Some opening thoughts on being low-income

I shouldn’t be this poor.  Not that I am entitled to anything more than what I have, but I could have done better for myself.  My life has been a series of choices, mostly bad, that have me sitting here on my mom’s old computer, hoping to find my voice among the millions.

I am part of the 99%, but I am not sure that taking from people who have made it into the 1% is really a solution.  I won’t lie, I would like to be up there, not worrying about things like rent or how my momma’s going to live when she can’t work anymore.  I am more fortunate than a good deal of the third world, which I try often to remind myself that I do having running water and flush toilets.  I don’t have to pick between eating or heating my home.  I am extremely grateful to have been born here in America – even if the milk and honey are served out disproportionately.

I grew up, lower middle class I guess.  My dad worked in textiles and my mom babysat children in the neighborhood, to have what she called “her money.”  I had what I would call a typically dysfunctional childhood – complete with domestic violence, molestations and being told every day I was not worth a half-penny.  I guess you would say I was the kind of kid who was told by her momma that if she hadn’t lost her virginity to that jerk, and knew about birth control, I wouldn’t be around.  I didn’t live without any joy, I suppose because I just thought all families had horrible secrets behind the shiny brass knockers.

I won’t say that hasn’t affected me, but now, at 43, I want better for myself. So, the quest begins….



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