When I met you for the first time one year ago, I was in the throes of an enormous mental breakdown as I brought my youngest, Bobbin, to daycare for the first time.
You knew I was low; it was quite literally written across my face in streaks of tears, red eyes, and a puffy nose. But you don’t know that you’re one of the people who helped save my life.
I felt like I was getting “neglectful mother” stamped on my permanent record when I walked in there that day. Not because I was placing my child in to day care, but because my doctors and the government agreed I was so unwell that the public purse would pay for her to be cared for by someone else three days a week for six months. That it was in everyone’s best interests; hers, mine, even the taxpayers.
Watch: When you manage to dress your kids better than you dress yourself (post continues after video…)
As welcome as financial assistance is to a single income family in a low socio-economic area, qualifying for it under those circumstances was demoralising.