Chapter 1: The Power of Kindness

Kindness can be a free gift that has the potential to uplift someone's spirit. I genuinely believe in the impact of giving compliments, especially to those we don’t know. A simple act of kindness can brighten someone's day. I’ve been on the receiving end of incredible generosity, which motivates me to pay it forward.

However, it frustrates me when judgmental figures, often politicians, claim, "If you're struggling financially, it's your fault for not saving more." But what if saving isn't an option?

I have faced devastating challenges and witnessed extraordinary kindness throughout my life. It’s crucial to accept both the good and the bad—compassion and hardship intertwine, reflecting the realities of human kindness, poverty, and disability.

It appears that many people around me are also grappling with their own battles. A trip to the grocery store highlights the stark changes in food prices over the past few years. In 2020, $100 could fill a cart with groceries for a week; today, that same amount barely scratches the surface.

As someone living on a disability income, I didn't choose this path. Growing up with a disabled mother, I feared experiencing the same fate. Unfortunately, that fear materialized in 2015, plunging me into a situation I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

When I was single, my food budget was a mere $25 per week—just $3.57 daily. I learned to survive on one meal a day, as breakfast and lunch felt like luxuries reserved for those with sufficient income. Food banks, unfortunately, do not cater to those with dietary restrictions like celiac disease, leaving me turned away.

The reality is that my food budget often needed to stretch to cover unexpected expenses—gas, medications, personal care items. I often found myself juggling bills, robbing one to pay another. Although I was granted food stamps, a mere $16 per month felt more like an insult, making me feel ashamed when I used them.

To cope on days when food was scarce, I drank copious amounts of water to stave off hunger pangs. While it kept my stomach from feeling completely empty, it couldn’t mend the damage poverty inflicts on one’s self-esteem and health.

Last year, a generous friend surprised me by purchasing groceries in bulk with no strings attached, which made a significant difference.

Rent has soared. In my area, a 400 sq. ft. studio now averages $1,100 monthly, while a one-bedroom apartment goes for about $1,300. Most leases demand that tenants earn three times the rent, meaning you’d need a minimum wage of $24.38 per hour just to afford basic living conditions in Phoenix, Arizona.

A state law prevents rent control, leaving many without a stable home. When my disability payments began, my living situation became uncertain. Thankfully, an old friend opened her home to me, charging only what I could afford.

To maintain a comfortable lifestyle in Arizona, a single adult would need to earn $49.38 per hour, yet the minimum wage stands at $14.35. This translates to about $2,300 monthly before taxes, which leaves a take-home pay of around $1,800.

According to the Social Security Administration, the average monthly disability benefit is approximately $1,234, barely above the poverty line. For many, this is their primary income.

After enduring multiple medical challenges, my savings are a distant memory. Currently, my income translates to about $9 an hour, based on a 40-hour workweek, and I’m paid once a month. It’s humbling to realize I earn less now than I did in just two weeks during the late 1990s.

I find myself in deep poverty yet unable to receive assistance from organizations because my income hovers just above the eligibility threshold for state Medicaid. Unfortunately, none of my doctors accept Medicaid, and starting over to find a new medical team is daunting.

Life is unpredictable, and we cannot always control our circumstances. However, I strive to shift every negative thought into a positive one. Battling my illness is a daily challenge, but I’m learning to accept this as my new reality.

Acceptance has taken years of therapy and mental effort. It’s difficult when everything you know—your relationships, career, and health—disappears in an instant. The future I envisioned was gone, and I experienced a profound sense of loss.

I grieved intensely. I had to let go of the past, or it would consume me. Holding onto resentment can be detrimental.

I’ve joked with friends about my situation, pretending poverty doesn’t affect me. The truth is, it’s foreign territory. I grew up in a stable, middle-class family and never faced hunger.

While I recognize my struggles, I refuse to compare my pain to others. We all experience suffering differently, and illness knows no boundaries.

I hold on to the belief that "Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful." Finding joy in small things makes the pain easier to bear.

Chapter 2: The Burden of Medical Expenses

Some months, a significant portion of my income goes to medical bills. Doctors charge me for any shortfall not covered by insurance, often using legal loopholes to do so.

It’s a frustrating system—if you don’t pay your bills, you can’t see a doctor. I often find myself paying extra for the services that Medicare Advantage doesn’t cover.

My health conditions include MCAS, POTS, and several others, making it a constant battle to stay alive. I once spent eighteen months confined to my bed and fought against what felt like a death sentence.

I can’t afford to attend every appointment, as each specialist visit comes with a $20 copay. When needing to see multiple doctors each month, costs quickly accumulate. Some medications have skyrocketed in price, forcing me to forgo necessary prescriptions.

Yet, I’ve experienced extraordinary moments of kindness, like a doctor who once bought my medication for me. The warmth of human compassion during these tough times humbles me.