Tag: life

Selfishness Would be an Improvement

I have written about poverty before. I have touched on many aspects of it. With elections looming over us, I feel compelled to talk about healthcare.

Healthcare. What an odd word/topic to provoke such defensive emotions. You say healthcare, and half the people grab their mental picketing signs, reading “healthcare for all” and the other half grab their mental pitchforks and torches, chanting “down with socialism!” Healthcare guys. The argument that has people in an upheaval is whether or not people deserve healthcare. And the oddest part is, every single person I’ve ever talked to about it, agrees our healthcare system is broken. Every. Single. Person. We all agree on that.

It’s no secret my stance is, healthcare for all. So, like every topic that brings about disagreement, I listen to the other side and try to understand the why. Why are people against it? Why are people so dead set against equality in healthcare? I used to be a conservative Republican. So I search my old arsenal of debates from years ago. I read the posts by my conservative friends.

“I have to pay $____. How is that fair people that don’t work hard get it for free?”

“Socialism is communism for slow learners”

“If you reward those who don’t work for things, they will become dependent”

“If you want healthcare, work hard like the rest of us and buy it yourself. I shouldn’t have to pay for your laziness”

“Where are we going to get the money for it?”

“You shouldn’t let the government have control of your healthcare”

“Other countries who have universal healthcare are shitholes and the wait times/care is horrible”

So I’ve been thinking about all the reasons not to have universal healthcare. Some of the reasons given are just ignorant. It has been proven that universal healthcare would be cheaper than what we have now. It has been proven that other countries have less wait times and better care. We all know that we have many socialist programs already, and that socialism is not communism. So what are we left with. We are left with the fear of things being unfair, and lazy people taking advantage.

I hate the “it’s not fair!” arguement. I have to hear that shit all day long with my kids, so you would think a bunch of adults would have figured this out by now. But, fine. I’ll bite.

I am going to tell you something I tell my kids all the time. Fair doesn’t always mean same. I once worked at a grocery store with a guy who did not have function of this left arm. Due to this, he was only scheduled on lanes where his right arm could grab the groceries. Was that fair that the rest of us got put wherever, while he got first pick of the lanes? YES. It was fair. Not the same, but definitely fair. Sometimes people need things others don’t to be able to start at the same level. My daughter listens to audiobooks because reading words alone leaves her not able to comprehend what she read. Is it fair that I spend time and money on audio learning when I didn’t with my others? YES IT IS. Because she has a need they didn’t.

So don’t start that unfair bullshit. Some people have heart conditions. Some people have diabetes. Some people have absolutely not underlying medical issues. The amount of access isn’t what we should be measuring for “fairness”. The fairness meter should be measuring how our fellow Americans are left after care. And if they are left with not being cared for, long term (avoidable) issues due to medical neglect, bankrupt or barely able to afford care, etc, then THAT’S not “fair”.

As for the laziness part. Man. This is it. This is what it all comes down to. Conservatives don’t want a bunch of poor, lazy, freeloaders having access to stuff they pay for through taxes. All the other reasons are extensions of this one thing. They don’t want to pay for the poor, because the poor can’t/won’t pay them back in any way.

I hear all the time that this administration, and it’s supporters, are selfish. And I believed that too for a long time. But the thing that kept nagging at my brain was, if they were ACTUALLY selfish, wouldn’t they want people well? Wouldn’t they want to make sure that they were not put in danger of sickness due to the the poor? Wouldn’t they want to save money through universal healthcare? They are not selfish. They are punitive. They want the poor to suffer because they believe it is deserved. The value of life does not extend to those who don’t contribute.

I have spoke about this before. So many don’t want to believe that poverty happens to people that don’t deserve it. They cling to this belief that poverty is something that happens to the lazy. To degenerates. To sinners. Because, if they admitted that poverty happens to hard workers, to the disabled, to good people, they would also have to admit they sat by and let people suffer for no reason except their own superiority complex. They HAVE to believe that the suffering of the poor is “tough love”. That the only way to “teach” the poor to not be poor, is to make it hard on them, lest they will continue to need stuff and never learn to not be poor.

What is that shit? They don’t want people over using healthcare. Like it’s some kind of secret wealth that the poor will hoard. “They will become dependent” GOOD. For goodness sake. The poor have enough obstacles in life, let them know that they can get a freaking antibiotic for their sinus infection on a whim. Let them get that rash looked at before it spreads to their face. Let them get their tooth fixed before it needs to be pulled out. LET THEM. We already know it will be cheaper than what we have set up now. Why are you so dead set on letting peoples bodies fall apart? Why do people need to suffer for years for things they could have treatment for? Why? Because the poor are not seen as equal. Because the poor DESERVE their suffering.

I wish it was just selfishness. I wish that we didn’t have so many hateful, self righteous people spewing misinformation to keep the weakest in our country in the chains of poverty. I wish the outrage for someone “using” healthcare on their dime, was instead directed at the companies profiting off of the sick and dying. Healthcare shouldn’t be a word that is dividing us. Healthcare should be a unifying word that every single one of us stands together on. Healthcare should not be political. Every person that wants to deny someone medical treatment due to their financial status is a disgusting, classist, cancer of our society. Do not tell me you are Christian. Do not tell me you care about people. Do not tell me you are for equal rights. Do not tell me anything. If you are fighting against the simplest, most obtainable way to help the weak in our society, you do not care about people. You care about justifying your oppressive, superiority complex in the name of a distorted view of “fairness”.

We don’t talk about money. Be poor privately please.

Why are the poor poor? Not how did they become poor, but why are they still poor. Have you ever ask yourself that? If you are, or have been, you know why.

Based on the posts I see on social media, the reason is, because that person is either: lazy, entitled, or makes poor choices. Are there lazy and entitled people? Sure there are. But I guarantee 99% of poor people work 10 times as hard as a financially stable person. Their life depends on it. And there are a lot of people that make poor choices, I being one of them. But unless your poor choice is gambling away your family savings or working for the mob, most poor people’s bad choices are buying a pair of jeans or going out for drinks. Not quite what I would consider worthy of a lifetime struggle to provide for your family.

Why am I bringing this up? Because I’m a poor person trying very hard to obtain what others tell me I could get if I just worked harder. I’m trying reach that goal you told me I’m not entitled to, that I have to work for. What is that goal? To have a place to live of my own and to be able to feed my children and pay my bills without worry or anxiety.

I receive SNAP. Because I’m below the poverty line. Does that make you uncomfortable? If you don’t know me I’m sure it doesn’t. If you know me personally I’m sure you feel quite uncomfortable knowing that about me. I once had a family member harass me on a Facebook post. He was convinced that the reason I am struggling HAS TO BE because I deserve it. I’m an entitled millennial who wants everything handed to me. I deleted him off my Facebook and had myself a good cry. Where has he been the last 10 years? I am not a quiet person. I do not bottle things inside. I am very honest and open about the good and the bad in my life. Why is my struggle making him so angry? It’s my struggle. I’m not angry. I love sharing my struggle so that others can know and feel hopeful. He was legitimately angry. Zero compassion.

Then someone said something to me that put it in perspective. “Of course he is angry. And of course he is blaming you. Because if he admits you’ve done everything you were supposed to and you are a good person, and are still suffering, then he would have to also admit that he stood by as you suffered for years and never offered you a hand of help.”

Holy crap. I used to always wonder why we didn’t talk about money. From a young age it was instilled in me that you never ask how much someone makes. And you don’t talk about how much you make. I remember asking, why we can’t talk about it. I was told it was because people that don’t make as much might get jealous and angry. It was to protect those who deserve their income from people who didn’t deserve it and wanted it.

Poor people don’t care if you know how much they make. I’ve had perfect strangers mention how much their check was in casual conversation. Poor people are not uncomfortable with talking about money. Whatevs. I’m broke but I needed some Chipotle. See, every single thing we do revolves around money. Like, if I buy the good toilet paper, will I have the gas to get my kids to school? Which bill can I be late on so I can replace my kids ripped school pants? We’re not handling our money with our sights set on vacation spots or the best investments. We’re trying to find a way to make sure we don’t have to eat peanut butter and jelly or cereal for dinner for the next week.

You know what would save me a lot of money? Being able to buy a house. My entire life has been at a standstill for the last year because the house I live in is unlivable. If I move my rent will be double to triple what it is now. It is not possible.

Poor people can’t buy houses. Not because they can’t afford them. Because the system is set up in a way to keep them poor.

I do not have a great credit score. To even have a chance at obtaining a mortgage I need 10% down. So let’s say I work for that goal. The houses in my area that I would be ideal for my family are about $150,000. But I don’t need ideal. I’m sure if I looked around and waited I could find something that makes do for about $100,000. So I need $10,000 to buy a house. With my current income I know I could save $100 a month. So that means in 8 years I could buy a house. If I lived extra poor I could probably save $200 a month. Then I could buy a house in 4 years. Do you see the problem? That means I still have to live in this shithole house with my four children until they are raised.

Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I can save $500 a month. That’s only a year and a half. Buuuuuut. I receive Food Stamps. About $500 a month. And the second my assets exceed $2,250, I do not qualify anymore. So 5 months in, I wouldn’t be able to afford to save anymore. (2 years into my 8, 1 year onto my 4).

Why are the poor poor? Because unless someone steps in and knocks down the societal hurdles, we don’t have a choice. Why do poor people buy lottery tickets? Because there’s a better chance of winning the money to help pull them out of poverty than there is to do it by hard work. Why do the poor buy cups of coffee and get tattoos instead of saving? Because what’s the point? Do you have any idea how helpless that feeling is? Then you feel guilty and ashamed when judgmental eyes look at your $50 tattoo and tell you that THAT is the reason you and your children deserve to suffer. You feel like you need to justify the $10 Goodwill Coach purse you carry because others see it and believe you’re exaggerating your circumstance. You’re either lying, or deserve it.

The rich want to believe that the poor are poor because they deserve it. Because if they acknowledged what it really is, they also have to admit that they’re okay with thriving while others are unfairly suffering. And that makes them uncomfortable. So it’s easier to just blame.

I am poor. My kids play sports, go to a private school, have new clothes and shoes at the beginning of the school year, and none of it was provided by me. Because I have people in my life that saw the value of my children and said, “I want to help”. My eyes swell up with tears when I think about what I would do if I didn’t have kind people in my life. Because I know you’re out there. All you that are suffering without a support system. I want to help you so bad. I want somebody to help you. I feel your pain, I feel your anxiety. I am so sorry we live in a country where you are demonized and told you deserve to suffer. You do not deserve to suffer. Your kids do not deserve to suffer. You deserve so mich better than this.

Why are the poor poor? If you are not poor, you need to be okay with being uncomfortable and do something. You need to stop blaming and start asking how you can help. Perpetual poverty happens when you can’t afford the necessities. Do you feel the Necessities in life a privilege or a right? Do you believe that someone’s financial circumstance equates their worth? Your complacency is hurting people.

Some people are more equal than others.

Ideas are like seeds being planted in your mind. We don’t always have control of the seeds that are throw to us, but we do have control of the soil. In this way, we get to decide how our garden will grow. Manicured and simple. Full of poison and thorns. Wild and unknown. A labyrinth. Filled with food. We decide based on what we pull out and what we nurture. How much effort we’re willing to put in and the people we put ourselves around, who are throwing seeds. How acidic the soil is, and what trees we have growing from the past. Try as you might, the soil below a large pine will not allow you to grow certain plants below it.

A couple weeks ago I saw a post on Facebook. My Facebook is pretty diverse when it comes to religion, politics, and life choices. So very often I see things I don’t agree with. So that was no surprise. What has surprised me is how much I keep thinking about it. See, I have been spending a lot of time lately pulling weeds. Uprooting trees. I have been working on my soil to help things grow. That seed that was planted? That seed has been thrown on my soil before. But it dried up. So when I saw it thrown my direction again, I anticipated the same result. But my soil isn’t the same. My soil is rich with nutrients. And that seed took root and is growing. So now I’m forced to acknowledge this plant growing. I have to decide whether to pull it up or water it.

“We must do away with the absolutely specious notion that everybody has to earn a living….” Buckminster Fuller

The post I read was the full quote. But within the first sentence I knew I disagreed. I’m a hard worker, and I was raised to take pride in my work. You don’t work you don’t eat. The story of The Ant and the Grasshopper made a brief appearance in my mind. You cannot live your life playing and then expect those working to support you. Teaching a man to fish verses giving him a fish.

“We keep inventing jobs because of this false idea that everybody has to be employed at some kind of drudgery. Because, according to Malthusian-Darwinian theory, he must justify his right to exist.”

Justify his right to exist? I wouldn’t go that far. And we may invent some jobs, but I would say we Americans spend more time creating more “all ready invented” jobs. During our last election this was a huge thing. With the worry of unemployment and layoffs, I heard a LOT of people talking about job creation. There aren’t enough jobs and people need to work to support their families.

I also thought about work ethic. Working a less-than-desirable job definitely gives you appreciation for hard work and a lot of humility. If people didn’t work, how would they experience the struggle that has helped me form into who I am? What do they say about Idle Hands?

Then I started thinking about if I had my necessities met. Just my necessities. A place to live, food to eat, heating/cooling and electric, and health care for my children and me. What would I be doing? I would be home with my kids. I would be homeschooling them. I would have a chore chart. I would be maintaining a garden and teaching my kids with hands on lessons of cooking and animals and science experiments. I would still be working, but not as much. And the money I made from work would be invested in my kids, our home, and myself. The money would be used for house repairs, a vehicle, internet access, and travel. I would take another trip to do humanitarian work. I would take art classes. I would do more with theatre. I would read more. I would learn a language with my kids (they have been begging for us to all learn German as a family). I would help my kids learn what they love. What their gifts are. What their passion is.

Quick detour. Have you ever met someone and thought, how are you so successful? Like, they really have nothing to offer. Mediocre intelligence. Very limited world view. No talent. And yet, they are making over 10X what you make. I remember one guy in particular. He was always so impressed by how smart I seemed “considering I don’t have a degree.” He would tell me, “If you went to college, you could be way more successful. You have so much potential! It’s sad you’re working at a coffee shop when you could probably do my job better than me, ha!”

We all have different goals. My goal is not wealth. Rags to Riches stories, while interesting, don’t motivate me. While I appreciate my material things, they are disposable. I asked myself, if I had my needs met, what would be something I would work extra for in order to obtain? Travel. Art. Learning new things. Humanitarian work.

What if our needs were met. Just the basic ones. We would still have those who wanted to be rich. We would still have those who were lazy. We would still have to work. The difference is, we would be allowed to decide. If you wanted a huge house and lots if things, you could choose to work more. If you decide you would rather live modestly so you could be home with your kids, you could do that. But what about the freeloaders who wont work? Well. If they want that kind of poor, meaningless life, so be it. What does it matter to you? I mean, I’m not talking steak dinners and mansions. Food in the cupboard, a warm house, and freedom from/treatment for disease just means the rest of society is protected.

What would happen if those with actual talent could explore it? What would happen if all that “potential” could be met? What would happen if someone’s intelligence outweighed someone’s financial circumstance?

What would happen? We would thrive. Good parents would still instill work ethic in their children. Bad parents would still neglect it. Caring people would still want to help others. Selfish people would still take all they can get. The difference is, we would all have a choice. Ask a poor person if they have a choice right now. Ask them how many jobs they work and what they have to sacrifice so their kids don’t starve. Ask them about how expensive it is to be poor.

I am not against capitalism. I want our inventors to invent. I want our artists to create. I want every person to be able to listen to that gift they have and embrace it. We are all given certain passions inside of us. Animals. Children. Writing. Botany. Technology. Music. Cars. Every single person has something that pumps them up for life.

“The true business of people should be to go back to school and think about whatever it was they were thinking about before someone came along and told them they had to earn a living.”

How different things would be if we ran our Healthcare System and education system like a non-profit. If no one could get rich off the sick. If the poor had the same educational opportunities as the rich without having to join the military. If every family knew they had a house, electric, and food.

I can’t count the amount of times in my life I have said, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps”. Then, when the time came in my life that I needed to practice what I preached, I reach down for my boot straps only to find that someone found a way to make money off boot straps and had hiked the price up to make money off of my struggle.

We have been taught that the poor deserve their lot in life. And that the rich deserve their wealth. Why? Because admitting that the poor don’t have a choice and that we’re allowing others to profit off their suffering is a hard pill to swallow. We have to admit that while we say all are equal, we have been conditioned to feel superior to the poor. We have been told our stability is earned by hard work and therefore the poor must be lazy. If we acknowledge how much of an advantage having our basic needs met makes, then we are faced a choice. Continue to treat the poor as inferior, or work for change and equality. The seeds have been planted. You decide if you will let them grow.

Hi. I am Beth. And I’m a toxic person.

One of my favorite things that social media and technology has brought to my generation is its ability to help us cope, understand, and process dysfunction and toxicity that is in our lives. I see it all the time. People in my age group properly able to identify unhealthy behavior in themselves and in others. That doesn’t mean they necessarily know how to deal with it, but they can identify it. Which is a huge step.

A few weeks back I had a friend say to me, “I feel like I’m gaslighting them! I didn’t even realize I was doing it. They deserve better than that.” My friend was 100% serious and concerned about it. The self awareness this person has in their 30s is astounding to me. They are toxic. They know they are. And they are able to zero in on exactly what they are doing that is dysfunctional, and even tell me why they think they are like this. 

I am a toxic person. I have the potential to suck out all the life of a person. I can manipulate. I can read people and very quickly know what they are insecure about. I can sense vulnerability and dysfunction like a freaking superpower. I can also tell when a person is emotionally healthy. I can feel boundaries that are set (or not set) almost immediately after meeting someone. My comfort zone is filled with toxic interactions and unhealthy behaviors. 

I sound like a gem, eh? Well, I think I am. Not because that stuff doesn’t matter. Because I fight that stuff EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Ask anyone who knew me in my 20s. Talk to my exes. I was not a bad person. But I was broken. The adult I was trying to be was not one on a healthy path. It was one who used white lies, cheated, and manipulated to get my way. I didn’t want to be like that. I did not like seeing the ones I loved hurt by me. 

I started seeing a therapist. I started making a conscious effort. I had to learn how to purge the toxicity from my interactions. It sucked. It was hard. No…not was. It is hard. I find when I’m with other people working on themselves, or people that are emotionally stable, it is easy. I can relax and just be. But the moment someone with dysfunction enters my life, I want to retreat to my ever so toxic comfort zone. I can feel it. I can hear it in what I say. I leave feeling angry at myself. Ashamed. 

I like to cut people in their 20s some slack. That decade is such a shit hole anyways. Add in having to process through childhood/adolescence and you’re left with some pretty lost adults who are trying to sort through 2 decades of preparation for adulthood. It’s exhausting and can be overwhelming. But once you’re in your 30s, get your shit together. You have had over a decade of making your own choices. At this point, your life is what you have made it. Acknowledge what you’ve been through and grow. 

I am a toxic person. I have to know this always. I have to understand and be compassionate to those who distance themselves from me. I have to work 10x as hard to make sure I keep my toxicity from my children. I need to make sure my children find dysfunction uncomfortable and wrong. I have to make sure I guard myself from others who take me by the hand and try to lead me down to that place I’ve escaped from. I need to acknowledge what brought me to this point, but not dwell on it, blame does not add to my growth. I need to know that when I do slip up, I tell whoever I hurt I was wrong and they deserve better. 

If you are a toxic person, you are not a bad person. Every day, every interaction, you have a choice to do better, to be better. Find a therapist. (I know I know, therapist shopping is the WORST. But don’t settle for one that isn’t helping you.) Start working on rewiring yourself. Your life will be happier. Your relationships will be better. You will thrive. 

It’s hard to come back from distrust.

I am a very human human. Meaning, with me, there is absolutely no delusions of being perfect. There is a certain amount of peace that comes with being self aware of your faults. There is also a large responsibility to face them head on. I really try to stay humble and make a concerted effort to not excuse wrongs I’ve done. This is an important step in growing as a person. And it is NOT fun. 

There are certain people we count on to be support through our growth. They are on your side, trying to help you succeed. Parents. Siblings. Friends. Pastors. Teachers. And many others. We all know who we can go to and say, “I messed up” to. I want to talk about one trusted person in my life who let myself and my children down. They failed us. They failed themselves. 

Story time. December 23, 2016. I excitedly went to my home parish for a meeting about my son being baptized. I had been through this before with my 3 other children, so I knew what to expect. I filled out the necessary paperwork and waited for the priest to come in. 

I could tell immediately the priest was agitated. It is days before Christmas, and he is new to the parish. I am sure his stress was maxed. I thanked him for meeting with me and introduced my children. He slammed down the paperwork and sat in a huff. At this point I am feeling guilty for taking up his time during such a busy season. So I tell myself, keep it brief, Beth. 

Name? Catholic? Oh really. Then what parish? Because I don’t recall seeing you every week. Child’s name? Father? Where is he? Oh so he must be an atheist. Are you with him? So you just had a baby with some guy? And how’s that going to work? Huh? 

Each question I answered straight to the point. With each question, his voice got harsher and his body language became more hostel. I was confused. Taken off guard. It took me way longer than it should have to realize this man was mistreating me. I asked him what he meant. I didn’t understand why it wouldn’t work. Then he raised his voice, “What I mean is, HOW are you going to raise you child Catholic when the father is an atheist? And you’re OBVIOUSLY not a Catholic either?? You’re expecting me to believe that? How? What about any of this tells me THAT CHILD will be raised Catholic?” 

I could feel the lump in my throat. “Because I’ve raised my other 3 children Catholic? They go to the Catholic school. They’ve received their sacraments. I am Catholic. I don’t understand why tou would think I wouldn’t.” He grabs the paper and slams his finger against the dad’s name, “This is why! This man is is not THEIR (points to my other children) father too! CATHOLICS DON’T HAVE SEX BEFORE THEY’RE MARRIED. You are NOT Catholic!”

The tears begin. 

Oh quit being so melodramatic! I don’t need to KNOW you. I’ve heard enough about you and your reputation! I know exactly what kind of a person YOU are! It’s not my job to CARE about your feelings. You didn’t make a mistake. You made a SIN. You are a sinner. STOP CRYING CALM DOWN AND QUIT BEING SO EMOTIONAL. Why would I ever believe you? You don’t live as a Catholic if you’re having SEX! Wah wah wah boo hoo! 

Every time I talked he got angrier. Slammed his fists on the table. Stood up and shoved the chair aside. Leaned across the table and out his finger in my face. 

I sent my kids in the hallway and he proceeded to yell and mock me for crying. He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. He was angry at me for wasting his time when he had real Catholics to help.

Ultimately, he refused to baptize my son. I left shaking and sobbing. I had an expectation for this man. I expected to be met with love and kindness. Approval? No. But kindness, yes. He failed me. 

I got in the car and looked at my children. They were all crying too. And my heart shattered. Does this man know what he has done? He just robbed my children of innocence. I remember being a kid. Seeing the priest as almost a movie star. Getting excited to shake their hand. Feeling special if they new my name. Seeing them as someone holy. I didn’t realize that adults weren’t perfect. I was trusting. He just stole that from my kids. My kids just watched a 55 year old man verbally attack their mother. They just watched their “trusted” pastor refuse to let their brother, who they love more than anything, be part if the church. They were just shown someone in power be unforgiving and withhold compassion and understanding. I was so angry. My children were scandalized by this and I couldn’t fix it. 

I am a big girl. I can handle judgement. But my children? My kids will learn soon enough the world is imperfect. They will see with their own eyes that being in a higher position does not mean that a person is perfect. They will see the human in humans. He stole a part of their innocence. 

Their are certain people that are held to a higher standard. And they should be. Priests, teachers, police, government, etc. We don’t expect perfection, but we expect them to be putting the maximum amount of effort towards their pitfalls. 

This priest was removed from our parish. Not because of me, but because of another complaint that was filed by another female. This has brought me a bit of peace about it. I kept thinking, what if it wasn’t me he did that to? I can see this man and say, this is not the Catholic church. But what if I was someone with less roots in the faith? What if I was a pregnant woman seeking guidence? What if I had PTSD from an abusive relationship? 

Not all priests are bad. Most are good. But the bad ones NEED to be removed. We need to make sure that we keep our standard high. We need to protect ourselves from the bad ones. Every new priest that comes to our parish make my kids nervous. “I sure hope he’s not a mean one!” 

If a teacher was singling your child out, bullying, or mistreating them, we would want them fired, right? We would advocate for our children. 

If a police officer were mistreating a civilian, he should be fired, right? If my kids watched as an officer harassed and mistreated me, that would stay with them forever. Every police they met they would be met with distrust and caution. That’s why we hold them to a higher standard. Because we want them to feel happy to see the police. Feel safer with them there. 

Black children are scandalized by police, the way my children were by the priest. And it isn’t even a specific police officer. It’s the fact that their parents have warn them, from a young age, about the possibility of being targeted. They don’t get to grow up feeling safe every time they see a cop. I cannot imagine how heartbreaking it has to be to explain how severe the consequences could be if they don’t submit to them immediately. Having to tell my kids that respect isn’t enough. They have to be submissive. 

What about the good ones? Most officers do protect and serve the way they’re supposed to. These horrible officers, that are killing blacks, they are making it SO much harder on the good ones. It is so much harder to regain trust once it’s broken. 

This is why we have #blm. This is why we #takeaknee. Because we need to get those bad officers off the force. We need them to be held accountable. We need them to be fired. So the good ones can keep us safe and so our children can grow up admiring the police, not fearing them. When our kids do do something wrong (because, let’s face it, kids if all races are naughty), they should be scared about the officer telling their parent, not be scared their going to be shot. They should be embarrassed they broke the law or caused problems, not feel like their skin color is a crime. 

For every priest, teacher, or police, that is doing good, I admire you. I know it is hard to weed out the bad ones, but it needs to be done. I know your workload is heavier then it should be, but your strength is what we need.  

A “no” is the first step toward a “yes”

“Beth. People want to help. People like to give. You need to put yourself out there and let those who can, help you.”

Variations of this statement have been said to me year after year. Is it my pride that makes it difficult? Society’s “don’t expect a handout” knee jerk response with every need? Either way, the above statement is true. People do like to help. I like to help. Even with as little as we have, if I know someone is in need, I try to help. I don’t think less of a person in need. I definitely don’t hold it over them or against them. 

Do you feel like I am buttering you up for a request? That’s because I am. I’m trying to sell you on the idea that I deserve help. I think that bothers me the me most about being poor. That panicked feeling you get when you’re trying to convince someone you are worth their time or money. 

This morning I went to my grandma’s for a cup of coffee. We talked about how we’ve been treated during the years by those with influence or money. “I know a lot of people just assumed we were hillbillies and were beneath them. They didn’t even try to get to know us.” My grandma said. “So what? What if you were? Should that even matter? Grandma, hillbillies are people too.  To suggest that a human is less worthy of help or kindness because they are “poor hillbillies” is saying that rich = superior.” People justify withholding love and generosity, due to social standing, by suggesting the poor are poor because they deserve it. And that the rich are rich because they deserve it. When we all know amazing people who have almost nothing and disgusting humans who are very wealthy. 

Ten days ago my kids and I started a St. Joseph Novena. For those non-Catholics out there, it is 9 days of prayer for a special intercession. Our Novena was to find a home. I told my kids on day one, “This isn’t magic. This isn’t superstition. We will get a yes. BUT. It may not be the yes we think we need. So we need to remember to not be sad when we hear no. No is a good thing, because that will point us to the yes that is waiting for us.” 

Today I went to the bank to try to get pre-approved for a mortgage. I was told no. This sweet lady looked as if she wanted to cry for me. She shared with me a personal story of hardship she went through when she was younger. And I told her, “It’s ok. This no just means there’s a yes somewhere else. I had to start somewhere.” 

I need a house. I cannot afford to rent any longer. For a house big enough for my family, I will have to spend twice what I am spending now. Throwing money away. I have spent 7 years doing what I’m supposed to do. Working, paying bills, and taking care of my family. No bankruptcies. No foreclosures or evictions. No repossessions. Student loans and defaulted medical bills are all the debt I have. All of these things mean nothing to the bank. The bank says I should have a credit card. The bank says I need to wait another 2 years. The bank says I am too poor to have a house. Do I have a family member able to help with a down payment? Someone who would be willing to do a land contract? They cannot help me. I would need someone else to help. A family member? A friend of a friend? There is is. This “no” just pointed me in the direction I need to go to find my “yes”.

I need a house. I need someone who knows my situation to say I am worth investing in. I honestly believe we are all connected. That all that I am going through in my life is bigger than I am.  This is not just about me. It’s hard to explain. I have never felt so confident about anything. There is someone out there right now with the desire and ability to help my family. There is someone who has it in their thoughts or in their heart. They will know the moment they read this. 

Now, my children and I will wait to see what our “yes” will be and start preparing for our next life adventure! Because, whatever “yes” we are given, will most definitely be a positive, life changing yes!

Bringing it down to the Basics

It was 2011. I was newly divorced, in school full time, working as many hours as I could get, and raising 3 kids. Looking back, it’s almost comical that I thought I could have an organized house as well. 

“What do you need?” My friend Kris asked me. She had come over with the intention to clean/organize/help. I was drowning in my life and I desperately needed someone to throw me a lifesaver. 

“I don’t know. I mean. I guess the toys. I can’t think because there is so much everywhere. The toys go there. Top drawer is dolls. Second is dress up. Bottom draws is everything else. I don’t know. They’re all mixed up.” I told her showing her my organizer. “And art stuff goes here. Paper in this drawer, crayons and markers in this one, and the other stuff in that one.”

“No. That’s too much. You need to simplify it. How about toys here, and art stuff here.”

“But. Everything has a place. I just…”

“What a your goal? What do you want in here?”

“I want the toys off the floor. I want to walk through my house without stepping on stuff.”

“Beth. The girls can help. They need to. You can’t do it all, so we need to find a way that is simple. So the kids can do it.”

I had to let go of some control. Here’s the thing, (for those who don’t know how it is to function with ADHD) I have to be that uptight about things. Chaos around me gives anxiety. I forget things. I lose things. Everything has a place, because otherwise, nothing has a place. 

So I changed the rules. Instead if having such strong stipulations on where the kids put the toys, I just made sure they were put away. It worked. The kids didn’t feel overwhelmed with helping. So I started simplifying other aspects of my life. 

Sorting socks? Nope. I don’t have time. My goal is to have clean socks when we need them. Boom. New rule, sock basket. All the clean socks in the house are in there. Find your own. While thes things were not ideal for my house, I found the amount of stress that was lifted was definitely worth letting go. 

Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed, I like to bring it down the the basics. Not forever, just for long enough to gain some perspective. Not just with household chores, but with friendships, parenting, work, and everything else. 

Parenting. What is the goal? I’m sure your response would be something about love, or God, or kindness, or being strong or something like that. No. Those are not the goals. Those are the personal details you have set for what are actually the goals. 

There are 2 things your kid needs from you. Two. Taking it to The basics. These 2 things are the backbone of why you make any and all decisions regarding your kids. And if they’re not, you need to reevaluate your motives in parenting.

The first, let them keep their innocence as long as possible. We protect them from the horrors of the world so that they can develop into who they are truly meant to be. Life has a way of hardening us. Our children need to keep the tenderness, and awe for life and the world as long as possible.

The second, produce functional adults. Our children need to be able live and function in society someday. We cannot shelter them forever. They need to be able to socialize. They need to be able to work a job. They need to be able to keep themselves safe when you’re not there. They need to be able to think and make choices. 
These goals sound contradictory. You can see why teenage years are so tough. Constantly trying to balance protecting our teen while at the same time knowing in a few short years they need to be able to function in the world. 

Now, what is your definition of innocence? What do you consider a functioning adult? This is where our parenting styles come into play. We make choices every day with these in mind. “No, sorry, Sally isn’t allowed to sleep over until she’s older.” Or “Rinse your bowl.” Or “Sure, Jimmy can definitely go out with his friends after the game.” Based on our childhoods, usually, we decide what we will or will not do with our kids. 

If you are an overwhelmed parent, bring it to the basics. Ask yourself, is this helping them keep their innocence or helping them develop into a functioning adult? If it doesn’t fit one of those 2 things, quit fretting about it. Quit being angry about it. Quit wearing yourself down over it. 

Someday I will sort socks again. And you know what? The toys in my house are now sorted. The art stuff all has a place. It took 7 years, but I got it back slowly. Just because it’s not ideal, doesn’t mean it’s bad. My house is a disaster. Why? Because I want the kids to help clean. And honestly, they don’t do a great job. My kids need a mom who helps show them. Not a mom who yells and shames them. 

You know what your kids need. You know what type of adult you hope they become (or possibly one you don’t want them to become). Have a little faith in yourself. Take a deep breathe, and let go. 

Beggars can’t be…at Gymnastics 

I am poor. I just spent a ridiculous amount of time looking up Michigan’s average costs for bills. It has been confirmed. Poor. I know, we’re not supposed to talk about money. But today, my financial state was brought to light in front of a bunch of people I didn’t know. It embarrassed me, so I decided to blog about it.  

I know what you’re thinking. “Duh, Beth. You’re a single mother of 4. Of course money is tight.” No. Money isnt tight. Money isnt there. See, I learned something today as I sat there looking at numbers and averages. My income allows for no extras. At all. Zero. Zilch. 

I have said no to almost everything for over 7 years now. No internet. No TV. No extracurricular activities for the kids. No vacations. I have done this with the belief that if I work hard, if I keep sacrificing, I will get ahead. I will be able to give my kids a house, a car with A/C, a garden, sports equipment, etc. Maybe not a vacation, but at least a full fridge. Maybe not college tuition, but new shoes. I have a more realistic goal now: I want to choose to say no, not be forced to. 

It is impossible to obtain this dream with one income. I did the math. My income will never allow for a yes. I have to turn to others for help. There is a family that loves us and has decided to give my kids some of those things I cannot. They pay for guitar, gymnastics, or whatever, so my kids can have some memories of joy. So they can do those things other kids get to do. 

My 7 year old is in gymnastics and loves it. Today was her long awaited recital. She has been talking about it for WEEKS. I rushed her in, pulled her hair into a ponytail, sent her to her group and turned to the desk. Shit. This was not a free event. 

“Oh. I didn’t realize I had to buy tickets….How much are they?” I asked as the panic set in. 

“$12.00”,  the lady behind the desk said. 

“Oh. That’s a lot…I can’t afford that. I have 2 more kids coming in too. I…I didn’t bring any cash.” I said, trying to salvage my pride. 

“We can just add it to your account if you’d like. It will come out in your next payment.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t pay. My friend. I have a friend that pays for me. For her I mean. I mean. I just. I have 4 kids. I’m a single mother of 4…I can’t afford it. I didn’t know it cost anything to watch her. We can just wait for her here in the lobby.”

“Let me check when she goes on….it looks like she’s in the 4th group. You won’t have to wait for too long.”

I choked back tears as my older 2 children walked in. I told them that I didn’t have enough money. I told them to take my phone into the car with them. That they could watch videos while I waited for her to finish. They left and the tears started. I walked to the corner and pretended to look at the leotards hung on the wall while holding my 1 year old. I was so embarrassed. I felt like a failure. My poor daughter. She would be looking for me. She wouldn’t see me. Her heart would be broken. 

After 10 minutes of shame, the lady at the desk said, “I guess I can allow you to go in without paying.” She made it very clear she was doing me a favor.

I said thank you and rushed in, just as my step mom was coming out to find me. I told her what had happened, and couldn’t control the crack in my voice. I told her, I couldn’t afford it and they embarrassed me, but eventually let me in. I told her I was angry it cost money to see my daughter’s recital, and I was mad at myself for missing it on the note. Then, I smiled at my son, and pointed to the balloons he was reaching for. *breathe*

I did the math. I’m poor. I didn’t need to do math to know that. The lady at the desk let me stew in my poverty for 10 minutes. I am poor. I had to ask my step mom if she knew if the ice cream from announcement was free for the gymnasts, or if it was just them advertising it. Because I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t wait in line with my daughter, only to find out I didn’t have enough money for it. I am poor. I was made very away of my financial situation. But I still did the math. 

I divided a household budget into 3 parts. You’re Poor, You’re Maintaining, and You’ve Made It. 

YP: Rent, utilities (electric, gas, water, sewer, trash), cell phone, food, and car maintenance (gas, oil change, registration, insurance) $2,870

YM: YP stuff, Heathcare/medical, internet, TV, pets, clothes, entertainment, car payment, Christmas. $4,570 

YMI: YP stuff, YM stuff, life insurance, family vacation, retirement. $5,500+

A single parent needs to make over $22 an hour to be able to be considered poor. They would need to make $35 per hour to maintain a comfortable life. And to actually make it in life? $43 per hour. 

This does not count daycare. This doesn’t count sports. It doesn’t count field trips. It doesn’t count life changes, like a death or pregnancy. It doesn’t count your car breaking down. It doesn’t count winter gear for kids. Or back to school supplies. It doesn’t count saving to buy a house. It doesn’t could student loans. It doesn’t count overdrafts. It leaves no room for any change or mistake. 

I make much less than $2870 a month. But, I found a place for cheaper than the average rent and I don’t buy as many groceries. Also, I neglect my car maintenance. I am so far away from the YM group, it’s laughable. I will not own my own house. I will not be able to afford the internet or TV. I will never be able to take my kids in a family vacation or save for my retirement. This is my life. This is my reality. 

We’re not supposed to talk about money. But today, I was made to feel like dirt. Today, I was reminded that poor kids don’t get to have their mothers with them. Today I was reminded that no matter how strong I feel, no matter how much I love my kids, I will not be able to give them the life I want to give. Today I was reminded, that money is power, and that not having $12 made me powerless. 

I do not want your pity. I do not want you to treat me as a victim. I maintain that i am a strong mother who loves her kids and will do anything for them. What I want is understanding and awareness. If you are at the desk at an event, and a single parent can’t go in because of $12, let them in the effing event. And you are not morally obligated to make sure they know they are an inconvenience to you. Trust me. They know. They are ashamed. They feel the eyes watching them. They don’t need your help. They are embarrassed. They will cry to themselves about it later. So please, just be kind. Me watching my daughter didn’t cost them anything. They lost nothing by letting me in. But the way I was treated ruined my entire day. It showed my daughter’s that their mother was at the mercy of a lady behind a computer. And it made the pit in my stomach, the one I had almost completely removed, come back. 

So now, I will put on a movie, make some popcorn, sit with my kids, and enjoy my night. Even if I am poor. 

Four Quarters vs A Dollar 

Today, I want to talk about sex. And feminism. I know. Sounds exciting, eh? Oh it will be, my friends. So join me on this enlightening experience. 

I am currently not having sex. Obviously not right this second, but also in general. I haven’t had sex in over a year. Personal choice. I’m happy. End of story. 

Did you guys know that even as a single woman, my choice to not “do the dirty” was not my choice to make? I did not know this. I have had to explain, justify, downplay, joke about, and even lie about my OWN sex life to appease random men who approach me about getting frisky. Since I am not allowed to have my sexual desires remain private due to some unwritten rule that any man is allowed to push the subject, I am just going to write a blog about it. 

Jumping to feminism real quick. Just so you can see where my mind is going with all this. 

I have always explained feminism as 4 quarters vs a dollar. They are completely equal in worth. You can buy the exact same amount of goods with both. BUT. They are made of completely different materials. Woman and men are different. Our hormones are different. Our bodies are different. Even the way we think is different. But we are completely equal. That being said, you HAVE to have a respect for how the person is made and how that affects their day to day life. I mean, for fricks sake. I am wearing a bra that is 2 sizes too small because I refuse to spend $50 on a bra I will only wear for a couple more months. Do you know that pain dudes? Do you realize there are shirts I won’t wear in case I have a nip-slip?  No you don’t. Your underwear comes in a multi pack for under $10. Does me not having a bra that properly fits cause my worth to go down? Nope. Even a wrinkled dollar has the same value.

Back to the sex part. 

Disclaimer: I have most definitely had flirtatious messages with men where their comments are encouraged and welcomed. I am not talking about those consensual conversations. I’m talking about the unsolicited ones.

Men. Do you have any idea the level of irritation woman face with you attempted sexual advances? Guess what. I don’t have to give you a reason. Maybe I just don’t want to. Maybe I’m not attracted to you. Maybe I’m on my period. Or have a yeast infection. Or maybe I don’t want to shave my legs. (Ew gross. You mean woman are people with bodies that aren’t always “sex ready”?) Quit pushing. No means no. You being a man does not entitle you to any explanation at all. We’re equal, right? So ask yourself. Do you ever feel you HAVE to explain your sexual choices to random people? I don’t mean do you feel comfortable with discussing it. I am actually quite comfortable discussing sex. I’m asking do you ever feel that you don’t have a choice. Do you ever feel the person won’t back off until you answer. It’s bullshit. 

Now. As most woman know, I can say all day long, “I don’t owe you any explanation”. But men can be relentless. So most times we do give a reason. I used to just make something up. “I have a boyfriend” is the most common. Because for some reason, these guys have more respect for an imaginary man and his ownership over me than they do for me as a woman. 

Today a man messaged me. I almost didn’t bring it up in this post. In case he read my blog and knew I was talking about him. Then, like an out-of-body experience, I realized. Eff that guy. Why are we woman conditioned in such a way, that this man’s fragile ego just about censored what I was going to write? I told him. Repeatedly. I am not having sex. Every conversation was turned to sex. Working out? Sex. Going dancing? Sex. Doing improv? Sex. I finally just told him again, I have no intention of having sex. The last time I “hooked up” with someone, I ended up pregnant. It was traumatic and life changing. It’s not going to happen. His response? We could use a condom. And a comment on how big my boobs must be since I’m nursing. 

I hear men say all the time: I wouldn’t care if a woman talk to me that way. I would rather woman be upfront like that. If I didn’t want it I would just say no. I don’t see what the big deal is. Women are overreacting, if somebody said something like that to me I would just brush it off.

A man just prioritized a sexual want he had for me over a life-changing experience I had. Pause. Let that sink in. I just expressed a life-changing occurrence to somebody and he still felt that his desire to have sex was more important.

Why is this socially acceptable? I feel like, since woman have this possible outcome from intercourse, men would be more like, “Oh shit. I hear ya on that. No problem. Do you want to go for a bike ride instead? Or to the theatre? Or really anything that doesn’t have a long term consequence like a child? Good looking out lady.”

I feel like women everywhere or banging their heads against a wall. It’s really not that hard of a concept. We are not your sexual objects. We deserve the same respect you would give any man. The equal does not mean the same. Meaning, we make choices based on having a vagina and uterus. Does that make you uncomfortable? Do you think it’s unfair? You’ll be okay. Believe me. Women have been having to adjust what works for them to be in a man’s world since the beginning of time. Half the population does not have a penis. Just because you don’t have to watch your drinks at a party, or worry about being raped in an alleyway, or have a fear that telling a man no will result in physical retaliation, doesn’t mean those things don’t exist. I feel like I speak for all women when I say I am so tired of having to deal with the fragility of the male ego. 

I was not put on this earth for a man. My purpose in life is not to fulfill some man’s purpose. My purpose in life is to live MY LIFE to it’s fullest. Woman can, in fact, just be single. Our ultimate goal does not have to be to find a man. I know. I know. What the hell will I talk to my girlfriends about? Or daydream about?  Aren’t men ALWAYS the topic of conversation? 

Equality does not mean us women have to become men. Let me say that again. Equality does not mean I have to become a man. Equality means I should be able to function daily as a woman without feeling I owe a man anything. Equality means you men need to acknowledge the fact that we are different and with that, comes different needs that must be met. We’ve all heard the quote, “When you are privileged, equality feels a lot like oppression”. It’s going to be uncomfortable for you guys to change. But guess what. It has been uncomfortable for us women. Next time you’re rejected, just drop it. Then, think to yourself how awesome that must be for the girl. That you going through a few moments of rejection, just reaffirmed in her that her voice matters. That no means no. That she deserves respect. Don’t worry. It will get easier with time and practice. 

We’re not asking for free soft drinks. We’re simply saying that the vending machine should be functional for both dollars and coins.

One More Lesson from my Grandpa

My grandpa died last week. I have received very kind words, support, condolences, and love from everyone I see. It usually goes the same way. 

“Were you close?” They ask. 

“Yes we were.” I respond.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Cue hug, encouraging comment and subject change. 

They always ask if we were close. You don’t get that question as much when it’s your dad or brother dying. But when it’s a grandparent, I guess there are people who don’t have very much involvement or relationship. In my family, it would be a near impossible feat to not maintain some sort of relationship.

As with any loss, I have been doing a lot of thinking and reminiscing. I have spent the week thinking about my relationship with my grandpa. See, I’m one of the first grandkids. Number 5 actually. There are 32 of us. And 15 (plus two on the way) great grand kids. That’s a lot. So my experience with my grandparents is completely different than what my younger cousins have had. 

I would tell my kids all the time, “The Papa Watts I had was NOT the same Papa Watts you have. He may be physically the same man, but he was a completely different person when I was a kid.” See, I had a grandpa who was still working. A grandpa who still had teenagers and kids of his own in the house. I can still feel the cold tile floor under my feet as I run up to him. He would give me a hug and I could smell the coffee and cigarettes on him. If it were a Sunday afternoon, he would be yelling to “Shut that damn door. Were yout born in a barn?” He would try to adjust a bent hanger that was hooked to the back of the TV in the living room. Trying to get some sort reception on whatever football game was going on. Yelling at us to go outside and to be quiet so he could hear.The other adults didn’t seemed upset about him yelling. So even though it was scary, I knew it was ok. 

My grandma would be doing something in the kitchen. I honestly can’t recall a single moment in my childhood where she was sitting. She would be cleaning, cooking, baking, or refilling coffee for the grown ups. She was the approachable one. My grandpa was kind of scary and loud and always seemed tired and angry. He would tell the occasional joke, or hold the babies, but for the most part, he wanted the kids to make themselves scarce. 

Then, he retired. I was just entering adolescence and we moved from Grand Rapids into my grandparents old house. His retirement, coupled with him finding his faith changed him. I was able to see him become more gentle, loving, and involved. I remember him getting irritated about all the people constantly in and out of the house. Too many visitors and kids. And my grandma said, “What do you think has been going on here for the last 40 years”. This made me laugh. For the first time, I think my grandpa realized all that my grandma had been doing. He slowly started to soften and slow down. 

I remember watching him walk around their house, holding my cousin Seth and pointing to every picture on the wall and tell Seth who was in each one. He would walk him around outside and point at the birds and trees. I don’t remember him doing this with any of the older cousins. 

Over the years I watched him become closer to us grandkids and the great grandkids. I could sit an talk with him and my grandma and enjoy the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as annoyed with the kids running in and out or eating all the cookies. He was kinder. 

I am glad I got both versions. So many times in our young adulthood, we are trying to define ourselves. We are trying so hard to figure out who we are, what we want, and where we’re going. We do this with the assumption that once we figure it out, we can sit content in our self discovery. But we will NEVER find that contentment. Because we never stop changing. And hopefully we are changing into better versions of ourselves. Kinder, gentler, versions of ourselves.

Love you Grandpa. You have loved and inspired so many people. Even after death I find you teaching me life lessons.