examining my own role in racism, classism, and genderism. What I’ve learned is both disgusting and not surprising. I did much of the “work” on racism in the 90s. But then, I stopped.
I get to “stop” if I want to.
As I’ve re-focused my attention (again on racism, more recently on socio-economic class, just touching on genderism), I’ve found myself utterly and completely exhausted by the whole thing. Right now, I feel like retreating into my own little privilege bubble where everything is easy.
I have a choice.
In the 90s, I felt “white guilt” because I didn’t want to be racist. I was out of touch with the actual issues because it was all about me and my experience.
These days, the bell still can’t be unrung. I know that when I retreat into the easy ways, it’s a choice I get to make without many direct consequences. Many, many people don’t have the choice. They have to live with racism, classism, and genderism every day and it’s inescapable.
I’m not sure what I’ll do on a daily basis. I see now that the only way I can really make change is to: 1) listen to people who experience it without the option to take a break *without interjecting my own experiences/perspectives*, and, 2) uncover ways I can help make systemic, institutional level changes and do those things.
But, my god, it’s not easy. I literally can’t imagine how “not easy” it would be if I could never escape the fight.

As I get financially more stable, I get more worried about the point at which I stop qualifying for government assistance (beyond the assistance we all get from our fire fighters, police officers, public education, drivable roads, etc.). The food stamps can go, I’d probably be okay losing them now, but losing the health insurance would likely put me back into scary territory really quickly. It’s a terrible bind. I want to keep getting more financially secure, but there’s an enormous gap between being stable and being able to afford medical care.

They haven’t told me yet I’m no longer eligible, but, I just did some research. My ex-husband provides generous support. We voters don’t want him to be so responsible a parent, it turns out. The child and spousal support income alone makes me ineligible for food stamps and/or MaineCare while that same income is also not enough to live on. The costs of my new childcare (eight hours a week) plus the costs of growing my business make my own income generation nearly nothing. My income from work has been increasing, and I fully expect to be self-sufficient in the near future. Right now, though, it’s not enough to live on.
The costs of self-pay health insurance will be far beyond my means. The costs of my necessary medications without insurance will also be impossibly high ($400/week, or $100/week with the pharmaceutical company’s assistance program, for just one of the prescriptions). Losing the food stamps, I can probably manage now. I’m already down to $150/month. Losing the health insurance will likely put me back into financial instability so significant the recent improvements in our lives will be at risk.
It’s hard for me to understand how we can sort of support the idea of helping people get back on their feet. For a bit, it might seem like treading water could turn to getting up above the waves. But, really, government support intended to help is really only a fast-leaking life raft. It’s already nearly sunk before I’m able to swim on my own again.

In the late 90s, much of my social life centered around a couple online communities. There was the newsgroup “misc.writing,” where I learned how to call myself “a writer.” My first paid writing gig came from a friend I made in my other favorite online community, the newsgroup “alt.music.soulcoughing.”

In those newsgroups, I learned about myself and my writing. I learned I am not a troll, and never could be. I am also not interested in “combat prose,” though several of my good online friends were terrifically skilled at it. While I relish passionate debate, it’s rare that being unkind feels like the right thing for me. These are just a few things the newsgroups—so much like comments on a newspaper’s website—taught me.

Today, I responded to a comment on my Bangor Daily News column. For the most part, I don’t read the comments. Or, rather, I didn’t after the first column. There were so many (what an ego-boost!) on the first couple and I knew it would be difficult to avoid taking them personally. For this last piece, though, there were only a small handful of comments. I read the first 10 or so as they came in, and then I stopped. One of them criticized my writing, and the awkward absence of transitions. It made me re-read the column with new eyes. I wanted to thank the reader for the comment, but I was wary about participating in the comments section. I did, though, post a thank you and a clarification. I went on to respond to a few of the other comments, “since I was there already,” I said to myself.

While I may respond to comments in the future, I suspect I mostly won’t. I realized today that if I have the sense that “I can clarify any misunderstandings later” then my writing won’t improve. I welcome the challenge of brevity. I need to make my point clearly and without distractions. It’s not easy. But, oh my, it is fun.