A Big Beautiful Betrayal and Pursuing Joy Anyway

Checking in, friends. Especially friends here in the USofA. You doing OK? You hanging in there? You finding ways to cope and breathe and function in this crazy upside-down world?

I don’t know about you, but the Big Beautiful Betrayal hit me pretty hard this week on both a macro and micro level. I mean, macro, of course; we’re watching millions of the most vulnerable Americans lose healthcare, kids lose food security, students lose funding, the national deficit increase exponentially so the rich can get richer on the backs of the poor. It’s a tragedy and a travesty. But also, it’s reeaalll personal over here. I have six kids counting the son-in-law, whom I do, as if I’ve had him all along, and not a single one of the six will get out of this Betrayal unscathed. Not. A. Single. One.

My oldest two are losing their ability to pay back their student loans via the SAVE plan which would have (as the name implies) saved them money while they repaid what they owe for the portion of their education they couldn’t pay up front; an analysis of the new Repayment Assistance Plan found that borrowers’ monthly payments could spike by hundreds of dollars in comparison. For kids who graduated college in May 2020 at the beginning of the pandemic, had to find their footing in the workplace during global chaos and international hiring freezes, who’ve had economic uncertainty as a hallmark of their young adulthood, and who have their first baby on the way, this…well, sucks. That’s what. It sucks.

My next two kiddos experience significant disability. One receives $900/month in Social Security Disability Income and is on the Oregon Health Plan, and the other receives $200/month in SNAP (food) benefits. That is it. The end. Everything these two humans in their 20s, both of whom were in special education throughout their K-12 experience, receive from federal and state governments. Greg and I pay all other expenses. For the eldest, SSDI covers most of his room and board, so we supplement for hygiene and personal expenses and phone. For the other, that’s all healthcare, housing, hygiene, bills, and phone. Those cost us a combined many hundreds per month. Don’t misunderstand, we’re GRATEFUL we’re in a position to do so. But whatever the Republicans are spouting about people taking advantage of the system, grifting off of public welfare, is a lie. Every dime the government provides my adult kids is tightly monitored. The reporting required is extensive. And the amounts provided are miniscule. After the election and before the Big Beautiful Betrayal, services were already being dramatically cut. We’ve been trying for months to get Ace into a job assistance program. Guess what? They’re not taking new clients anymore because there isn’t a budget for it. They’re trying to still service the clients they have, but that’s iffy. I have a kid with disability who WANTS to work. We live in a Right to Work state where Ace is legally entitled to a job and the assistance required to procure one. Still can’t get help, and the federal government’s response is to blame kids like Ace and cut services. FFS.

And my final two kiddos are on the cusp of their college careers, both as queer students. Dear sweet baby Jesus in a handbasket, don’t get me started on the ways the BBB is targeting our gay babies and higher education (all education, really) and student loans. The list of ways these bright, bold humans with their unlimited potential are being dimmed and limited is too long for the socials.

I am, in other words, dismayed. Disheartened. Distressed. Disquieted. Just dis, I guess. And, layered in with it all is the super fun religious trauma of knowing evangelicals made this happen. This harm is their agenda.

I want to fight and rage. I want to change it all. And I’m doing my part, but, friends, the part of ONE PERSON feels so, so small. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by helplessness.

What am I doing about it? In addition to calling my representatives and donating to the causes and advocating for my kids and being a modicum of the safety-net my government refuses to be? I’m pursuing joy. Like it’s my fucking job. Like it’s my everything. Because it’s the only way I know how to survive this chaos and cruelty again. And joy is what I choose to model. Fiery, fervent, incandescent joy, friends. I am on the hunt. Mining every vein I find. Panning for nuggets, and, when those are few and far between, specks and flecks and hints and glimmers. Rumors, even. I’ll take rumors of fucking joy.

So this week, I harvested invasive sweet peas from an abandoned field and made flower arrangements for my house. I plucked suckers off of the first tomato plants I’ve ever grown. I deadheaded marigolds. I watercolored a painting for my unborn grandson’s nursery. I read The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches. I made simple syrup out of cherries and nectarines with a little rosemary and mixed it with soda water and ice for a fancy ass mocktail. I sat in a hammock chair. I took photos of my insanely adorable young humans who wanted to go for a walk to see the sunset as a break from their poker game but kindly paused and posed for a mama who desperately loves them. I lived my beautiful life, in other words. Audaciously. Irrationally. Joyfully. Despite. Notwithstanding. And nevertheless.