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COPYRIGHT 2001 Mothering Magazine
Without my powerful belief in motherwork, which I learned from my mother's creative dedication to home and hearth, and without the support of my friend Carol, I might not have survived single motherhood.
During the eight years my husband and I were married, he hit or pushed me several times when he could not win an argument. Those assaults, combined with his unwillingness to share motherwork and money, convinced me that I had to leave him for the sake of our three sons and myself. But how would I support the four of us? How could I get away from him without a battle? How could I stay home with my kids until they were ready for school?
It was Carol, a single mother with two daughters, who told me about welfare. I had heard it was shameful to receive it. But Carol was a pragmatist; she pointed out that as bad as welfare was, my husband was worse. "You don't have to put up with being hit--ever," she told me. "And you can get $265 a month. That's more than he gives you."
I was determined to stay at home as long as possible to help my children recover from the violence that they had witnessed and the loss of their dad, their home, and their friends. I believed that providing unrestricted time to my children was essential after the separation. Few folks agreed with me, however. My mother, who had stayed in a rough marriage until her youngest was 18 rather than resort to welfare, shrank in shame when I applied for such stigmatized child support. She felt this way even though I never received any financial support from my ex, who had told the judge, "She wants the divorce, let her support them."
My oldest brother scolded, "Don't expect taxpayer help. You made your bed, now you have to lie in it." Another brother droned, "It's all just a matter of choices," insisting that I had fallen in love with the wrong man. My little brother laughed, saying I'd been a fool to fall for my husband's romantic letters and sweet talk during our courtship. Strangers in the grocery store gave me the evil eye or talked about my purchases; people I barely knew called me an irresponsible parasite for letting the government support my babies.
Carol gave me the practical advice I needed. She taught me to take notes in front of caseworkers, to request hearings, to send letters to welfare directors with carbon copies to politicians, and to ask politicians' aides to intervene on my behalf. Our relationship wasn't all business. Carol and I also spent hours on the phone after the kids were in bed, discussing the world of courts and therapy, the never-ending childrearing worries, and relationships with boyfriends.
Without my mother's training in frugality, my sons and I never could have survived on welfare's inadequate income. But we did survive--and we thrived. We grew closer and freer and happier, living together in peace, enjoying a child-centered pace. By the time we had been on our own for a year, I had gained a huge amount of knowledge about doing motherwork on a shoestring, the importance of community, and the legal and social treatment of women and children living in poverty.
When my children were strong enough for me to leave them every day, I returned to college, taking 12 credits, the minimum needed to qualify for government grants. When welfare eliminated daycare benefits, I took my youngest to class with me for one semester. In college, I was again forced to defend myself for receiving welfare child support, this time to students who didn't have a clue. After college, I worked as a paralegal at Legal Services. Using what I had learned as a survivor of poverty, I represented clients in unemployment and welfare hearings.
The experience of being regarded as a social pariah led me to become an activist. I was appalled that our society punished mothers and children for the sins of the fathers. When fathers do not support their children, it is the mothers who...
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