Updated: April 12, 2019
Originally Published: April 10, 2019
Not long ago, I came across a poignant post on the Humans of New York Facebook page that struck a deep chord within me. It featured an older gentleman discussing poverty and the myth of pulling oneself up by the bootstraps. He shared, “I once thought I could prescribe a solution for the poor: ‘Get a job, save money, and lift yourself up.’ Now, I see how naive that was. I was unaware of the true struggles faced by those in poverty.” His insights resonated with me in a profound way.
I embody what it means to be part of the working poor. My partner and I both hold full-time jobs, and I even juggle a part-time gig on the side. Yet every month is a relentless battle. For a long time, I felt ashamed of our financial situation. Despite adhering to the so-called American Dream—earning a degree, marrying, securing employment, raising kids, and buying a home—I find myself suffocating under a mountain of debt. At the current pace of my income growth, I fear I may pass away still in the clutches of student loans and mortgage payments.
No matter how diligently I work, I remain one paycheck away from financial ruin. Each month, I meticulously jot down our bills on the calendar, trying to align them with our paydays. When school events arise that require spending, I frantically assess which bill I can defer for another week. I’ve memorized the grace periods for each bill, ensuring that if I can’t settle the electricity this month, I can still avoid disconnection by making a partial payment by the 15th.
This exhausting cycle is my reality, yet I am too proud to seek assistance. There are families living in more dire circumstances than mine, and I recognize that we are fortunate to have basic needs met—food, shelter, and safety. Those proverbial bootstraps? I’ve heard about them my entire life, and believe me, I’m gripping mine tightly. But it still isn’t enough.
This past Christmas, we fell nearly three months behind on our mortgage just to afford propane to keep our home warm, buy a few modest gifts, and get our kids new winter coats and boots. Meanwhile, the tires on our only vehicle are worn out, and my child requires expensive treatment for a rare genetic condition that we must pay for out of pocket, as we don’t qualify for any assistance programs. Many sleepless nights are spent worrying about how to manage these expenses.
Living paycheck to paycheck is how we survive, and I know I’m not alone in this struggle. The Center for Poverty Research at the University of California, Davis defines the working poor as those who spend at least 27 weeks in the workforce or actively seeking work but whose earnings fall below the poverty line. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 45 million Americans were below that line in 2014, accounting for 14.5% of the population.
The current political climate has only exacerbated our plight. The Trump administration has likely initiated cuts to support programs that assist low- and middle-income families. The economic policies have pushed families like mine further into despair. The thought of losing our healthcare is unbearable; my son’s condition is not something we can simply overlook, and no parent is ready for the financial burden of keeping their child healthy under these circumstances. My 50-plus hour workweek feels increasingly futile.
When I hear discussions about bootstraps, I think of my grandparents, who thrived in a post-war economy that allowed for upward mobility. They had the resources to pull themselves up, but I find myself struggling against insurmountable odds. I’ve tried every possible angle, yet I owe a significant amount for a modest home and an education that led me to a job that barely covers our expenses.
As my children proudly wore their new winter boots and warm jackets to school, I trudged through the snow in worn sneakers because I couldn’t afford proper footwear. We manage to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, but it comes at the expense of my health and well-being. There is nothing lazy about my situation; being part of the working poor is a brutal and hopeless experience, compounded by the misguided perceptions that we can simply overcome our financial challenges.
So, when that man on Humans of New York admitted to his ignorance regarding poverty and articulated the modern struggles of those like me, I felt a glimmer of hope. Finally, someone was publicly acknowledging the harsh realities that I face every day.
I am the face of the working poor, and I want you to see me.