If you've ever given money to a person who has asked for it while walking on the streets, did you feel good afterwards?
Or, if you're one of those people who cycle your story about having a meal with someone instead of handing them money...did you feel good afterwards?
I never thought I'd ever eat with someone who asked me for money or told me they were hungry, but I did today, and I felt like shit afterwards. I hate those stupid stories (from my experience, mostly told by pastors) of them doing such a great deed of feeding a homeless person rather than just giving them a dollar or two. This action was uncharacteristic of me, and to be honest, I still don't get why I did it because it only legitimized my cynicism.
The thing about working with so many volunteers is that you kind of get a feel for why they're giving up their time and energy to "do good" without being paid. My job is to make sure they feel appreciated at the most, but I often wonder if they expect some sort of gratitude from the people they actually help.
And I've seen that before. Someone really going out of their way to truly help someone, only to feel unappreciated.
But today, I realized why the real world doesn't appreciate your help, and it's because your help isn't enough.
What I thought was going to be a quick slice of pizza and drink (I told her water, not soda, but she asked for juice instead), it ended up that "to-go" was not an option for getting a drink, so we stayed in and I sat with her as I told her to please tell me what her story was.
A victim of domestic violence and wheelchaired, a college drop out, paralyzed, and homeless, at 27, she said her life was a living hell and all she wanted was custody of her kids. But she's not in complete poverty because she has family-- family that doesn't know her situation. She hasn't had a meal since yesterday morning. She's on her period and doesn't have money for tampons. Someone stole her jacket and backpack from behind her wheelchair while she was sleeping in front of the courthouse last night.
She doesn't get it. She doesn't get why her life is that way and what she did wrong. But she isn't angry at God.
When I left after 30 minutes, I didn't feel like a good samaritan about buying her dinner. I didn't feel good for letting her talk to me.
I felt angry.
I felt outraged and uncomfortable.
What did I do for her? Did she "help" me more than I "helped" her? That concept is nonsense. We didn't help each other. It was us, all alone, doing our own things, trying to live our own lives, and we just happened to cross on the same sidewalk.
I didn't learn anything from her. She didn't "teach" me anything. I wasn't saddened by her situation, I thought-- this is life.
This is how some people live and some people live like me and some people live lavishly and some people live in ignorance by choice.
I came home and tried to keep my mind off it but ended up sitting in silence and sobbing and sobbing and sobbing...and again, I don't know why.
