Tag Archives: unemployment

The Women of Can’t Catch a Break: Fall 2017

The summer can be a slow time for anyone looking for jobs, housing or just trying to get things done. That’s true for must of us, and doubly true for people who are dependent on multiple social service and governmental agencies with shifting personnel and rules. For many of the women, the dominant theme of the summer was waiting, waiting and waiting some more.


Ginger (see “The New Price of Freedomwas super excited last spring when her case manager at a housing agency told her she would get her into an apartment soon. In mid-summer the case-manager took Ginger she was taken to see an apartment in a community right outside Boston. She was thrilled – oohing and aahing as she described “my stove” and “my floors” in this recently renovated flat. She was waiting for it to be approved by the Housing Authority and she was sure there wouldn’t be any problems because the apartment seemed in great condition. We talked about where she would get a bed and what color sheets she wanted. She lined up my help to drive her possessions to the apartment (it turns out all that she owns — aside from a few outfits and toiletries — is a box of assorted glasses and cups she has received as Christmas presents or won at raffles at homeless programs over the years.)

And then she waited some more. Finally, the inspector came and found a leak in the basement of the building. The landlord was told he had to fix the problem before it could be approved. She waited for the repair and then she waited for the inspector to come back. Her housing advocate repeated to her that she just needs to be patient, that these things take a while.

They seem to have taken too long because in early October the landlord withdrew the offer of the apartment.

As of this writing, Ginger remains homeless, though her case-manager has promised to take her next week to see another apartment.


Isabella (see “Failure by Design: Isabella’s Experiences with Social Services“) is still in prison, waiting to find out when she will be let out. Her release date is up in the air while the system sorts out various old charges, warrants, and probation and parole violations.


Kahtia (See “Prostitution, Decriminalization and the Problem of Consent“) is still trying to regain custody of her children. It’s been two years at this point and she is beyond frustrated. In the middle of the summer I accompanied her to a long-awaited Court date.

We met in front of the Court House. Kahtia was sitting outside by herself, an hour before the scheduled Court time – she wanted to be sure not to be held up by public transportation or arrive looking disheveled. In fact, she looked lovely. She had a nice, modern haircut, was wearing beautiful make-up, had her new teeth (they look beautiful and natural), and was wearing a long flowing dress. She was very optimistic because the judge had told her that this would be it – that she would get the kids at this hearing. We joked around and made small talk and reminisced and talked about movies and news stories until it was time to go upstairs.

Outside the courtroom we sat down to wait and wait and wait. And as the hours went on Kahtia wilted.

Finally, a social worker from Kahtia’s lawyer’s office came out to show her the report DCF had filed. The report included descriptions of her visits with the children (all positive reports) and reports from her therapist and psychiatrist. And here is where it got weird. The therapist wrote that Kahtia has done well and learned to manage her emotions,  but then commented that she has failed to go for some of her urines (drug tests). The strange part is that Kahtia is not mandated to go for urines. It was her own idea and she goes voluntarily because she believes this will help her show that she should get her kids back. She missed one or two urines when she was sick. But DCF seized on that one comment from the therapist and gave it more weight than all of the positive feedback.  When Kahtia saw this document she became upset and interpreted it as further evidence that DCF has it in for her.

After another lengthy wait, the social worker returned to tell her that it’s time to go in to Court, but that she can’t bring anyone with her (she had hoped to bring me or sister with her for support) and that a new judge would be hearing the case. This was particularly devastating because Kahtia felt the judge who had been on the case since the beginning was fair and understood the issues. He was set to retire but told her he’d stay on her case until the end. At the last hearing he had berated DCF for dragging things out when Kahtia clearly was complying with all of their requests.

Kahtia was shocked by the news and furious to learn that her lawyer likely knew about the new judge a couple of hours ago but only told her as she was walking into the courtroom. We begged for a few minutes to help Kahtia calm down.

She went into the court room and came out a few minutes later. It turned out that one of the translators hadn’t arrived.

Another wait and she went in again, just for a few minutes. The case was continued for two months, at which time the lawyers will offer motions. Her lawyer will ask to increase her hours with the girls (for no known reason the hours had been cut from 2 per week to 1 per week). DCF will ask to see Kahtia’s mental health and other records for the two years preceding the opening of this case as well as a report from her domestic violence counselor. We asked why this necessitates a two month wait. We were told that all of the lawyers couldn’t find a date that worked for them any earlier.

The delay means the girls won’t start the school year in their mother’s neighborhood and likely will have to transfer schools mid-year, again.

The day that started so hopefully ended with crushing pain, again.


Melanie, one of the few women who has been employed for most of the past ten years, was let go from her job last spring because of health problems.  Earlier in the summer her mother — a woman who had held her family together even when she herself was extremely ill — passed away. “I feel the hits just keep coming, with losing my job and then my mother,” Melanie told me.


Francesca (see “The Bitch at the Welfare Office“) has been busy. During the summer and into September her time and efforts revolved around caring for her granddaughter. She and her son mostly got along well and were doing a good job of raising the child (whose mother died about a year ago.) Francesca organized pool parties, took her granddaughter shopping for school clothes, and more or less lived her long-time dream of having a house with her kids and being a Mom and homemaker.

Unfortunately, about a month ago she and her son had an argument during which “he disrespected me. He said I’m dead to him he doesn’t want me in his or [his daughter’s] life; that I’m a loser and never will get anywhere in life. That’s something his [abusive] dad would say to me when we were married.” He kicked her out of their house and threatened to throw her possessions onto the street.

Francesca handled the situation with a great deal of grace and a maturity that, she told me, she knew she didn’t have even a few years ago. She moved in with her boyfriend, continues to spend time with her granddaughter, and has started an on-line business that she conducts from her phone. The downside, and this is not new for her, is that her boyfriend lives in a fairly remote community and Francesca does not have a car. He has a car and a steady job so she is dependent on him for transportation and for financial support. In the past, this sort of power imbalance has not ended well for her.


Tonya continues to amaze me with her resilience and resourcefulness. In July everything seemed to be going wrong. “The blows are coming left and right. They cut my income. I go into panic mode at  the threat of being homeless. My mother is 70 years old and out on the street [due to a fire in her apartment].”

Tonya’s check was cut because she did not consistently make it to her required community service (required in order to get cash benefits – transitional assistance). She was supposed to go to a certain office in downtown Boston everyday, but often did not have money for transportation to get there. “It costs almost $100 a month and the trip takes an hour and a half. They cut me from $490 to $478.” I asked how she’d been able to stay on transitional assistance for so long – the usual cut-off is two years. “Because I’ve been applying and reapplying for Disability. I have pain in my body. So many forms to fill out. Susan, I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m 42 and I’m exhausted. I gained 65, 70 pounds.” She described pain in her knees, back and hands.

“The one good thing is that “my record cleared through Annie Dookhan [the state employee who tainted evidence in the state’s drug labs] but ten years of my life were ruined [because of her record]. I feel I won’t last a lot longer. My father died at 52. I’m going down the same path. Drinking, stressed, tired. I just keeping do more programs and more job training.” One recent program “told me I need to wear business clothes, but I can’t afford to even do my hair, I wear a scarf all the time. Susan, nothing has progressed since you met me. I just want to be a normal person but you can’t on welfare. They want you to be then they make it impossible. … It’s an ongoing battle. Non-stop.”

A month or so later I ran into her as she was walking her son home from day camp. (Full disclosure: I’ve known her son since the day he was born and I can say — with full scientific integrity — that he is the cutest child in the world!) She had signed up for another job skills program but missed the first day of the  because she did not have money for transportation. So she enrolled in another program that teaches people how to be an employee (how to look for a job, how to set an alarm clock, how to talk to your boss). The program is far too basic for her; in fact, she could teach it she has taken it so many times. “But I have to be in a program in order to get help for sending my son to camp. He is at the [] Camp and loves it!”

Tonya always manages to surprise me. Yesterday she sent me a photo of the broccoli she managed to grow in the little patch of dust outside her apartment. I told her that I believe the success of her broccoli plant is an omen of good things to come.

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For those of you who have come to know the women — and for those of you meeting them here for the first time — please feel free to ask questions. You can post your questions in the Comments or email them directly to me at ssered@suffolk.edu. I’ll pass along your questions to the women as best I can. They know that I write about their lives and are eager to share their thoughts and opinions with more people.

To read previous updates click on:  Early Summer 2017  January 2017   Summer 2016   New Years 2016   Summer 2015   Christmas 2014 / 2015    Fall 2014 

Check back often for more updates on the women of Can’t Catch a Break!

 

The Women of Can’t Catch a Break: Early Summer 2017 Update

I’ve finally had time this summer to try to touch bases with all of the forty-eight women who started in this project eight years ago.

Seven women have disappeared from (my) sight. None of their old addresses or phone numbers are still good. None of the people we knew in common have heard from them. I couldn’t reach any of their family members. And I couldn’t find any trace using Google searches (I tried various nicknames and known aliases).

Five women are dead.

Only three women are currently housed, sober and employed (or stay-at-home moms whose husbands are employed), and have been so throughout most of the eight year period. 

The rest of the women continue to cycle in and out of housing, jobs, detox and rehab, hospitals, and jail. Some of these women have stable housing but are on Disability. In some cases, they are unable to do any kind of work. More commonly, they cannot find a job that for which they are qualified and that allows them sufficient flexibility to take care of children, health problems or mental health crises.

I’ve been reminded again and again that I cannot predict how any particular woman will be faring at any given time. Just this week I went to jail to visit a woman whom I never dreamed would end up incarcerated again. At just about the same time, I learned that a woman whom I assumed would continue to bounce between prison and the streets is now stably housed and raising her children. 

To read previous updates click on:  January 2017   Summer 2016   New Years 2016   Summer 2015   Christmas 2014 / 2015    Fall 2014 


Andrea passed away.  The fifth woman for whom we’ve written a Eulogy, Andrea was the only one whose death was described as “natural.” Two others were murdered (see Eulogy for Elizabeth and Orange-Frosted Hostess Cupcakes), one died with a needle in her arm (see Eulogy for Nicole), and one died of complications of HIV/AIDS (see Eulogy for Junie). Andrea had a congenital heart defect, but I can’t help but wonder whether the decade she lived in homeless shelters contributed to her death.

Andrea loved working out while watching exercise shows on television. For years, she urged me to do the same. I would smile and nod my head, and tell her that I’d try. Finally, this spring, not long after she died, I started going to a zumba class. I wish I could tell Andrea about it.


Carly (see “A New Home for Carly“) is still homeless. Though she has a voucher for Section VIII (subsidized housing), she cannot find an apartment in the permitted price range. DCF (child welfare department) has not returned her baby to her custody. She’s been told she needs to see a therapist (she is) and attend a parenting class (she is waiting for DCF to run one), but the reality is that without an apartment she is unlikely to get her child back. She has been focusing a great deal of her attention on reaching out to the baby’s father. He is incarcerated, so it’s not clear to me how she expects him to become involved with the child.


As of this writing, Erin is no longer using drugs and seems to have settled down. “One day I just decided to stop. I can’t live like this again. I knew if I kept using I’d die.” She continues, however, to experience memory lapses, “probably [caused by] the drugs. I used to be on anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers. I was diagnosed bi-polar but I think they freely throw that [diagnosis] around. My problems are more because of how I lived.”

Erin’s husband died last year. She now is living with a man whom she has known for many years. He is employed, and she makes a bit of money selling cosmetics. Her main concern at this time is her back. She suffers from degenerative disk disease that interferes with her sleep and with her ability to stand up straight.


Two months ago Francesca (see “The Bitch at the Welfare Office“) had major surgery on her neck. Both before and after the surgery her doctors prescribed large amounts of Percocet, an opioid that has always been her drug of choice. There were a few weeks during which I was worried that she was going to slide right off the slippery slope of monitored pain medication use back into drug abuse, but she seems to have weathered the worst of the post-surgical pain and is doing a good job of going about her life. She still lives with her son and granddaughter, works part-time, and is involved with a man who does not seem (to me) to be abusive.


Ginger (seeThe New Price of Freedom) called me every single day when my father was in the hospital back in January. She never intruded – she’d just call to say that she is thinking of me and is available if I need to talk. It amazes me that she has this much compassion — and consistency in showing compassion — when she herself is homeless.

The last time we spoke she was optimistic about getting housing. She’s been working with a case manager at a housing agency and had been told that she is high on the housing list. But as of this writing I haven’t heard from her for a month. Her phone number is no longer working and I don’t know where she is.


Isabella (see “Failure by Design: Isabella’s Experiences with Social Services“) is back in jail. Though still unemployed and grieving for her late husband, she seemed to be managing her life. She had a reasonable place to live, was consistent about going to the methadone clinic for her daily dose, and had re-established good relationships with her family.

Then, a few months ago she was in a car accident (it was not her fault). She was knocked unconscious at the time of the accident. She woke up in the hospital — handcuffed to the side of the bed.

It turns out that when the police checked her identification on their computer system they found that she had outstanding warrants on a number of old drug charges. Because she had moved frequently, she had not received the summonses to appear in court.

After a week in the hospital, she was transferred to jail, where she detoxed from methadone. The detox process led to major weight loss and seizures. She now is feeling better and is happy to be off the methadone. She would like to enter a drug treatment program to get support in staying clean.

In the meantime, she has lost her apartment as well as all of her belongings (from jail she couldn’t arrange to transfer her clothes and furniture to a storage locker.) No one in her family has written or come to see her.


Kahtia (See “Prostitution, Decriminalization and the Problem of Consent“) continues to work with DCF to regain custody of her children. Each time it seems that the matter is resolved, something else comes up.

She is still going to all of the required appointments and programs, still volunteering at  soup kitchen, and still seeing her children once each week.

Unfortunately, her health has deteriorated. She has trouble breathing, carries oxygen with her, and struggles to go up the four flights of stairs to her apartment. Most days she only goes out one time so that she won’t have to navigate the stairs more than once. It’s unclear to me how she’ll manage when her children come back home.

This week she was too sick to go to her volunteer job. At this writing, she is sitting in the emergency room waiting to see a doctor.


Melanie – a woman who had worked steadily for the first seven years I knew her, is now on Disability because of mental health challenges. She desperately wants to go back to work.


Patricia has overcome a great deal in her life. Her mother died of an overdose and her father is serving time in a European prison for drug trafficking. She began drinking in her early teens, and ended up in prison because of a string of DUIs.

After her stint in prison she trained as a medical assistant and worked fairly consistently for the past six years. At this point she feels that she is a functioning alcoholic, though there are times she drinks too much and has to phone in to miss work. Unfortunately, she recently lost her job at a clinic.  “A doctor behaved inappropriately to me. The clinic fired me, not him, because he brings in the clients and the money.”  As of this writing, she has been collecting unemployment for several months.

Even with all of that history, Patricia looks and sounds like a soccer mom! She relishes hosting pajama parties and going to her kids’ school events. Patricia is one of the few women who has never been homeless. An attractive woman with a friendly and pleasing manner, she has always had a boyfriend, a “sugar daddy” (her words) or extended family to stay with. She and I agree that the fact that she has never been forced onto the streets or into the shelters is a function of how she looks and sounds (middle-class) as well as the reason that she continues to look and sound so very well.


Paula, a white woman in her early fifties, had fallen off our radar for a number of years. A few years ago she was arrested on a drug charge. Last year we heard through the grapevine that she died of an overdose. It turns out that she, in her words, “almost died”.  Paula explains, “I caught pneumonia and I was using hard, so I got septic and my lungs acquired ARDS – a fatal lung disease. I was on life support for 6 weeks.”

Just last week she told me, “I’m OK, I guess. I’m clean but lost both parents and am dealing with an alcoholic husband. We’re living in a low rent room in [central Massachusetts]. I have been out of prison now for two years and have lived in five different spots. It sucks.”

On the positive side, “I passed my driving test and bought my first car. I never thought I’d actually have a car!”


Life is unpredictable for all of us – the reality of impermanence is one of the four noble truths of Buddhism. But the women of Can’t Catch a Break seem especially vulnerable to shifts in public policies and in social service programming as well as to the vicissitudes of luck and fate, and the challenges of their own mortal bodies.