Taking matters into my own hands

When I was forced to leave my job last year because of my husbands insanely stupid actions, I turned to the public purse to help me support my children. That’s why it’s there isn’t it? I tried not to feel guilty, but never quite got there. I’ve been working full time since I was 14 year old, after all. Even though I knew I wasn’t wrong to accept welfare, that I’d paid my dues and my reasons were legitimate, I still felt like trash.

My husband moved out, I left my job and then the shit storm hit and it was bad, very very bad. I cried and ate and cried.  Eventually I had to start working on course work again, and I started painting the inside of my house and we got through it. Being here for my kids, day in and day out was the only way we could have gotten through it. They had constant love and support and their school work never suffered, their friendships never suffered, they continued with their after school activities and did wonderfully. I wish the same were true for me, but they were the ones who mattered the most.

In December the police investigation finished. My husband was cautioned and put on the register, but not charged with anything. Social Services gave us the all clear to bring him home, slowly but surely. I was relieved that all this was going to finally be over. Except it isn’t. The whole time I spent supporting the kids, and supporting my husband, who at one point was threatening suicide regularly, I never got the chance to support me. I became fat from comfort eating in an effort to simply push the feelings away and in my heart, resentful.  What I thought was going to be the end of the whole miserable affair, turned out to be just another chapter.

My husband lost his job. Then I had to reapply for some of my benefits. I made a mistake on the application and they flagged it, and requested I send in documents. The day I got their letter, I overnighted the documents. I had to wait a week for the letter, even though by calling to check on the application, I knew the letter had been sent only a day or so after they had sent it. Nonetheless I had to wait for it, they wouldn’t tell me over the phone what they needed or where to send it. Now I wait for them to process it. It has been a week since they received the documents, and I call every day to check the status. They never tell me anything new, only that it is “pending” and they have no idea how long it will be. I tell them I can’t pay my rent, that I could be evicted. Still, nothing. The landlord has sent a letter about reknewing the lease, putting a note on the bottom about it can only be renewed if there are no rent arrears. Effectively telling me to pay up within 7 days or get out. I don’t think it’s right, or fair, I’ve never struggled with paying the rent before and I will call up tomorrow to complain. But, at the same time, it scares me.

But all I can do is wait. On someone else, the state, to get through the red tape just so I can pay my rent.

I am tired. Money is the first thing on my mind when I wake up, the last thing to slip out of it when I fall asleep at night. I spend most of my days worrying about it. I think about going back to work, and I wonder- what would I do? Work in a shop? Making minimum wage? How would I work around getting the kids to and from school? My husband hasn’t moved back in yet, and he’s not even allowed on the grounds of my youngest child’s school.

I see it as this, I need to pay my rent, I need to put food on the table, my children need clothes, they also need decent furniture for their rooms,I need to be able to fund my expensive studies, I need to be able to buy gas, keep the electricity and heating on. My kids rightfully expect to be able to continue with their extracurriculars. I expect to be able to buy them birthday and christmas gifts and taken them places and do things with them. Yet, I won’t even be able pay the rent each month on a crappy minimum wage job.

But what if I were making more than that? What if I were making £150 an hour? Working hours that I choose? What then? Is it possible? Is sure seems that way. There are thousands of women doing it in this country alone. Making ends meet and even plowing a bit into savings at the end of the month. Is it time I take off the rose coloured glasses? Accept the harsh realities? Welfare isn’t saving me, and until I get that degree and get into a career, work isn’t going to save me either.  If I rely on either of those options, I’m going to see my family on the fucking streets.

I told my husband in bed one evening, I was facing away from him, we’d had some small talk and were close to drifting off. I tried not to sound weak when I said it, tried not to let my voice break.  “I’m thinking of becoming an escort.”

There was no outrage, not even any questions. Mostly silence as he tried to work it through. After some tense discussion, in which he admitted having the desire to give me his wedding band and telling me to do what ever I wanted, he agreed he could see no other options and  finally asked what he could do to support me. I told him I’d need pictures for a website, and he was best placed to do them. He  agreed, and after a few seconds, asked if I thought he could use it as a way of getting more photography jobs from web designers.