Years ago, when my son was a toddler, we were on food stamps and WIC for a short period of time after my husband had been laid off. (If you’re not aware, WIC stands for Women, Infants & Children and is a federally funded supplemental nutrition program for low-income pregnant women and children.) My husband’s unemployment had run out, he was depressed, and he couldn’t find a job. It was a horribly scary time.

Yet even with that kind of stress at home, what really made it unbearable for me, was how I was treated at the grocery store when I used WIC. There was an older woman at the grocery store in the town I worked in, she waited on me and made me feel like absolute garbage. She scoffed when she saw my WIC paperwork, yelled at me when I had something on the counter I wasn’t allowed to get through WIC, and never once looked me in the eye.

I felt humiliated.

I left the store in tears, holding the bag of the few items my child needed to keep growing and thriving. The next time I used WIC, I didn’t go back to that grocery store, but went to a larger one near my home. It was a little better, but not by much. The clerk was closer to my age (I was in my mid-30s at this time), but she was efficient, did what she needed to do, and finished the transaction. There were no extra niceties, but at least she didn’t degrade me.

Now here we are, 15 years later. My son is still a growing boy, but a teenager. My husband is out of work and will be permanently. Although the disability paperwork has been filed, he will not have an income for 1-3 years. There is no WIC or food stamps for us, because in the eyes of the government, I make too much money.

So what do we do? Each day when I go home from work, I pass a local church that has a food bank every Tuesday morning. My husband and I had talked about it, and we both knew how fucking hard this would be. You work your whole life, you try to help others, but when it’s time to go for and accept assistance, it felt…wrong.

The morning he was going to go to the church for the first time, I said to him, “Remember, you’re doing this for your family. You’re doing this because our kid, god help us, is still growing. We are going to survive, damn it, and this is how we do it.” He kept nodding his head, “I know. I know.”

And off he went. I’m sure every food bank has their process and I know each one has slightly different rules. This one is in our town, but many folks who go are not from our town. They drive in from other places, but that’s how they survive. Each person or household is given a box to fill, but you can still only take as much as you need for the number of people in your home. For instance, he picked out 3 potatoes the first visit and 3 oranges, because we have 3 people. It’s been quite a humbling experience for all of us, but especially for my husband.

Each week the items are different, and you have to pick numbers to see how far down the line you are. If you get a low number, you have the better choice of produce or any of the goods. If you have a higher number, it’s often slim pickings by then. But it’s fair.

What’s interesting is the choice of items. This past week there was sliced swiss cheese with the expiration date of that day and yogurt a week past the expiration date. Usually the produce is about to go bad or you might have a few days to eat it. But so far, we’ve made sure nothing has actually gone bad. We’re trying to be creative with whatever food he brings home. He’s made hash browns with a few potatoes or sliced and baked them until they’re like potato chips. We’ve received spring mix a few times and have placed greens in nearly everything to make sure it’s eaten. I feel like I’m living in that commercial with chefs who cook gourmet dishes with food scraps…except without the chefs. We’re not making anything fancy, but we’re trying to make meals and not get sick from them. (I’m not gonna lie, the swiss cheese did taste a little odd, but I figured swiss cheese tastes a little weird anyway so it’s fine!)

But one thing that was seriously sweet about last week’s haul, was this rose. I guess the church gave it to my husband to give to me. I don’t know why, but I don’t care. I kinda love it. I’m not typically one who likes to receive flowers, but honestly, it was just nice to get something….lovely. Something that could brighten my day, even for a moment.

Someday, I hope we’ll get to the other side of this. I’m not sure what kind of shape we’ll be in financially by then, but I’m really trying to find ways of cutting costs. I make my own laundry detergent now, we switched from regular cat litter to these pellets that barns typically use, and I’m always scouring my basement to look for things to sell. This isn’t where I thought we’d be at this age, but shit happens, right?

One thing I know is that if we ever do get to the other side of this…no. WHEN we get to the other side of this, we will donate money or resources to local food banks. Even if some of the food items are a little sketchy, we still accept it with great gratitude. They are truly saving our bacon.

Eat well, my friends, and as always, hugs to you. ❤