Categories
Politics Thoughts

Let them Eat – Food is being used as a Weapon in Politics.

With the government shutdown the last 30 days and SNAP (food stamps) being stopped November 1st, I keep asking myself some questions.

Why is food being used as a weapon in this political game?

Why, in one of the richest countries in the world, do we have so much food insecurity?

Why is our government allowing babies, children, families, veterans, the disabled, aged people, and so many others go without food?

SNAP is the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program. According to the USDA website: SNAP provides food benefits to low-income families to supplement their grocery budget so they can afford the nutritious food essential to health and well-being.

According to USAfacts.org, in 2024 approximately 41.7 million people received SNAP assistance, which is approximately 12.3% of the American population. This program is not just a program that brings food to families who need it, but it is a program that helps sustain our economy and our farmers. This program was established in 1964 by President Johnson; it is said to be one of the best social programs in our history. It not only feeds people in need but also helps boost the economy.

Every dollar spent on SNAP benefits generates approximately $1.50 to $1.80 in economic activity; it supports jobs and businesses in our communities. This creates a ripple effect in our economy, and it can destabilize it during a shut down. SNAP can act as a crucial economic stabilizer, providing a consistent source of spending money into local businesses.

There is already funding set aside for SNAP with the USDA department. SNAP funding does not need to run out on November 1st. SNAP is funded and designed not to end during a government shutdown. There is $5-$6 billion dollars already set aside in a contingency fund that is available right now! The Trump administration and the USDA know this; instead of feeding its people and not crashing the economy, they are choosing not to feed Americans and continue to use the people as pawns in this political game.

Almost 42 million people will lose their SNAP benefits. This is happening because the Trump administration believes that “immigrants” are receiving SNAP. “Immigrants” do not qualify for SNAP benefits. Only U.S. Citizens, Legal Permanent Residents after 10 years, or other contingencies are met, some groups from the United States territories, and some refugee groups. Some of these will no longer be eligible after the Big Beautiful Bill goes into play. The reason Americans will not be able to feed themselves and/or their kids is because of racism. It all stems from racism.

The emotional side of all of this to me: This administration is said to be CHRISTIAN, Pro-Life, and so many other “Godly” things. But when it comes down to it, they are all fake Christians because this is not how Jesus would behave. Jesus would feed the neediest of His people, which in this case is the 42 million people. When Jesus had 2 loaves of bread and 5 fish, he multiplied and fed the people. Jesus cared for the poor, children, the elderly, the sick, and so many others. This administration is pro-life while you are pregnant, but the moment you have the baby – BYE, go figure it out yourself; if your baby starves, so be it. These are the so-called Christians running this country.

The good people are those in our communities trying to lift each other up. Through all of this sadness, I have seen so many strangers in our cities, small businesses opening up to feed those that need food, no questions asked. People are running food drives, cooking for their neighbors, volunteering at food banks, and buying a few extra things at the grocery store to help another family in need. This is such a beautiful thing to see, to see the people in this country join in solidarity and help each other in our time of need. But this should not be happening; this is NOT sustainable.

We will continue to help each other until the very end. Let’s stop using food as a weapon and feed the people in this country. Use my taxes to feed our most vulnerable.

What are you doing to help yourself and or others during this time?

Categories
Disability Thoughts Uncategorized

The Impact of Makeup on Disability Perception

Create a featured image for a blog post titled "The Impact of Makeup on Disability Perception." The image should focus on a person with a subtle, natural makeup look, sitting thoughtfully in a doctor's office setting, embodying a mix of vulnerability and strength. They should be styled in casual yet put-together clothing, with an expression that conveys both resilience and fatigue. Utilize soft, warm lighting to evoke empathy, while ensuring sharp focus on the subject’s face to highlight their emotions. Please use high resolution to capture intricate details in the makeup and environment, creating a highly detailed and impactful visual.

“You look perfectly healthy”

“You are too young”

“You need to do x work out”

“You need to do x diet”

“Have you done ____?”

It’s always “you” this “you” that. Have “you” taken x supplement, or have “you” seen x doctor. I know people mean well and I am okay with getting unsolicited advice. I always take the advice who knows maybe one of those tips will come in handy one day. Maybe that migraine that one time did just need some water to go away. Maybe if I see x doctor, maybe that doctor will find the answers to all of my questions. Maybe something in your advice is the answer to my problems. I will never turn down people being kind and just wanting to help.

What truly hurts is not being believed because “You look too young to be disabled” “You look great today, see it wasn’t that bad” “So pretty, no way you can feel that bad today”. My favorite one…”You are lazy” All true statements that have been said to me. What does being young, or pretty or having a good hair day, or wearing make up have to do with being disabled or in pain. One has nothing to do with the other but yet it does for even the medical professionals. I love playing with make up and dressing up even on my crappiest days. If I feel like crap all over, at least when I see the outside I won’t feel as bad seeing myself look crappy. Makes sense?

I recently asked in a forum online. As someone with Chronic conditions/pain when you go to a doctors appointment, do you where the lipstick or not? The responses were all over the place. It depends if it was a new doctor or not. If we don’t dress nice enough then we are slobs and its depression and not our condition, even with a diagnosis. If we try and dress up “put the lipstick on” then we are able bodied, doing better, obviously not sick enough to need to be there. If we try to match the outside to how the inside feels than they say it is impossible to feel that bad, you’d be in the hospital if your pain was this extreme.

I have heard enough times “You have some makeup on, you must be feeling great”. Excuse me, I always wear some make up. Why should I look sickly in order to receive the care I need. Why do I need to look like I have not slept in days in order to be believed. Why should I have to show up like I have been crying for the last few days because I cannot get the pain to come down no matter what I do. Look at my trembling, look at the pain in my eyes, look at my HBP and my HHR, you can see the pain in the charts. But because I was able to mask my pain for a few moments to put some make up on I am no longer believed as much. I am labeled a drug seeker, because I do not look like I am in that much pain.

I am a person who at a pain level 4 or a 7 will push myself to get up and at the very least shower, even if that takes every ounce of energy. If I cannot, my husband will jump in the shower and help me wash up. If i do not shower the darkness takes over, I cannot be sucked into my sadness and be in this much pain. After some rest I put my signature amount of makeup, which is not a lot of make up, concealer to cover how exhausted I look, mascara and fill in my eyebrows to make the eyes pop, some bronzer to fake the sun that hasn’t kissed my skin and some chapstick. If I am at a 9, I have put the lipstick on. If my outside looks great and my outside can pretend like I am not about to give up, it keeps me from giving up to all of it. Those closest to me can see the pain in my eyes with the makeup or not. I just wish the doctors would look past all of it. Sadly the medical professionals correlate the two: What you look like vs how you feel is what in our experience, they use to diagnose us.

The only time I do not care about my appearance is when I am in the Emergency Room. When I can no longer manage the symptoms I am having, I finally go in. I have to make them believe in order to get the help I need. But not seem too eager or I am labeled a drug seeker. I need them to see my truth, I am in extreme pain, the only way to do that is to show them my face without makeup. I have to take off the mask I wear to hide pain from myself and the world.

What has your experience been, Do you put the lipstick on?

Categories
Religion Thoughts Uncategorized

Questioning Religion: My Path to Understanding

I grew up in a very religious home; all of my family in the PNW belonged to the Hispanic Seventh-Day Adventist Church. We would keep the Sabbath, follow the diet, knock on doors to teach the world about God, study the Bible and all of the books the SDA Church provided, as if I was studying for the biggest test of my life. I remember in Bible class and youth service, they would quiz us on the chapters we were supposed to read that week and made sure we had those Bible verses memorized. At service, they would ask us how many diamonds would be in our crowns? Have you brought enough people to Jesus to earn that crown and get through those pearly gates when Jesus comes? Had I?

When I was really young, I would stay up wondering if I was good enough that day. Did I do enough for God today? Is He proud of me? I would pray and sing and beg for Him to hear me; I wanted to make sure God loved me. We would have service specials, and I would sign up with friends or family. We would practice and practice; I was about to give a concert to the church, but not just to the church, but to God and His angels, and because of this, He would be kind to me. Because of this, all the sadness I was going through would disappear. But the sadness didn’t leave.

I got to the age where I could be baptized, and my “dad” would not let me. He said I was too young. As soon as he left our family, I got baptized. I came to the realization that my sins needed to be forgiven. My dad must have left because I was a sinful child; I needed to wash my sins away. If I was good enough and was baptized, God would bring back my “dad” and we would be a happy family. I prayed and prayed and sang and sang; I did what I was supposed to do. My mom would cry; she missed him, my brother would cry and ask for him, but he was gone. I needed my mom to stop crying; I needed to end my tears. Me getting baptized did not bring him back, and the tears still flowed.

I learned the violin in school; I pushed myself to learn as much as I could. I wanted to play the violin for God, in His church. I wanted to praise God with His music. At church, the elders would call me “the violinist.” They would praise me and tell me to use my talents for God; He had given me these gifts, and I had no choice but to use them for Him. That’s what I did; anytime they would ask me to play a special with my violin, I would smile with nerves and say, “Yes.” I felt special; God was telling these leaders of my church to tell me to play. God knew I was doing everything I could to show Him I loved Him; surely God would fix my family and bring my “dad” back. He didn’t come back.

I was obviously not doing enough, and I could not do more. I began to rebel against the church. I stopped studying the books they gave us; I stopped knocking on doors; I stopped doing specials for the church and God. What was the point? He was not listening to me. But during my toughest days, I would always come back, crying, begging God to show me a sign that He was there. But He has never responded in a way I could say, “Yes, that’s Him, that’s God giving me a sign to come back to Him.” He never brought my dad back, no matter how hard I tried. He didn’t even help us mend our relationship, no matter how hard I tried; He never moved my “dad” enough to make him have a relationship with me.

My church family had always told me if I prayed hard enough, my prayers would be answered. If I was involved enough in the church, if I taught the world about God, if I sang for Him, performed for Him, He would answer my prayers. If my prayers were not answered, it was because I did not have enough faith. “Si tuvieras fe como un granito de mostaza,” i.e., “Faith the size of a mustard seed.” That was a lot of pressure for a child, a teen, me.

This is when I began to question religion and my church.

Categories
Being a mom Disability Thoughts

Finding Balance: Mom with a Disability.

Japanese Gardens in Portland, Oregon. Vines and trees surrounding me.

As I sit here in the parking lot of yet another high school, for another marching band event for my oldest, I am exhausted and in pain, yet I am grateful. I am still here able to be here for my daughter. For a few years, I had to choose between resting in bed in tears because I was not able to present as a mother, I was pushing through it, my body yelling at me, to slow down. The mom in me would usually win, and I would put my girl chonis on and be there for both of my kids with a smile on my face and makeup on. No one but those close to me knew how close I was to breaking. Those few could see the pain in my eyes.

I was afraid of using my wheelchair, walker, cane, or to ask for help; I did not want to embarrass my daughter. I didn’t want her friends to ask her questions, “What’s wrong with your mom?” I didn’t want the pity eyes or the “poor you” comments. I didn’t want to feel helpless. My daughter, even at such a young age, would tell me, “Mom, use your (insert mobility device); I don’t care what people say.” For her, I would put on a smile and makeup and hide the shame I felt.

Last year, I decided to finally listen to my body, even though I knew it was going to be a financial hit to our family. With my husband’s support, I quit. I quit the 8 to 5 work schedule to a job that was stressful, but I loved. I quit pushing myself for others. I started to say no to things I didn’t want to do.

I started to LISTEN to my body. If she wanted to rest, I rested; if she was thirsty, I drank; if she was hungry, I ate. Listening to my body made a world of difference. I was able to be a mom again. I was able to be present for my kids. I rarely use my walker and wheelchair now. I volunteer so much for my kids’ various activities. I even went back to work, part-time. I missed helping people in the way I did before.

Yes, I am still in pain. Yes, I am beyond exhausted, but I am so grateful to be able to be here at another marching band event for my kid. I get to be a mom again and enjoy all these precious moments with them.

Categories
Thoughts

Once Upon a time

Once upon a time when the internet used to screech every time I would connect. My mom would yell at me to get off the internet because she was waiting for a call, but I was eager to IM the boy I liked. Sometime in the early 2000s, I used to have an online private diary, and then an anonymous one so I could vent about life with other teens. When I became a mom, I started a Blogger account and kept that up for a couple of years, but life is busy and hard. My husband and I also kept a diary together where we would write back and forth to each other, that was so nice, loved diving into each others heads. Meanwhile, MySpace was going away and Facebook was popping, and Facebook became my public diary.

I have tons of books in which I have written my aches, wins, ups, downs, just all of my thoughts. I even have a diary somewhere on this very laptop. But I want a mixture of all of the social medias and my diaries. I want the TikTok, IG, FB, and diaries all in one. I am an open book to the world and only keep a few things close to my heart.

I will be copying and pasting old diary notes and uploading past FB and IG notes, and obviously continue dumping my thoughts moving forward. I want to leave a live journal for my favorite humans and the world. I have a fear that one day I won’t be here and all the stories in my head will just poof away.