Punished For Doing Good

God, I hate our social service system. I've always known the best way to deliver help to the needy is through the local church where real people touch the hurting in real ways. There is flexibility and reason and accountability that is not possible in the current bureaucracy.

I know my goal with this blog is to focus on my own healing journey, but my journey intersects with Grace's struggles so often. I don't get as angry on her behalf, or worry as much about her response to these injustices, or fret as much trying to find ways to correct it so she'll stay calm. I still do all those things, just not as much... But she's facing almost insurmountable odds and the system that's supposed to help her keeps cutting her down.

The current kick in the gut was the letter that arrived yesterday from Child Support Enforcement or some other convolutedly named agency. Grace dared to get a job, so now she has to pay the state $166 a month for child support and pay to put Melody on her medical insurance. That's in addition to the $450 she has to pay for the methadone program because she's now working. And after her food stamps get cut off because she's going to school. Meanwhile, Melody's dead beat dad who has never bothered to even inquire as to Melody's existence (and who makes more money than Grace) only pays the state $50 per month.

She can either quit her job/school to survive and loose any hope of getting custody of Melody, or run at a deficit and hope she gets custody before the bill collectors catch up to her. Or give up on it all and go back to the streets. Some choice.

Grace is understandably angry. What she does with that anger will determine her future. I can see the principles that drive the system to make her pay. But it is so illogical, so hurtful right now. She's doing everything she's been asked to do - got her own place, got a job, going to school, building a solid future for her and Melody. But she needs support at this early stage, not what feels like punishment.

I want rage against the machine with her. I want to tell her what to do, or do it for her. I want to write letters, call senators and newspaper columnists again. I want to rattle some cages and tell her tale to anyone who will listen.

But this is not my battle. There is much I can do to support her and love her and befriend her. But this is her battle to fight, to figure out and resolve. The best thing I can do for her is sit on the sidelines cheering her on, confident in her ability to fight her way out. I don't help her by fighting for her, or by sitting on the sidelines biting my fingernails in fear.

I have no idea how to do this. One day at a time I guess... Watch the system punish the remarkable progress she's made and stay silent unless she asks for help. So I'll sit here.... one day at a time...