A story people have written about me over the years is that I’m a spoiled girl born into wealth who couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like living paycheck to paycheck or struggling at all for that matter. How do I know this story has been written, you ask? Because on more than one occasion I’ve had someone confess, “I pegged you wrong” or “You’re not at all who I thought you were,” and then proceed to explain their assumption of me was just that; a perception that is incredibly false.
Let’s clarify this perception…
The truth is that I grew up having my physical needs met. A roof over my head, shoes on my feet, food in my belly. I don’t feel the need to prove I had it “bad” or worse than anyone else. I only want to tell the truth. It matters.
Neither of my parents come from money. In fact, generational poverty, lack of education, incarceration, sexual abuse, domestic violence, and more are all part of my family origin story. For what it’s worth, my ACE* score is an 7/10.
*Adverse Childhood Experience, take the quick test for yourself here.
Despite all of that, I’ve always had a phenomenal mother who’s rich in love. This, unfortunately, doesn’t negate the reality that we didn’t have much money when she was a single parent. Our home was inhabited with bats (we laugh about this today) and I helped watched her scrub toilets for extra cash. Having one parent who loved me well is a lot more than most people have and for that, I’m deeply grateful.
But none of this takes away from the fact that I sometimes lied about not being hungry, hoping that my growling stomach quieted, in an effort to decrease financial stress on the weekends I spent with my dad. I spent my childhood attempting to suppress my needs in an effort to control the moods of adults who were supposed to be caring for me. (Thanks to therapy, I broke this habit and found freedom.)
Though my parents divorced when I was a baby, both of them taught me that no one could should outwork me. I will forever credit them for my work ethic, which formally began as a receptionist at a Driver’s Ed School before I was of driving age myself.
Now, do I have privilege? Of course. The fact that I’m White means that I have not had any barriers specifically because of the color of my skin. Being heterosexual is a privilege. And as a married woman, I now have a partner, which I also consider a privilege. Most of us are privileged in one way or another.
Nothing was handed to me on a silver platter, but I have landed in a comfortable place. I’ve worked hard, jumped on opportunities that were highly beneficial, and in some small ways, simply got lucky.
I can focus on building longer tables because I’m not in survival mode — financially (not living paycheck to paycheck), emotionally (taking care of my mental health and am able to afford therapy), or relationally (not in any abusive relationships) — but I know what it’s like to struggle.
I share all of this because when it comes to longer table living, we can’t deny that money is at play.
It’s a whole lot easier to build longer tables when you have resources, access, and abundance.
Money talk is weird, but it doesn’t have to be. Maybe if we were all a little more open about how much we have - or don’t have - in our bank accounts we would understand each other better. Perhaps then we’d take better care of each other.
What is generosity really?
I once heard my friend Shannan Martin say something along the lines of it not being true generosity unless it’s felt. I appreciated her thoughts on this because I think any dollar amount we put on it is just silly.
Generosity isn’t just writing a check or sending a Venmo transaction, though it could be.
Generosity comes down to the heart of a person.
When I think of generosity, I think of my grandmother… someone who doesn’t have much, but is eager to give what they can. Despite her age and having easy excuses not to, she volunteers her time with with women who are overcoming addiction. I think of my foster kids… who have had everything taken away, but are always quick to hand over the $1 they just received to the person holding a sign on the corner. I think of friends who give up entire days to help us when a child or family is in crisis.
For me in this season, donating $5 when prompted might be kind, but it isn’t generous. But changing our lives to accommodate a new teen into our care… I feel that. It costs me something. A lot.
I share none of this to say “look at us!” — not everyone can or should be foster parents. And for many, donating $5 is truly generous and will be felt. I’m only sharing so transparently in an effort to get us all thinking about what generous living means and looks like practically for our unique circumstances today.
6 ways to live generously when you’re short on space & savings
Whenever you’re cooking a meal, double the recipe and give one to a neighbor or friend in need.
Give even if it’s just a little. Don’t tell yourself that you’ll give more when you make more. Start small, but start now.
Choose one thing to sacrifice for a specific period of time and then give all of the funds you saved as a large tip to a waiter or spoil someone you love with it. I did this by taking one month off Starbucks a few years ago and everyday that I didn’t buy an iced mocha was “felt” but I knew it’d be worth it. It was.
Declutter. You’d be surprised how much room you have - physically and emotionally - when you begin to get rid of the things taking up space.
Look for needs and extend an invitation. An example: know of someone without a working washer/dryer who might benefit from doing a load of laundry at your place? Offer it once a week!
Use your words generously to encourage others and leave positive reviews.
Our lives aren’t going to all look the same— and they shouldn’t! Longer table living takes so many different forms. I hope you’re inspired to consider what it looks like for you and to rid any excuses getting in the way. What else would you add to the list of ideas?
Love you, mean it.
Manda