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I did not grow up poor. We were not rich either. At one point in this country, there was a rather substantial middle class. I lived in a large house with a huge yard. I had nice clothes, my own room, toys, dance lessons, piano and violin lessons, ski passes, horse-back riding lessons, summer vacations to Maine, trips to Disney World, and a week or so of residential camp.
By the time I was in high school, a divorce which embattled my own bitter parents and the choices made thereafter had pretty much changed our financial situation. We still weren't poor, but there I was, suddenly being told I would be putting myself through college. Whether or not I would go was not an option. But, "here are some financial aid forms, and good luck honey!,' was a big change from the privileges with which I had been raised.
And thank goodness for that! Because I learned how to be poor in college, and it certainly is paying off now!
About a year ago, I found myself in drastically changed circumstances. Literally, in one day.
Financial issues had been challenging for us as a family. There were issues about money and working between us. We were scraping far more than we had back when we could still take trips to Hawaii, but we were eating well and the bills were paid and everyone had new shoes or raincoats when they needed them.
In a heated argument -- about money -- my (now) ex committed and was subsequently charged with a domestic violence crime against me. He stole money which was intended for rent and bills. He didn't offer any child support for seven months, and then when he was ordered to, he apparently decided to consider the judge's order "optional" or "open to interpretation."
I sold a very small business to pay immediate bills, and frugally and carefully supported my family while working part-time and parenting full-time.
I continue to be the primary financial support -- in addition to and by default of the other party not following child support orders -- and am now living far below the poverty level. My situation and my priorities have changed, but in spite of some extremely challenging days, my integrity of parenting has not.
The first "hard thing" I did was apply for food stamps. This was new territory for me, and I was surprised how quickly I got over the humiliation. I'll admit it: I am still sometimes uncomfortable when I pull out that specially colored card to swipe for my food purchases, but I am more than grateful enough for the assistance to suck it up on pride. But yes, I admit when a grocery clerk says "EBT?" in anything over a hushed tone, I still get flushed. One time when things were very bare, I even went to the food bank and I cried on my way home, while trying to explain to the children what kind of "store" that was in the parking lot of the church.
My children don't get to drink organic milk anymore. We just go for the 'non rBST' versions of whole milk. We almost never buy small packaged items, which supports my recycling education and creates a new tangible association with conservation for my children (ages 9 and 4), so that's a Win. Snack foods (booty, cheese puffs, chips) are now categorized as a treat; they have managed to graduate their accompanying empty calories into the sugar category. Everyone eats slightly lower quality food but less junk. I call that a wash.
We moved to a smaller house where I am able to work off a portion of the rent by providing childcare for my friends who live next
