When The Rug of Life is Ripped Out from Under You

We all walk the line between who we think we are and who we really are every day. Sometimes that line becomes fuzzier and sometimes more clear. There are not a lot of people who get the opportunity to step over that line and see themselves clearly, even for a minute. I got that chance the other day when I stepped into the Department of Economic Security. I was not there because I wanted to be, I was there because I had to be.

I was raised in an upper middle class family. My dad is and always will be ultra-conservative. He was Republican, so when I turned 18 I signed up as one too. I graduated from high school, obtained my Bachelor’s Degree, got married, had a beautiful baby girl, and then completed my Master’s Degree. I have worked full time, part time, worked from home and worked as a mom. I have been under-qualified, over-qualified and totally terrified. I have been a Type A personality and a Type B; neither label ever made a difference. My life in a nutshell.

I am your mother, sister, niece, daughter, aunt, neighbor and friend.

I was brought to my knees 5 years ago with the diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was in my 30s and had no idea what was to come. I thought I could not fall further than my knees until I was diagnosed with 20 additional diagnoses and a pending divorce. That knocked me right on my butt. I now have to lay down twice a day in order to gather enough energy to get back up again and do the things I need to do. Millions of people out there, maybe you or someone you love, faces a similar struggle.

I am unable to work, have no health insurance, my daughter has a chronic illness also and we are living with my mom. I am now almost 40 years old. My mom cannot afford to support us on her income, nor should she have to. My one day to be ex-husband is doing his best to help us out while trying to support himself separately as well.

All inner demon and self esteem issues aside, my daughter and I are barely scraping by. My mother’s Golden Years are now more of an Avocado or Burnt Umber.

The DES office was a big room filled with small plastic chairs, filled with people. It was hot and the walls were dirty. I kept wondering, "Why don't they pain the walls a darker color?" It would camouflage the dirt on the walls. I don't understand why the walls were so dirty.

This was one DES office in the State of Arizona. Just one. There were so many people there waiting for help. How many millions of people are sitting in DES office across the country, asking for help, in this, the richest country in the world?

The stories are different but basically the same: Chronic pain, job loss, abandonment and illness. There are so many of us who are lost; so many who just cannot make it.

I am willing to be that not one person wanted to be there, but they had to. They had no choice. They - no, we, all have children, spouses, parents in need. The room was filled with people of all shapes, colors, genders and sizes. We were all the same. We needed help. I sat there with my Master’s Degree, my waiting room buddies sat there with their Associate’s Degrees, Bachelor’s Degrees, their life experience, their retirement, their PhDs, and their infants.

There were not many smiles there, but there were some. The employees looked tired, but they kept calling names, calling people into he back office to try to help. They were wearing Hawaiian clothing for an office celebration, so their clothing was bright. Their faces were not. They had cake and one employee told me that they never finish a cake when it's brought in. I thought that was weird. Usually offices are full of human locusts who descend and devour anything edible. Not here though. They just weren't hungry.

I waited for about 2.5 hours until my name was called. I have waited longer for a doctor. I followed my representative into her cubicle. Her desk faced the back of her space. A chair sat jt behind her in which I sat. She faced her monitor the entire time and not once looked me in the eye. She was polite, but I wonder if her work area was set up that way to avoid prolonged conversation or it's just too painful to see people struggling every day?

I neglected to bring the paperwork she needed to complete my interview. She asked me why. I felt like a boob answering, “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t read the instructions well enough.” She explained the importance of following directions as I held my hands in my lap and swung my saddle shoes back and forth. My real answer, the one I could not say aloud was, “I am desperate and scared. I don’t know what I am doing. I can’t remember to wash my hair much less find documentation I no doubt put somewhere safe where I may never find it.”

Why are so many of us struggling? I am online a lot, I watch the news, I see and hear many fellow Americans talk about how the “lazy and useless” people are sucking the life out of our economy. I don’t know all of the facts and figures. They are just numbers to me. Before my life changed I was Republican. Now what am I? I am one girl out of millions who has lost many of life’s battles.

I refuse to label myself any longer. I looked around that large, unflatteringly lit room and saw myself in every person there: man, woman, black, white, brown, limping, able-bodied, young, old, client and employee. I was helped just as surely as the woman sitting next to me and the man sitting next to her. The employees did not leave that office until every person has been seen.

We all stood on equal ground then and there. We all needed help to live. Not one person wanted to be there. Every person had to be there.

If you have read this far your question may be, “What is your point, woman?”

At one time I was a healthy, intelligent, motivated woman with hopes, goals and dreams. I am no longer healthy, but I remain an intelligent, compassionate, motivated woman with hopes, goals and dreams. They have changed drastically simple due to fate’s role of the dice and unexpected circumstances.

No one is safe. No one is immune. No amount of energy, education or preparation can protect you when you are slapped upside the head with tragedy or unexpected event.

The world would be a better place if all humans would open their eyes and recognize that we are all the same. We are all vulnerable. Our battles could be more effectively fought if we all would withhold judgment and realize that every one of us is one unfortunate circumstance away from DES, one circumstance from hoping and praying we can get the help when we need it.

Just because so many of us are losing battles each day doesn’t mean that with the understanding and compassion of others, we cannot win the war.

It is not a war of monetary or professional success, but the war of ultimate survival, basic security and the knowledge deep in your heart that every single one of us counts. We all deserve compassion and we all should give it freely, without restraint.

Any one of us may be walking into DES tomorrow. I gave my cool bottle of water to a woman waiting in line with me – not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I learned something about myself the other day. My view of myself became suddenly clear when I realize I could not save anyone in that room with me. Heck, I cannot even save myself.

What I did learn is that compassion is not the answer to all of the world’s problems; but it is a damn good start.