Poverty and Motherhood: Part 1, “Pregnant While Poor”

This is the stereotypical image of a “welfare mother.”

(Image Source: colorlines.com)

This is the ACTUAL image of a “welfare mother.”

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This is a photo of me, the NSJ founder, and my grandmother, taken after the birth of my oldest daughter.  My family began receiving food stamps, WIC, and Medicaid in 1997, when I became pregnant for the first time.  Even though my husband was employed full-time, the money he made working at a fast food restaurant was barely enough to pay the rent on our one-bedroom apartment.  After the birth of my second child in 2000, I also received childcare assistance in order to return to work full time.

Admittedly, my ex-husband and I didn’t always make the best life choices.  Fortunately, I learned from those mistakes, divorced my ex, and went on to graduate from nursing school.  The intelligence, creativity, and talent of my three children continues to amaze me every day.  I know that the nutritious food that was provided during their gestational period, infancy, and early years had a direct effect on the development of their brains.  The access to healthcare, vaccinations, and treatment for childhood illnesses made it possible for them to attend school instead of staying home sick.  I have no doubt that without the public assistance my family received, my oldest child would not have scored a 28 on the ACT, the middle child would not be an honor roll student who played clarinet in the all-county band, and the youngest child would not have been reading at a middle school level in the second grade.

There is a strong social stigma surrounding welfare benefits, and an extremely inaccurate stereotype.  Women who receive welfare are categorized in certain media outlets as lazy, promiscuous, entitled, dependent and weak. They are portrayed as spending frivolously on luxuries instead of necessities, or trying to get “something for nothing.” The inaccurate image makes it easier for politicians to reduce funding for food stamp programs, such as the cuts that went into effect earlier this year. This type of thinking is part of a greater philosophy that any young woman who has the nerve to get herself knocked up, especially out of wedlock, should be punished for her behavior, along with any resulting offspring.  It is the same philosophy that believes a pregnant woman should be forced to carry every pregnancy to term, so that she may experience the consequences of her sinful behavior, along with the child to whom she gives birth.

In reality, the average woman of child-bearing age who receives SNAP benefits is a single mother of two children, and has a full-time job.  The average recipient family spends less in every category than average families who do not receive welfare.

(Image Source: The Atlantic)

Many welfare recipients are attending college.  I know this, because I went to nursing school with them.  (If you have never tried to raise children on your own while working and going to school, know this: it is nearly impossible to do without help of some kind.)

Some of these women married the wrong man, or were victims of abuse, or simply became pregnant because they thought it was a good idea at the time.  However, regardless of the reason, “pregnant while poor” is not a crime, and a child is not a punishment.  Cutting funding for SNAP benefits literally takes food out of the mouths of pregnant women and children.

It’s time to dispel the image of the “welfare queen.”  If you are now receiving, or have ever received, SNAP benefits, send us your pictures on Facebook or Twitter with the hashtag #iamawelfaremom.  Send us your selfies with your children, or from work or class, or even volunteering in the community. Maybe if we show America what a welfare mom really looks like, it will be more difficult to take food away from our children.

The story of a lost and found child

The story of a lost and found child (by L. Rodriguez in Kentucky)

During the end-of-the-semester banquet I casually mentioned my daughter to a friend, and the chair of my major’s department overheard. She quickly turned to me, surprised, and said, “I never knew you had a child! How do you do it? This changes my whole perception of you!” While her reaction was positive, I cringe at the possibility of my role as a mother influencing my professors’ perceptions of me, for better or worse. It is not that I am ashamed or that I hide the fact that I have a child–my daughter often accompanies me to department events and other university activities—but I, like many professional women today, realize that when you call yourself a mother, expectations of you change, so I don’t often talk about her with people in charge of my grades to limit the possibility of differential treatment.

For me, my daughter is my inspiration, not a hurdle. Working to give her a better life drives my every achievement. While it is not always easy, it helps that I have a supportive partner at home and that I waited until she was enrolled in elementary school to continue my education. I have met other student mothers who struggle a lot more than I do because their children are much younger and/or they’re single parents. Compared to them, my difficulties seem insignificant, but they exist. But while life is easier now, it hasn’t always been this way.

I got pregnant with my daughter when I was fifteen after leaving a neglectful and abusive household. As it turned out, lonely men are one of the few types of people willing to take in homeless female teenagers, and so I moved in with my adult “boyfriend” when I was fourteen. Even at that age, I knew it was not right, but it was still better than being at home because at least he fed me.

I panicked when I took the first pregnancy test. I had already dropped out of high school and did not want to be tied to this man forever, and I thought having a baby meant I was stuck. I went to a gynecologist for confirmation, and when I started crying, my doctor told me I should have thought about the consequences of my actions while I was busy having “fun” and that I was lucky I did not have AIDS. I was too young to understand that he was judging my life based on his own stereotypical view of teenage pregnancies, and I felt so ashamed.

I wanted to look into other options, and I ran across an advertisement for a pregnancy center that offered information on abortions and adoptions. I managed to make an appointment for later the same day, and soon I found myself in a place that looked like a medical clinic, but with pictures of fetuses and biblical quotes on the walls. I was taken to an “examination room” where I was to meet with a clinic counselor. While I waited, they played a video called “The Silent Scream,” a film that depicted a developing fetus “screaming” during an abortion procedure. It was horrific and I felt sick for even considering that option. When the counselor finally came in, I told her that I was 8 weeks pregnant. She politely informed me that it was too late for me to have an abortion anyway, but she gave me some literature on Christian adoption. Of course, I later found out that place was a “crisis pregnancy center,” an anti-choice establishment specializing in scaring teenagers with disturbing propaganda, lying about abortion time frames, and pretending to be an actual medical clinic despite having no medical professionals on staff whatsoever.

After having been scolded by my gynecologist and being told that I should give my child up to a “nice Christian couple” by people claiming to be nurses, I dreaded all my upcoming medical appointments.

I wish I could say things improved from then on, but that is not the case. Even though I made sure to keep all my prenatal appointments, no one ever recognized my dedication to my child’s health. Every time I went to an examination, I felt ashamed. I had a nurse tell me that if I was her daughter, I would be smacked. The nutritionist at the health department would not accept that my iron deficiency was from my inability to hold down my meals (I had extreme nausea and vomiting throughout my pregnancy), and she told me to cut back on the junk food because, “You are a mother now. You can’t eat like a kid anymore.” Even on the day I delivered my daughter, when she would not latch onto my breast and I was nauseated from the medicines, the delivery room nurse scolded me for giving up breastfeeding so quickly when all I wanted to do was sleep off my medication and try again later. She said, “You know, now there are more important things than YOUR comfort. If you weren’t ready to make sacrifices, maybe you should not have gotten pregnant.”

Life is easier now. My daughter is 10 and she is awesome. I have a truly supportive partner and we have been together for 8 years now (her biological father left me sometime in the midst of the pregnancy). I am now one of the top students at my university (after working my butt off to get a high score on the GED), and I am graduating with highest honors. I succeed because I have no other option and because I realize that schoolwork is not the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.

I still struggle. I worry that focusing on my studies is stealing the time I should spend watching my daughter grow up. When I was 20, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and I am likely infertile as a result (my doctor says that there is a chance that medication could help me conceive a child, but without it, conception will be difficult). My daughter may be the only biological child I ever have, and I worry that I am missing too much. However, I cannot let her live the life I lived, and I lead by example. Through my dedication to my studies and my perseverance, she is learning the value of her own education. Being connected to a university allows me access to events and activities that provide further education enrichment, and I make a point of bringing her to as many as possible. I love my daughter, and I view my education as a means for providing her with better opportunities in the future.

I have heard people argue that stereotypes are based on reality, and I don’t disagree. However, this is not a valid reason to further engage in stereotyping. Although I did not fit the mold of the so-called “typical pregnant teen” who thought more of her own pleasure than her child’s well-being, many people who interacted with me interpreted my actions through that lens. Perhaps it allowed them to better maintain their own emotional distance; admittedly, it is easier to accept a teenager making bad decisions than one who was given poor options. However, I internalized the criticism I received from the representatives of the medical community because I trusted and admired them. It took me a while to understand that they, too, could misjudge a person; and I could have just as easily accepted their words and fallen into the stereotype myself. The criticism I received was neither medically nor emotionally helpful, and recalling my experiences makes me feel like a lost child again even after accomplishing so much. If my story influences even one doctor or nurse to think twice before stereotyping a patient, I will consider it a success.

 

About the Author:

L. Rodriguez graduates this month with a BA in Social Science, and will be continuing her education in a Master’s Program in Public Health.  She currently resides with her daughter and partner in Kentucky.