Over the past few weeks, I’ve been home recovering from viral pneumonia. How did I get it? I’ve been walking to get where I need to go—often in cold, wet weather, through snow or rain, on roads that weren’t made for pedestrians. People have told me to “just walk” several miles to work or to buy a cheap bike—even though I’m 53 years old, living in a region where winter weather can be harsh and public transportation is limited. The nearest bus stop is five miles away.
It’s not that I mind walking. I actually love walking and even created a whole wellness resource around it. But there's a difference between walking for health and being forced to walk for miles just to survive because no other option is available. That’s not wellness—that’s struggle.
 |
I took this picture one day last Spring. I was walking home five miles from the bus stop after a long day at work in my $19.25/hour day job. |
This ongoing lack of transportation has affected nearly every area of my life. I’ve been told I “have transportation issues” by people claiming to be supportive, and that’s been used as a reason to defame me—or worse, as a reason to try and take away jobs I already had. I’ve used ride shares and public buses where available, but the truth is: not having a car has made it nearly impossible to get back on my feet in a sustainable way. And it’s being used against me, repeatedly. I've needed help paying for those things because money is so tight for me, and some people say "I'm not helping you get to work. You can walk or ride a bike to the bus stop" or "You can walk in the rain."
It’s frustrating, because I’m not someone who has never owned a car or who hasn’t worked hard to maintain one. I’ve had several cars in my life, each one earned through sacrifice and determination. I drove every car until it quit running.
-
My first car came after I was homeless—friends loaned me money, I repaid them on $5.25/hour wages, and I moved into my own apartment in a few months. I had the car over a year, until it quit running. I sold it to a local mechanic for $100.
-
My next car I bought a car with student aid funds and drove it for nine years until it gave out in Omaha traffic, surrounded by smoke like a cartoon.
-
A group of families from a church gifted me a used car—they saw my struggle, and their kindness brought me to tears. But others twisted it into something ugly, accusing me of taking advantage or not deserving it. The car cost $2500, and that is the largest value gift I had ever received in my life to that point and since. I cried because no one ever did things like that for me. If they did, they acted like I owed them, had to pay them back, or was undeserving in some way. I had the car for two years. That car broke down one night after work. I donated it to a mechanic.
-
My next car I bought with a car loan. That car I had for 12 years. The brakes went out, and my ex wouldn’t let me spend money to get it fixed. It sat in the garage for two years before he finally decided to address the car. By then, the engine block had cracked from sitting in the garage for so long. I had the car towed and sold it for $350 for salvage. That money was part of the $2400 I had when I moved to Idaho.
The next car I bought from my niece when I moved to Idaho. The Blue Book was barely over $300, but she sold it to me for $1000. I had very little money, so I made payments. The car was paid off in a matter of months. After one year, the car became unfixable. I donated the car for parts.
My latest car I bought used with a car loan. Contrary to what some people believe, it was not new. It was an older model car that was in good condition. Still, people acted like I didn't deserve a decent car. People did help with two or three of the car payments, but the rest was up to me. I was making very low wages in my temp and contract work, so I could barely afford to get by. I fell behind on my car insurance payment. On Christmas weekend, I had a car accident. I couldn't afford the repairs, and I already owed more than the car was worth. So, the car was voluntarily repossessed.
I’ve never wanted pity—just opportunity. But people often assume that because I’m not rich, I must be irresponsible, stupid, or mentally ill. That I “deserve” less. They make fun of me and say I'm lying about having a master’s degree and decades of experience in healthcare and education. That I should accept being underpaid and disrespected and why don't I work as a waitress, a bartender, or in customer service.
And maybe the hardest part of all: there are people in my life who act as though living in foster homes, being adopted, and former homelessness is all there is to know about me. Like that's all I’ll ever be. It’s painful to say, but it feels like they don’t want much for me—and they’ve worked to make sure I can’t have very much.
I’ve started over more times than I can count. I came to Idaho during the pandemic with $2400 in my pocket and no job. I’ve faced eviction five times, and all five times the cases were dismissed. I’ve battled not just the legal system, but the relentless pressure, judgment, and cruelty from people who think that being harsh or punishing is the same as being helpful. It’s not.
So why this update? Because I need help getting a car. That’s it. Reliable transportation would change everything—giving me a real shot at work, health, and rebuilding stability. This is not a luxury. This is a basic tool for survival and forward movement.
What Your Donation Supports:
-
A reliable used vehicle (with a modest budget)
-
Licensing, registration, and insurance
-
Potential minor repairs or safety checks
-
Gas and maintenance for job searching and interviews
Want to sponsor something through my business?
If you donate, I’d love to give back through my business, How Healthcare Works, in any of the following ways:
-
💻 Free access to one of my downloadable guides or self-care resources
-
📚 A copy of my books: Bragging About You or Get Your Walk On
-
🧘🏽♀️ A 1:1 self-care session or lifestyle coaching consult
-
🏃🏾♀️ Sponsored participation in a virtual walking challenge or group event
-
✍🏽 A blog post (or series) about a health topic of your choice.
Just let me know after your donation, and I’ll be happy to connect.
Your help matters—not just in dollars, but in hope. In knowing someone out there believes I deserve more than just scraping by. That I deserve a life with dignity, and the tools to keep going.
Thank you for reading and sharing.
—Jeanette
Comments
Post a Comment