Sadly twelve months later, after the brewery had bled us dry and I had missed a twelve month of my children's younger years, we came out - Although I did meet some wonderful people and made some great friends.
I'm a grafter (as my dad would say). I got my first job as a stable hand (in a full livery) at the age of 14. Taking care of, mucking out and feeding 15 horses every Sunday, come rain, snow or shine. I used to get paid £18 for the day and I could be there anywhere between 10-12 hours! It was practically slave labour, but I bloody loved it and I was earning my own money.
From there I went to waitressing, working thirty hours a week whilst studying at college full time, and then I went from customer services to Insurance Underwriter and spent seven and half years working for Aviva. You get the picture!
So when we came out, it hit me. Hard!
Why? Because I'd always worked. I'd never claimed for anything before in my life. It was heart breaking.
I spent almost three months trying to live off a measly £90 a week! It was horrendous. I was spoken to and treat like crap, I had my details and documents lost and was then told I was lying about providing them, it was horrendous.
When people asked what I did for a living, I used to cringe when I said "Nothing. I'm at home with the kids at the moment." Yet no one battered an eyelid, not those that mattered anyway.
I'd suffered from post natal depression badly after having Will, I'm not ashamed to admit it, I'm proud I got through it alive. At this point, when I felt like I couldn't provide for my family, I could feel myself relapsing. I cried every morning and night and felt like I wasn't worthy of being of a mother.
I remember the first time I had to go to the Job Centre in Wakefield to fill out some forms, as they'd lost all the documents I'd sent them.
I was met by what could only be described as a menopausal Olive Oil.
"Yes?" She barked at me.
"I'm here to fill in some forms for income support."
"Name?" she asked.
"Anna Brown"
"Well your not on my list, you must be upstairs!" and she shooed me away.
As I was searching for the stairs, I was then startled when a security guard shouted across at me. "You alright love?"
"Yes," I said. I found the door.
As I approached the top of the stairs, I dreaded what reception I was in for next, and when the gentleman at the desk was so friendly and polite, I nearly cried! "You need to be downstairs love. Follow me."
He led me back down to Attila the Hun at the front desk, and after speaking to her, she huffed and puffed and muttered "This way!" with the most disgusted look on her face!
I had worked all my life, why was I being treat like something they'd wiped of their shoes. It was soul destroying.
"Sit here! You need to fill these in, then you'll be called through!"
I got shoved in what seemed like the naughty corner and started scribbling away on the forms she'd hurled down in front of me. I wanted to ball my eyes out.
About fifteen minutes passed and a lovely, quite plump lady called me over. "Anna? You can come sit here lovie."
She was so sweet, and clutched in her hands were the documents they'd told me I hadn't sent them and I'd been accused of lying over. I cried. In fact no, I sobbed. "Are those my documents?" I whimpered.
"They are love. Looks like they received them before Christmas so why they've sent them back to us I've no idea!" We were now in the third week of January.
I cried again and explained to her my situation and how I'd been spoken to. "Right!" she said! "We'll soon sort this out!"
She picked up her phone, dialled a number quicker than anything I'd ever seen and my god, would I have hated to have been Gareth in Glasgow. She gave him a right bollocking. She hung up and smiled.
"It should be sorted by the end of the week my love," she said.
Two hours later I received an apologetic phone call from the arse who had accused me of lying, followed by him telling me that I would receive a phone call at each stage of the application to let me know the progress. It still took another two weeks, but at least it was being dealt with.
Hallelujah!
So my question is this....
Why, when I had always worked did I suddenly feel guilty about spending time with my family?
Why, when fifty years ago it was acceptable and the norm for women to stay at home with their children and not work, did I feel like I was being judged?
Why did telling people I was on benefits make my stomach churn and my mouth go dry?
Yes there are people out there who feel it necessary to suck the system dry, just because they can, but I am not one of them.
It has taken lecture after lecture from my family and friends to make me realise that I'm doing nothing wrong.
So WHY did I feel like this?
I'll tell you. Because of the people in authority. The people I went to for help because I genuinely needed it. The people who made me feel like crap. Like a small, insignificant human being because I wanted to spend time at home with my children whilst they are still young. Because of my ex who when I asked for an increase in maintenance payments after his pay rise, because I needed it, told me to get a f***ing job and to take him to court. It was for an extra £50 a month.
Because of those people I felt like I had no right staying at home and spending time with MY children and that it was wrong.
I read a quote today that ended with -
"In twenty years time, my children won't remember the house or my hair, but they will remember the time we spent together and the love they felt. Your children get one childhood. Make it a good one!"
I'm now proud I'm a stay at home mum and if you're a stay at home parent, you should be too.
I salute those parents who go out to work, I really do and I'm looking forward to the day I go back (for a rest more than anything else), but right now, this is right for me, and I'm not going to be ashamed of it anymore.
Peace out!