Mr. Judgmental: A letter to the general

Dear Mr. Judgmental,

I couldn’t help but notice how many the subjects of your ridicule are. Well I am just one, allow me to introduce myself: I am a black, unwed woman with multiple kids living on welfare. Now before you go and try to put me to shame, wouldn’t it be more polite to start by asking me my name? Based upon your hateful references in regards to me, I’m just guessing that polite isn’t in your vocabulary.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing so I’ll get to the point: I’ve had just about enough of all your smart remarks! You call my children bastards, you refer to my sons as “thugs”, you assume because we live in public housing that we are all addicted to drugs. You look down on me because I depend on food stamps to feed my kids and you’re constantly complaining about how your tax dollars are used to meet my needs. Well allow me to clarify a few things for you: The example of a normal life looks a whole lot different from my point of view.

My father never married my mom and he was rarely in the home so my model of what a normal family looks like was a single mother who had no other choice but to be strong. My mother had several jobs but she never could keep them very long. Juggling work, school and kids is never easy when you must do it alone. My mother did the best she could with the resources that she had, the fact that I had to watch her struggle is what makes it all so sad.

As we got older the world grew colder and I had to drop out of school. Mama’s stress finally got the best of her and she ended up leaving us too. At 17 I had dreams but I also had younger siblings; two. With mama gone and mouths to feed, what was a girl to do? I started working but the money was never enough and then I met this dude. He looked at me and told me that I was beautiful. I had never heard those words before and he sold me all types of dreams. I knew what he did for money was illegal but he promised to take care of us by any means. He did for a while but it wasn’t free, it was at the cost of my body. Before I knew it, my brothers where all grown up and the only thing on their minds was money. The same dude who seemingly rescued us, recruited my brothers into the streets. After a while he left without saying a word; he left during the night while the baby and I slept.

Now I know what you’re thinking, I should have learned from my first mistake. Perhaps you’re right but feeling my baby kick from inside of me is the closest thing to love that I’ve ever felt!

So here I am three kids later and all of their fathers, well they’re gone. So many times I’ve mistaken lust for love and time after time it has ended me up on my own. Now, at age 24 I am starting to resemble my mom. I am starting to see a cycle occur but I really do want more. I am just having such a hard time trying to figure out how to climb out of this hole of poverty in search of freedom’s door. I’ve been told to go back to school because that’s the best place to start. So I try that for a couple of months and it’s really not that hard. I am taking public transportation from my school to the daycare and never getting home before its dark. Even though it’s inconvenient it’s really not that bad, the worst part about getting home so late is the things my sons have to witness taking place in the neighborhood park.

I attended school for as long as I could until I got a letter in the mail one day telling me my federal daycare funds would be cut. Again, I find myself being forced to choose; daycare or school? I ask myself the same question, “what’s a woman to do”?

Working for McDonald’s is seriously a joke! $7.25 an hour and no benefits; I am starting to wonder if it’s really worth letting my welfare check go? I can barely clothe the kids so I don’t even think about buying clothes for myself. Around the holidays I got a few extra hours on my check and now they are reducing my food stamps. On top of all of that, I was just told that public housing is raising the rent. It feels like everything is spiraling out of control just as I was starting to get a grip. I cry when I look at my debt because I can’t seem to save a dime. Meanwhile, my boys are growing up and I am robbing them of what they need from me the most; my time. If I work, I lose my food stamps and then I can’t feed my kids. I am really starting to wonder who this welfare system was designed to help.

Minimum wage will never pay for everything and as long as I work, “The system” strips away everything. So now my question is: do I work or do I not? Again here I am, scared and confused.  At this point I guess it really doesn’t matter because despite how carefully I choose, I lose!

Mr. Judgmental, I didn’t tell you all that to try and make you feel bad. I am not in search of any handouts and no it shouldn’t make you sad. I just wanted you to see how different my childhood might have been from the one you likely had. I guess I just wanted you to know that I too have dreams and I really do want the best for my kids. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way poverty sucked me in. I really want to get out, I swear to you I do. It’s just that from here it looks nearly impossible so please Mr. Judgmental, tell me what am I to do?

Sincerely,

Black, unwed woman with multiple kids living on welfare.

Note from the author:

This is not the story of all black women; this is not even my story. Though several points of this story point back to my reality, (or what used to be my reality) this is just the story of the voice of a black woman struggling to escape a failing system while being subject to the world’s ridicule. So often I read comments drenched in hate and shame as if it’s not obvious to us the mess we are in. Sometimes I wonder who’s truly to blame. Never mind that, that subject could be debated all day. The real point behind this letter is to point out how quickly we identify problems, especially other people’s problems. The one thing we forget all too often is the solution; who’s going to find the solution to these problems? We see what’s wrong but we aren’t willing to make it right; that’s the part I don’t get. I think it’s a fine time to start doing things a little differently; be the change that we keep looking to find!

To every black mother that can relate in ANY WAY AT ALL, please never ever give up because help is on the way. I know it’s hard and it seems impossible and you can’t see an escape but I did it and you can too! I had unexpected help show up and I now am coming back for you!

YRS