Join me in reaching a goal for No Kid Hungry: http://join.nokidhungry.org/goto/josidenise
This is hard to write.
I’ve stared at that sentence for an hour now, thoughts running through my mind.
So don’t write it.
But I have to. I have to because as difficult as it is for me to find my voice on this topic, as much strength as it takes for me to speak about this without tears welling up in my eyes, for every hard memory I have to swallow before sharing humbly — there are so many more people who do not have a voice at all.
In April of this year, I was one of three bloggers invited to Northwest Arkansas by Tyson Foods and No Kid Hungry, to learn more about their collaboration to end childhood hunger. The teams from Tyson headquarters and Share our Strength toured us around the town VIP style, treating us to the best southern food and a behind the scenes glimpse at their operations. We visited local schools, chatted with students, and learned how many people are unaware that there are others struggling with hunger in their own communities.
I was supposed to tell you all about it. I was supposed to bring awareness to childhood hunger in America. I didn’t.
I was a coward. I gave in to that voice inside that questions “How will this actually help anyone?” and chose to bury my emotions attached to the project and let someone else fight for change.
Here’s the contradiction I’ve found with charity: there’s a disconnect between the people who need it, and the people who spend their lives passionately trying to give.
Last year for Thanksgiving, I asked all of you to tell me what you were thankful for. I gave away a Kitchenaid Mixer in return, as my thanks to you for being readers. When I announced the winner, I also shared a bit of my personal story, and what it was like to grow up hungry. I asked you all to take the No Kid Hungry pledge, and donate if you could.
Even after the overwhelmingly positive response, and the subsequent invitation to the Arkansas trip, I still couldn’t quite connect my distant past to what I was doing in my life at present. I left my hometown as a teenager to work in Hawaii. I left behind my childhood, I left behind my struggles, and I left behind poverty. I broke free of that system, or so I thought, and I was proud for a very long time.
A very selfish part of me thought “Yes, I could help, but I also could just move on with my own life.” and I chose to repress those hurtful memories. When the videos about hunger and emotional statistics hit me a little too hard, instead of using that personal knowledge and understanding of struggle to help others, I did what I always do – I ran away. I gave up.
I chose, like so many, to turn the other cheek and be blind to problems so close to home. Because it’s easier that way. It’s easier to pretend that hunger, and poverty, are far away issues. Not here, not in my neighborhood, not in my child’s cafeteria, not in my social network, right?
And I failed, in so many ways. I failed to share with all of you how Tyson Foods is ending hunger in classrooms and how No Kid Hungry needs your help. I failed myself, above all. Because I have a voice to help, and I have been that little girl in line at the food bank, and I have been that little girl with only thrift store shoes, and I have been the little girl who was bullied for being on the free lunch program. I am not in a foreign, war-torn country. I was raised in America, in a normal small town, in a normal American family who worked hard and lived the same as you. I am real, and I know the cycles of poverty and how people try so, so hard to break free from it and find happiness. I know what’s stacked against the children we met in Arkansas, who wouldn’t eat all day if there wasn’t breakfast provided in their classrooms. I know it’s not just about the food.
I know it’s not as easy as telling a single mom to “just find a job” or sending a few dollars and tossing a teddy bear in a red and white snowflake decorated donation bin once a year. I know that it’s not about the media-covered fancy celebrity chef events and touching viral videos on Facebook. I know it’s more than that, because I have been there.
And here I am, again. It’s amazing how life can change in one year. Since my trip and work with No Kid Hungry and Tyson Foods in April of this year, my world has flipped upside down. I stopped blogging altogether for awhile, actually.
After making it through a rough storm of emotions and violence, I’m coming to terms with the fact that not everything is in our control. Even labeling my situation like that is hard. I’ve tried to hit backspace several times now, but whether it hurts to say it or not, whether that fear of a negative reaction will be there until I die, I have to use my voice and speak the truth, and hopefully help others. I am an otherwise intelligent, independent, strong-willed mother and woman. I am perfectly capable of working hard, as all of you who trim tiny fingernails and sign homework agendas and tuck in the blankets just right know so well. I have accomplished so much, and I am confident in my ability to make a better life for my children. But willpower is not enough when so much is against you.
No amount of wishing and “just being strong” will get food on my table. No amount of likes on someone’s viral video will help my children get to their doctor appointments or make sure they have lunch money.
In September, with the help of family and friends, I moved half way across the country with my little ones. Things did not work out quite the way I planned, but they never really do, do they? We hope for the best, when a marriage breaks, we hope for peace and civility. We imagine future holidays and graduations, holding hands with the other parent and friend you’ve made in them as your children have grown. We imagine wanting the best for each other, and ending things with a mutual respect and remembrance for the best memories we shared. If only.
For years, I lived life with an image of luxury. We traveled, enjoyed cruises and trips to theme parks, I drove a Mercedes. My children had elaborate birthdays and holidays filled with expensive gifts. I worked so hard to climb some imaginary ladder, to get to the top of life in my 25th floor bubble of concrete and glass and perfect city view. I hosted Thanksgiving with the best wines and biggest turkey and prettiest bouquet of fresh flowers on the table. Money cannot buy happiness, and I can assure you of this, but damnit I tried. I did what you are supposed to do, what society says is the formula for success and a stable family. Two incomes, taxes paid, health insurance, marriage, children in good schools.
And yet, here I am. Unexpectedly, and probably surprisingly, I am the face of food stamps.
I am the single parent without a car, wondering where she and her children will live next month. I am the girl shaking with nerves walking into a lawyer’s office I know I can’t possibly afford right now, desperate for help. I am the friend holding back tears when you bring her children pairs of used gloves and boots, wondering whether she will be able to afford any to keep herself warm too. I am the mom in line at the grocery store counting her purchases and trying to put together meals with creative recipes that never let the children feel like we are missing out. I am the woman struggling to keep it all together and not let her babies see through the cracks. Not let all of you read between the lines. I am the writer pouring her heart out right now for nothing in return but hopes that someone appreciates the truth.
This is hard to write. But it will never get easier.
No matter how hard life is, I get to kiss my daughter’s forehead as she drifts off to sleep each night. I get to giggle with my silly son turning eight soon, and cherish the chubby cheeks of my baby boy living in innocent bliss. I get to wake up each morning full of gratitude, and I get to spend my days with family and friends and loved ones. I am thankful. And therefore, I ask for nothing.
I guess I could post a GoFundMe account and write my full story. I could beg and sob and blame and accuse and attack too. I could talk about bruises inside and out, and post one-sided tales. I could fill my time on earth with regret and spite and bitterness, and I could use my words to make sure everyone knows just what I’ve been through. I could make sure that anywhere my name is written, it’s followed by the word victim like an earned title. I could wear that badge with honor as though the world is against me and I am entitled to restitution of some sort. I could capitalize on that, I suppose. It’s been done, clearly.
But I won’t. I choose grace, forgiveness, and dignity, even it means not setting all versions of the story straight. I choose, above all, to be thankful and selfless. And to forever remember that everyone is fighting a battle inside that you cannot always see.
I am proof of that. And I try hard daily to keep it together, just like I know so many of you do as well, no matter what you are struggling with.
Ending childhood hunger is not just about the food. Nutrition and being able to focus in class are important aspects, and silencing that little voice in a child’s mind that wonders where their next meal will come from – that matters, let me tell you, it matters.
But by giving to organizations who help families in need, you aren’t just providing a snack here and there. You aren’t just putting a side of cranberry dressing on the table one night a year. You’re giving someone a peace of mind. You’re helping programs like No Kid Hungry and Share our Strength to create classes to help families budget, and learn to cook, and teach high school seniors how to grocery shop. You’re letting a first grader get excited about math and music in the morning instead of listening to their tummy grumble. You’re restoring faith in the mom who feels broken so much of the day. You’re allowing her to raise her children with memories of what’s important.
A family meal is important. Twenty years from now, a child will not remember what was on the plate. They will remember that someone cared. They might remember that it was hard for their family to afford food, but it’s our job to make sure we keep trying. When money is tight, when life is tough, our job as mothers is to make sure it all comes together somehow.
I am one of those mothers right now, and I am doing my best to be that glue. And I want to be a gentle reminder that hunger is here. Not far away, not in another person’s life that doesn’t affect you. It’s here. It’s behind the words of your favorite blogger, it’s in the eyes of the PTA mom pitching in for cupcakes she won’t tell you she bought with scraped together coins.
Hunger is real and present in every town in America, and while it’s so easy to feel like it’s not in our control, it really is. People like me, and people like you, we have more power to help than we realize.
This year, I won’t be giving away a fancy kitchen appliance from my own pocket. But I’ll be with family and friends and watching my children enjoy snow for the first time. I won’t be taking a vacation on winter break, but I’ll be grateful for warm, full little bellies and big smiles.
This year, I am asking you to join me and do two things:
1- Help me reach a fundraising goal for No Kid Hungry of $600 by Thanksgiving.
The American Mama | Be Thankful 2015: http://join.nokidhungry.org/goto/josidenise
This blog receives hundreds of thousands of page views per month. There are 750 of you who choose to receive updates via email for every post published. If each of you donated even $1, we would exceed our goal. Because every $1 donated provides one meal, this goal can feed 6000 children. You can read more about how donations to No Kid Hungry will be used here.
2- This is the most important. No matter how little you have, be thankful.
xoxo, Josi
The post The Face of Food Stamps appeared first on The American Mama.