It started in July 2020. My relationship was over; it was brutal and public. We had no home, no school, no playgroup, and no doctor. We stayed with my parents 200kms away from all our belongings and where our life once was; I do not know what we would do without them.
I am now a sole parent to three daughters. I study full-time. I want to be a social worker; but right now, that is on hold.
I share mine and my children’s story because it happens in a moment. I tell it because it can happen to anyone, at any time.
That moment happened to me and my children. And every day since, I have been watching my family slip further into a deep dark lonely hole.
Poverty feels like this: I know exactly how much is going into my bank account and when. This is true, except that my Centrelink payments are linked to other payments, and the Centrelink rates are based on an assessment amount, not the received amount. Therefore, my Centrelink payments get cut without notice. Therefore, I am behind in my rent.
This is the system that is meant to be a safety net for when people are at their most vulnerable.
It’s poverty.
It is in every waking and sleeping thought.
Before the coronavirus supplement wound down, I started preparing. I stocked up on: toilet paper, tampons, pads, toothpaste, shampoo, nappies, conditioner, soap, cleaning products. I filled the freezer, bought bulk flour, sugar, grains, dried fruit, rice, pasta, baking supplies. I forward-bought uniforms, school shoes, birthday and Christmas gifts.
All of that is long gone, as is the coronavirus supplement. My family went through something awful but was only supported in a meaningful way because we were living a global pandemic.
I pay the rent every second week. For the last two months I haven’t been able to pay my rent in full and I know that if I was with a real estate agent, I would have been evicted weeks ago.
I make my electricity payment plan (the plan has gone up, but not the usage). My water bill, too, has gone up $21.73 but my usage is the same. This has worked OK, until about two to three months ago, when my food bills went up as well. I take the same groceries home every week, but the price has gone up by $60.
Everyone is saying it is going to get worse. And that makes me worry more.
I no longer buy shampoo or dried fruit. My parents now buy the girls their uniforms and school shoes. We rarely bake any more. I was a foodie; now my cookbooks sit on the shelf mocking me. I only buy gifts for my girls now. I have been known to hide kids’ birthday party invitations because I can’t afford a gift. I rarely have a coffee with the friends. We used to go to our local produce market. We don’t any more.
School lunch orders – I hate them. It’s my kids’ favourite day of the week. I hate it. I never used to; it was a little treat that bought them a strange amount of joy. I have compromised and negotiated it down to once a fortnight. I pretend to forget it (even though it’s the first thought as I log in to my bank) and start packing their lunches, and the kids don’t miss a beat. “IT’S LUNCH ORDER DAY”.
It costs a total of $14.20 a fortnight.
I try every day not to show my little humans how heavy, isolating, demoralising and agonising it is to be living this. Recently, I was diagnosed with mental health illness. I sometimes think maybe it’s our system that’s slipping me into depression.
I have been in many paid jobs; I have had paid work more years than I have received help; and I spent many years paying 30% tax. I hoped for a simple future for myself and my daughters. I wanted to secure permanent full-time work that fulfilled me, that made a difference, that I could secure a very modest financial future for us. I wanted to start generational change in my family.
I don’t know if this is attainable as I write this.
• Angela Finch is a Hobart mum and advocate who relies on parenting payment single and must complete the ParentsNext program to keep her benefits
