$7 and the Working Poor

And Being Laid Off Work

For weeks, I had planned to write about the working poor in America. I had been digging into the numbers, looking at reports, and I stumbled on a concept called ALICE, which stands for Asset-Limited, Income-Constrained, Employed. This describes people who have jobs, even full-time, but are still one unexpected bill or missed paycheck away from financial disaster. According to the United Way, ALICE households make up about 29% of the U.S. population and nearly 42% of families. This isn’t just a handful of unlucky people; it’s almost half the country.

I intended to write about how missing a paycheck would devastate me. I wanted to explore what it means to live paycheck-to-paycheck in one of the wealthiest nations in the world. I had charts, numbers, and statistics ready. But then Thursday happened.

I found out that my job is being eliminated.

It wasn’t immediate; thankfully, I still have a few weeks to figure things out. But everything changed. My first thought wasn’t about me. It was about my kids. I have three children who depend on me. What will happen if I don’t find a new job in time? What will happen to the house? To the utilities? To the child support I pay?

Then, because life likes to throw more challenges, Friday brought another blow. My bank withdrew a late mortgage payment due to an error on their part, leaving me with just $7 in my account. I called on Monday. While they refunded some money, it was less than half of what I had before. Still, the damage was done.

When you live this close to the edge, you can’t just shrug off a bank mistake. You don’t have a safety net. The difference between $300 and $7 can mean groceries, gas, or even keeping the lights on. That narrow margin is where the working poor live every single day.

I’ll be honest; it hasn’t been an easy few days.

When your back is against the wall, you hustle. Over the weekend, I worked for DoorDash. I drove for nearly eight hours, delivering food and navigating through traffic. By the end of the three days, I earned just over $130. It’s not a lot, but when you’re down to $7, it feels like life support. Every cent counts.

That’s what people often misunderstand about the working poor. It’s not laziness. It’s not a lack of effort. It’s the opposite. It’s eight hours of gig work piled on top of an already stressful situation just to gather enough for food and bills. It’s the fatigue of never being able to relax because if you stop, everything collapses.

On paper, I might seem fine. I own a house. I have a job, or at least for now. I’m raising my kids. But the truth is that most months, after I pay the mortgage, the utilities, the child support, and buy food, I’m left with barely seven dollars. Usually, that happens at the end of the month. This time, it happened in the middle. That’s the harsh reality of being ALICE.

Here’s the part that surprised me, though. When I shared my situation, something I could have easily kept to myself, I received a huge amount of support. I posted online about my job being cut, and suddenly, my inbox was filled with dozens of messages. Job leads and encouraging words poured in. Friends called to say they were contacting potential employers for me.

One friend even sent me money. I didn’t want to accept it. My pride told me to say no, but when you're staring at seven dollars and three kids, that pride vanishes quickly. What felt like charity was really a blessing. It reminded me that while systems can fail us, people can still lift us up.

That’s something I think about a lot. In a country where millions struggle to stay afloat, where entire families live one paycheck away from disaster, it’s often community hat come to the rescue. It’s neighbors, friends, and even strangers who provide the safety net that should already exist.

Even with the support, I can't pretend I'm not anxious. I don't have another job lined up yet. The clock is ticking. While I feel hopeful because of the people rallying behind me, the question still lingers: what if?

What if I don't find something in time? What if I can't keep the house? What if I fail my kids? These thoughts don't leave easily. They hang over everything like storm clouds. It takes effort just to focus on the next step instead of getting lost in the “what ifs.”

That's what it's like to live paycheck to paycheck. Even when you're working, even when you're doing everything “right,” the margin for error is razor thin. One mistake, whether it’s a lost job or a bank error, and everything unravels.

And yet, here’s the strange thing. In the middle of this chaos, I feel a glimmer of hope. Not because I know exactly what comes next; I don’t. Not because I have a job lined up; I don’t yet. But because of community. People rallied when I asked for help. I’ve been reminded that even in the darkest moments, I’m not alone.

I don’t know what job I’ll have next. But I hope it’s one where I can breathe. One where making ends meet doesn’t mean living in constant anxiety. One where I can build more than just survival.

Because I’m tired of seven dollars being the only thing between me and disaster.

Thanks for reading.

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