Amaru's First Bicycle Ride

A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard. -Sloan Wilson

The Welfare Stigma

I was having coffee with my aunt and a friend in Long Island, talking about my recent unemployed (although I prefer to call it “freelance”) status. I was voicing my financial concerns to them, now that my income got cut in half, currently consisting of only my unemployment benefits. “Erika, you are a single mom, don’t be stupid…go get your Food Stamps”, my aunt said. Just the thought of it made me cringe. I received WIC (Women and Infants Care) when I was pregnant and going to school for my master's degree; I remember hating to pay my groceries with checks and being banned from the express checkout because it takes too long to pay with WIC checks. I also hated the long monthly visits to the WIC office in order to get the checks. “Tia, this unemployment thing is something temporary while I figure things out” I said, “I don’t want to get welfare and feel like I depend on government assistance even more”.

After plenty of insisting from my family and seeing how unlikely it was for me to cover both my son’s and my expenses on my new truncated income, I decided to get over myself and apply. I got up really early, and when I arrived at the Queens Food Stamps office before 8:30 AM, there were already hundreds of people before me. The line was so long it extended outside the office, around the corner and reached the walking bridge atop of the parkway, cars passing by fast near the populated sidewalk. I went to the end of the line and felt every car passing by was judging me, making assumptions about me: “she is so lazy”, “get your shit together and find a job”, I imagined them saying. I buried my face in my book while feeling annoyed by people in the line: that guy is so rude and loud! And why is this woman yelling at her child? JASMINE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!, she yelled, reacting to her daughter’s impatience to stay in the line. In a deluded outburst of superiority, my apparent discomfort grew and I felt like I was placed in a world I don’t belong to. I looked at the people around me, secretly criticizing their bad taste in clothes, thinking about all the wrong choices they probably made in their life which led them here.

The worst part of this is that I am acutely aware of the idiotic unfairness of my mentality; yet, I sadly admit I feel this way inside. I felt extremely guilty for my thoughts towards those who receive welfare, and for somehow thinking that I am better than them. I was a social worker for a while, helping people precisely to get their benefits…where did this nonsense mentality come from? I understand the root causes of poverty and class stratification, and the little agency certain groups have to combat the disenfranchisement they face. I know better, yet I still feel this way.

I stood in line for two hours to get my ticket and waited another two to be seen by the social worker. While completing the income section on my Food Stamps application form, I wondered how those mothers felt, those without a single income stream; I imagined their fear of not being able to feed their children, felt their pulsating anxiety in my chest, and sensed the stigma they face…yes, the same stigma I was perpetrating with my stupidity. When I left the office I understood that the internal battle of fighting Welfare stigma doesn’t end when you educate yourself, or when you meet and help people who are in need. For some of us, like me, that battle nearly starts when we fall in need ourselves. That stigma, is often times so engrained deep inside ourselves, that the discomfort with the situation only arises when we go through it personally. On the outside, it looks like we are advocates for those in need and defend equality, but inside the single thought of being in their shoes makes us feel lessened. Although I need the assistance in this crucial moment, I still feel like I am taking advantage; however, this experience is helping me to be compassionate with myself and to accept my struggle.

Accepting the assistance available to us as tax paying citizens is nothing to be ashamed of. We are all susceptible to the unpredictability of life, many times regardless of choice, or class. We all struggle at some point in our lives, and the choices we make to cope with that struggle are not motives for judging but opportunities to be empathetic. I debated if I should write this post, because it reveals a side of me that disgusts me, one permeated with the privilege of growing up outside of poverty. I decided to write it, because although I don't like accepting these feelings of mine, verbalizing them is my way of taking responsibility and making a conscious choice to fight the welfare stigma I carry within.