The Difficulty of Putting Food on the Table

There’s been an awful lot of talk lately about how many service members use food pantries and food stamps.

A lot of talk.

The last number I saw was 620,000 out of 1.4 million. I hope that number is inflated to appeal to a broad public’s compassion. I understand the usage of these public assistance programs in a way I never would have two years ago.

You’ve all been following my struggles to find a job over the last year. This PCS has not been kind to us in a lot of ways. On many days, it has been hard to see the blessings that have come with this duty station. But man, the struggles are nothing I ever expected.

Our family and friends have been kind and generous in ways words cannot describe. From surprise Sam’s Club restocks, to paying for preschool, to sending the kids clothes, to helping us survive with an enormous loan that saved us.

We feel like a charity case.

The embarrassment of that is not something I can describe with words, either.

But, thank God for them.

Someday, we will pay it back and pay it forward. But man, feeling like we need others help, especially family help, to get by is nothing I ever expected.

Let me be clear. We have never had a lot. Barely anything in savings. But, we always got by without a monthly anxiety attack.

We never had to weigh whether we could afford a Halloween costume or the gas to meet a friend for lunch. I have always been the one to bring a hostess gift or a first day of school surprise or matching tableware for a get together—not anymore. Not now. That makes me feel naked and judged—and usually nauseated.

Always judged. Usually nauseated.

Groceries are expensive. I don’t care if you shop only store brand, only off brand, only at the commissary—groceries are one of our largest bills each month. And I cook. We don’t eat out much. I miss having the choice.

As a one income household in an expensive state, I understand the stress of making the ends meet. Or, juggling, floating, stretching, and hoping those ends together.

We now do it every month. It is exhausting.

It has made me anxious in myriad ways:

Can we afford to buy the birthday present so Charlie can go to the party?

Can we afford the gas to visit the family?

Can we afford Christmas this year?

Can we juggle things so that the kids can play soccer?

Can I float that bill one more month?

It envelops you.

It is overwhelming and adds such a layer of stress to an already stressful life.

I have woken up struggling to catch my breath.

I have lost my cool for seemingly the simplest of reasons. Stress. Money.

Punch me in the face.

So, back to the topic of food pantries.

Two years ago, I would have judged.

I would have been all snotty and superior and holier than thou. “Just get another job. Stop eating out so much. You’re in the military, how can you not afford groceries?”

I’d like to punch that lady in the face.

Look, we don’t qualify for food assistance. If we did, I’d be in the line just like many of you. I’d be mortified for anyone I know to know that. But, that would be my problem.

Feed your family. By any means necessary. Pride be damned.

If you can get the help and it lightens the load which makes the ends come a little closer together? Do it.

Whatever brought you to the circumstances, change what you can. But, if you have tightened and tightened (and secretly, or not so, feel like you shouldn’t have to because you are good people who work hard and live an honest, above-board life. Can you tell I’m still pretty angry?), take every advantage for your family that you can.

Judgers (like my former self) be damned. I’m rooting for your success. I’m rooting for our collective survival.

Let’s root for each other.