I had a kid… once.
Her name was Averi.
She looked like my daughter, but she was my niece.
Averi, who loved to play dress-up in thrift store finds, brushes her teeth before heading to bed. Photo courtesy of Stephanie Bolling
My sister was unable to care for Averi.
It came down to me or foster care.
At 27, I was suddenly responsible for keeping a 4-year-old alive.
Most parents get months to prepare; I had less than a week.
I made $360 a week, about $18,500 a year.
On top of that, I was consumed by grief from losing my own mother that same year.
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I kept telling myself I could do this.
After all, it was only supposed to be for two months.
How the hell was I going to afford this?
Averi curiously roamed about the classroom as I quietly explained the situation to the teachers and administrators.
I rolled out an air mattress on the floor of my bedroom.
She was required to have her own bed, and an air mattress was the fastest and cheapest solution.
The first day I dropped her off at day care was emotionally taxing for both of us.
I cried the entire drive to work.
And once I got there, I could barely focus.
I kept thinking through this new set of obligations, commitments and sacrifices I was only beginning to unravel.
My mind raced through checklists, appointments and my shoddy finances.
I knew my salary was no match for the expenses of child care.
I lived paycheck to paycheck as it was.
Rebekah, my roommate and childhood friend, shouldered the circumstance alongside me.
We split rent and utilities, which lowered my core costs considerably.
But my credit card debt had nearly doubled since my moms death.
My approximate monthly expenses were:
Total monthly expenses: $1,445.
My average monthly income: $1,440.
Adding in the cost of caring for Averi took me to a new level of financial anxiety.
Trying to map out an impossible budget only made it worse.
It started to suffocate me.
I was so scared of losing her to the system.
The social worker urged me to apply for public assistance, which I hadnt even considered.
I had never seen myself ever needing it.
But I had to do something.
Asking for help wasnt in my familial toolbox.
My parents always struggled financially, but they rarely ever asked for help.
But I cared more about Averis well-being than my dignity.
It was too real.
I needed the help.
I dove in headfirst.
I swallowed my pride and signed my name on all the dotted lines I could.
Applying for government assistance at 27 years old was my new reality.
School Readiness
The first program that came through was FloridasSchool Readiness financial assistance program.
After a $125 deposit, I paid $9.20 a week for Averis day care.
She attended VPK in the morning and an after-school program within the same building after.
I received an Access debit card, the same card people use for food stamps.
(The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) wasnt born yet.)
The card was automatically loaded with $180 each month.
I could use it anywhere that accepted electronic benefit transfer (EBT) payments.
Eventually, DCF approved me for theRelative Caregiverprogram, and the $180 increased to $240 monthly.
WIC provides assistance for low-income women with children under 5 years old.
WIC serves53% of all infantsin the United States.
Thankfully, my 32-hour-a-week job allowed some wiggle room for the sloth-like government waiting rooms.
I spent a whole morning waiting.
Eventually, I walked out with a handful of food vouchers.
They had date ranges and expirations and a list of specific items they could be exchanged for.
How hard could it be?
The items on mymonthly food allowancewerent exactly the nutritional foods Id hoped for.
But I had to face it: These were the times of white bread, cereal and canned beans.
The monthly allowance included a whopping $8 for fruits and vegetables.
I wont forget the first time I tried to use them at the register.
But at the checkout, the cashier informed me Id made a mistake.
Medicaid
Averi caught a cold the first week at day care, and then I caught it.
After that, it was pink eye.
Then Averis repeated sinus infections, futile prescriptions and doctor visits led to a diagnosis of asthma.
She was prescribed a nebulizer treatment three to four times a day.
She hopped and bopped around with the cough of a 50-year-old smoker.
Eventually, her breathing improved a little, and she got off the nebulizer.
The symptoms kept creeping back, though, so we went to the pediatrician again.
She got chest X-rays that determined she had pneumonia.
She needed bed rest.
That meant finding babysitters or missing work.
By the summer, we both contracted scabies from visiting the place my grandmother lived.
The scratching saga continued for months.
I wouldnt wish that itching on anyone.
Im scared to think what may have happened to her if she didnt have Medicaid.
To pass the time, I kept her busy.
I found plenty of free kid-friendly events happening around town.
We went to community festivals, parks and free concerts.
Friends gave me free tickets to museums and local events like the Renaissance Festival.
Averi thrived on all of the new experiences.
I registered her for a Busch Gardens preschool pass, offered free for children ages 5 and younger.
When she outgrew her clothes, there was someone bringing me hand-me-downs so I didnt have to buy more.
You learn a lot about people when you fall between a rock and a hard place.
Id come into work to find a handwritten note and AMC gift cards on my desk.
Or a friends mom would slide me $20 when I hugged her.
On Averis fifth birthday, more than 40 people attended her party at Chuck E. Cheese.
At home, we danced around in all of the tissue paper from the gifts.
The joy on Averis face showed she didnt know about our struggle.
She only knew the kindness of friends and family, which is exactly how I wanted it.
The web link of support humbled me, and I allowed myself to lean into it.
That August, Averi started school.
She received free lunches, and I made her breakfast at home.
started to make sense.
She read every last one of them (except Zumble-Zay).
Sharing that milestone was priceless; Ill forever treasure the memory.
While everyone thought I was due some karmic reward, I was busy maxing out my credit cards.
I knew Id literally pay for it in the end, but I didnt care.
My maternal instinct was to protect her at any cost.
Overdraft fees on my checking account sent me to my Bank of America branch.
I didnt mean to cry when I talked to the teller, but the flood came anyway.
All I wanted was to reverse a $30 fee for going $2 over my balance.
It happened more than once.
One bank associate began to know my face and my circumstance.
His patience and benevolence will always be beyond me, as was his advice.
By September, I started closing my credit cards.
The Life I Chose for Averi
I was granted permanent guardianship of Averi that November.
My older brother had recently moved back from out of state.
We discussed the option of Averi living with him and what would serve her best long term.
On paper, I was single and broke.
He had a wife and daughter and was financially stable.
That Christmas came fast.
Santa supplied maybe her best Christmas yet.
Gifts towered over our 3-foot pink Christmas tree.
I was coming to terms with letting go and the decision to give her a better life.
A life not supported by the system.
A life still with family and within an arms reach of me.
A week shy of a full year together, I packed her stuff, swallowing back tears.
Her moving in with my brother was an easy sell.
She adored her little cousin and wanted to have sleepovers with her every night.
The only problem, she said, was that she would miss me.
Averi now lives 2,000 miles away.
My brother took a job up north, so they moved a year after she left my care.
Weve seen each other only a handful of times since; we stay in touch with handwritten letters.
It took me some time to readjust to life without her, both emotionally and financially.
The public assistance support ended the moment she left me.
It took me a few years to get serious about paying it off instead of wallowing.
I felt like Id made enough sacrifices that I just wanted to live without worrying about it.
Obviously, ignoring debt doesnt work.
I couldnt escape the financial obligations lest I file for bankruptcy.
That wasnt me, or who I wanted to be.
So I faced it.
I slayed that interest-laden beast withbalance transfer credit cardsanda personal loanto consolidate other outstanding debts.
My credit score rebounded, but I had to learn some costly lessons.
Im not embarrassed to admit that public assistance helped me through the hardest year of my life.
Those insights led me to seek out opportunities locally.
And one day, you might even have the chance to help them.
Stephanie Bolling is a former staff writer at The Penny Hoarder.
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