“Can the kids have some candy?”
“Is it okay for them to have this?”
“Excuse me, can they have a sucker?”
I snap back to reality, realizing that someone has been speaking to me, and while I heard the words, my thoughts were elsewhere.
“Oh dear,” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you ask?”
“Is it fine if I give the kids a sucker?” the volunteer at the food pantry repeats. I look down to see my two children’s eager brown eyes gazing up at me, excitement evident on their faces.
After a quick scan of the ingredient list to ensure there’s no gluten or dairy, I manage to respond, “Um, yeah, sure, that’s fine, thanks,” hoping my voice conveys both gratitude and masks the embarrassment I feel inside.
It’s Saturday morning, the sun is shining, and here we are at the food pantry—once my place of volunteerism. But after the unexpected loss of my husband, I’m not here to help others; I’m here hoping they don’t run out of diapers before I reach the front of the line. I’m no longer the volunteer; I’m someone else now.
Three years ago, I couldn’t have envisioned this. I had always been the one giving back: volunteering at the food pantry, the animal shelter, teaching Sunday School, working at special education summer camps, and participating in numerous mission trips. Giving back felt right, fulfilling.
Now, following the collapse of a difficult marriage and my husband’s abandonment, I find myself on the receiving end of assistance.
Today, I feel different—sometimes unrecognizable to myself. If I thought volunteering was challenging, being a recipient of generosity presents a new level of difficulty. The uplifting sensation of making a difference is stripped away when you find yourself in need.
Today, I feel inadequate. Today, I feel burdensome. Today, I feel like a failure.
I recognize this situation isn’t permanent. I’m fighting fiercely for a better life for my children and me. I understand the importance of swallowing my pride and accepting help as a valuable lesson. Yet today, I feel defeated, humiliated, and ashamed that I cannot provide better for my children, who look up to me with so much anticipation.
Standing in line at the food pantry is the best I can do today. My greatest achievement is dragging two sleepy brown-eyed kids out of bed just as dawn breaks. The best I can manage is to show up and seek assistance.
I once worked at this food pantry, stood among the volunteers helping others. Now, I’m just a mom striving to care for the two most important people in my life.
Finally reaching the front of the line, I’m relieved to find they have diapers available. We collect our box of food, bag of toiletries, and package of diapers, then slowly make our way back to the car. As I buckle my kids into their seats, I see the joy on their faces, their brown eyes gleaming with happiness.
“Thanks, Mommy! Thanks for letting us have a sucker!”
They have no idea, and it breaks my heart. Once, I was among the volunteers, but now, I’m not.
I’m not sure what comes next. I feel unsure about how to progress from where we are. All I know is that I need help in order to provide for my children, who look at me with love and admiration.
In their eyes, I realize that volunteering has taken on a new meaning for me. Volunteers are those who selflessly give to aid others. Yes, my dear little ones, I will give everything I can to ensure your well-being. I will set aside my pride and defenses to make sure you are cared for.
Perhaps, I’m not so different after all.
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In summary, my experience at the food pantry reflects a profound shift from being a giver to a receiver. This journey is a reminder that vulnerability and the need for support are part of life, and embracing them can lead to growth and resilience.