Right now, millions of families are facing hunger again as SNAP benefits are delayed during the government shutdown. We won’t go hungry, my family has helped when we needed it most. But that’s exactly the point. So many people don’t have anyone to fall back on. I rely on SNAP to feed my kids, and I know what it feels like to live one broken system away from empty cupboards.

It doesn’t matter how smart you are or how much education you’ve earned. Chronic illness, disability, or bad luck can upend everything. And when that happens, the only thing between survival and hunger is the compassion of others and the strength of the safety net.

That’s why I’m sharing this. Because hunger isn’t just about food. It’s about dignity, belonging, and love that keeps showing up even when the world doesn’t.

People love to talk about banning soda and candy from food stamps like it’s some kind of moral victory.

But the loudest voices are always the ones who’ve never been hungry.

They’ve never had to say no to a kid asking for seconds.

They’ve never had to tell a child to drink water when they’re still hungry.

They’ve never had to count change at the gas station just to get a loaf of bread.

They’ve never opened the fridge and stared at three condiments and a half stick of butter, trying to make dinner out of hope.

They’ve never had to tell their child the Easter Bunny skipped their house, or that there won’t be a birthday cake this year because there’s no money left.

People with full fridges and working cars talk about “choices” like hunger is a moral failure.

But that’s not the world the rest of us live in.

Some of us shop at Dollar General because it’s the only store within walking distance.

Some of us stretch food stamps until the card balance hits zero and the pantry shelves echo back.

By the end of the month, you’re stirring generic macaroni and cheese with half the milk stretched with water and margarine, knowing it won’t fill the plates but praying it will at least fill the kids’ stomachs.

There are homes where mom makes the plates, not because she’s being polite, but because she has to make sure everyone gets something.

Homes where kids eat first because if someone’s going hungry, it will be the parents.

Homes where you have to ask before you eat something because it might be part of a recipe meant to last all week, and if it’s gone, the whole plan falls apart.

Homes where kids’ friends go home before dinner, not because you’re rude, but because you can’t afford to feed one more mouth without skipping your own.

There are homes where seconds don’t exist.

Where fruit and vegetables come bruised and bent, handed out from a food pantry box.

Homes where parents know how to cut the rotten spots off cauliflower and still make it work, because wasting food is a privilege too.

Sometimes you get creative with what’s left.

I remember turning small pantry potatoes into homemade french fries and mixing the last of the mustard, ketchup, and mayonnaise into a sauce that somehow tasted amazing.

They were the crispiest little finger fries, made from food most people would have thrown away.

Other times, the food pantry gave out stacks of tortillas and nothing to fill them with.

We went home, cut them into chips, fried them in a little oil, and made salsa out of half-rotten tomatoes and jalapeños from the pantry box.

We trimmed the bad spots, chopped what was good, and turned scraps into a meal that felt like a feast.

You learn to make do. You learn to turn desperation into resourcefulness because you don’t have another choice.

And for the families who can get to a real grocery store, there’s another truth: if you take the bus, you’re only allowed two grocery bags to feed a family for a week.

And even when you want to eat healthy, it’s almost impossible to afford.

Fresh produce costs more and spoils faster. Meat prices keep climbing. A single bag of grapes can cost the same as three boxes of pasta.

You run out of flour, oil, and eggs every month, and every time you replace them it chips away at what little is left.

Cooking from scratch isn’t cheaper when you’re poor. It just means you’re tired and still out of money.

People like to say “it’s about health,” but if that were really true, we’d make healthy food affordable instead of punishing people for being poor.

That’s not poor planning. That’s survival.

So when people start preaching about “healthy choices,” what they really mean is control.

They call it “public health.”

But what it really is, is the belief that poor people can’t be trusted with their own lives.

And when someone says “my taxes pay for that,” they forget most people on SNAP are working. They’re taxpayers too, just trying to stay fed in a system that was supposed to help.

Because food isn’t just nutrition. It’s belonging.

It’s stocking stuffers on Christmas morning.

It’s jellybeans on Easter.

It’s a slice of cake that says you matter too.

Once, when my family was homeless and waiting for SNAP to start, someone at the shelter stole our food.

My kids were hungry, and I didn’t even have a couple of dollars to buy them dinner.

So I called my family, packed the kids in the car, and drove to their house, empty-handed and ashamed.

They made us each a fried egg sandwich, simple, hot, and made with love.

Then they offered seconds.

That was the best-tasting sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life.

Because that night, it wasn’t just food.

It was kindness.

It was grace.

It was love in the form of a fried egg sandwich.

I’m not sharing this for pity or politics. I’m sharing it because policymaking without empathy isn’t policy, it’s punishment.

If you’ve never had to tell your child that Santa didn’t bring candy this year because it’s not an “approved purchase,” then maybe don’t speak on hunger.

Because for families who’ve known it, real hunger, not the kind you fix with a drive-thru, those little “unhealthy” things aren’t junk.

They’re joy.

They’re dignity.

They’re proof you still belong to a world that forgot you exist.

And that joy shouldn’t be something only rich kids get to taste.

People love to talk about what poor families shouldn’t buy, but they never talk about the strength it takes to keep showing up.

To keep finding ways to feed your kids, to stretch one more meal, to turn scarcity into something that still feels like love.

Getting up every day and doing that anyway isn’t dependency. It’s perseverance in its purest form.

That’s not weakness. That’s resilience in its truest form.

And it deserves respect, not restriction.