I first went on welfare when I was pregnant with my daughter, after I lost my job and a house fire took nearly everything I owned. I was living in a hotel paid for by the Red Cross with no possessions, no job and no boyfriend.
Since then, I’ve gotten temp jobs that pay enough to let me get off welfare, but when they end, I find myself struggling again. For the last several months I scoured the classifieds and sent out resumes to find a job that would coincide with day care and pregnancy. I ended up serving food part-time at a bar for minimum wage. I tried to supplement that income as best I could, even directing plays and giving swing-dance lessons, but somehow I never seemed to get ahead. Now, due to complications with my pregnancy, I can’t work at all and depend totally on welfare.
Being on welfare has taught me a lot. I’ve learned to go to the grocery store when it’s the least busy, so I don’t get annoyed looks from the people behind me in line when I pay with coupons and food stamps. I’ve learned that when I meet with a caseworker periodically, I should get to the welfare office 45 minutes before it opens, or I’ll be waiting all day.
The biggest lesson I’ve learned from being on welfare is that most people assume I don’t want to work. When I list my job skills for the caseworkers, they can’t seem to understand why I don’t have a job. To them, and the rest of society, I am just one of the 7 million people on welfare who survive off less than 1 percent of the federal budget.
But I’m more than just a statistic. I graduated in the top 10 percent of my high-school class. I’m studying nursing at my community college. I’ve played the flute since I was 5. My parents have been married 30 years. I can type more than 80 words a minute. I’m bilingual. I know half a dozen computer programs inside and out. I’m 24 years old.
Now that I’m unable to work, I live off the $265 a month I receive from TANF (Temporary Assistance to Needy Families), which doesn’t even cover my rent. My utility bills get paid when I receive final disconnect notices and I can take the bills to a community agency for financial assistance. At the end of the month, when my daughter asks for an ice-cream cone I sometimes don’t have the extra $2 to buy it for her.
I don’t spend my money on anything I don’t absolutely need. I borrow videos from the library. I take my daughter to garage sales to look for clothes. I’ve never bought an alcoholic drink or a cigarette in my life. I don’t buy expensive steaks or junk food. I drive a small car that leaks when it rains.
I don’t have the kind of relationship I want with either of my kids’ fathers. Both men are more than 10 years older than I. They’ve been unable to keep their promises to help me in whatever way I needed. My daughter’s father comes in and out of our lives. When he’s gone, we miss him. The father of the new baby and I broke up in May because we choose to live different lifestyles. I doubt he will participate in the baby’s life when it is born.
I acknowledge that it was my having unprotected sex, and getting pregnant, that caused my situation. I don’t regret becoming a mom, but I do regret the difficulties I’ve gone through as a result. My life isn’t anything I’d hoped it would be. I find myself constantly having to make choices that force me to compromise what I really want. Do I struggle for a few more years to finish college, or do I work for little money the rest of my life?
My parents tell me I should give the new baby up for adoption. They wonder how I will possibly manage with two kids. I don’t wonder. I’ll do it because I have to and, more important, because I want to. They’re my children, and I wouldn’t leave them for anything. It boggles my mind that there are so many parents out there who are not taking responsibility for their kids.
My daughter and my unborn child have forced me to grow up and taught me more about life than any other experience I can possibly think of. They’ve taught me patience, compromise, love and that being a mom is a blessing. Although parenthood is often a struggle, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I’m grateful for the help that welfare has given me in the past. It subsidized my day care so I could go back to work and helped me return to school. I will continue to accept public assistance, but only until I can get back on my feet and make it on my own. I want more for my life. I want more for my children.
