Big Beautiful Bullshit

Thoughts on the latest attack on people living in poverty from another hostile presidential administration.

Insane swag for a four year old.

Earlier this year, I was at a party, chatting up a friend of a friend. The wine was flowing, the music was loud, and we tucked ourselves in a quieter corner to chat about our lives, careers, and how we knew the host. It was a very typical D.C. party conversation that eventually got me talking about being a Southerner, which is among my favorite things to tell folks.

“You don’t give me that vibe.”

I scowled. She was taken aback. I laughed.

“I’m joking. That’s not the first time I’ve gotten that I don’t give Southerner.”

Laughs continue between beats about our families, and the conversation got around to me mentioning that I grew up in poverty.

“Wow,” she said, her eyes widening. “I didn’t get that either.”

I gave the remark a “tuh,” took a sip of my wine, and excused myself. I can’t tell you why I told this stranger this information about me, but in the moment, a fact about my life that hardly comes up anymore did. I’m not ashamed of growing up poor; I don’t want to become a spokesperson for climbing out. I fear that sharing my story and acknowledging my hard work will give people committed to harmful poverty narratives an unwilling poster child for bootstrapping—as if poverty isn’t a manufactured condition that continues to fail millions of people. I worry that saying too much will make the lie of hard work and grit being enough even more pervasive.

Oh, and I HATE the reactions I get upon sharing. A few standouts include:

“How did someone like you make it to UNC and then to where you are now?”

“You don’t seem like you grew up poor.”

My personal favorite is the long pause, head tilt, and pity smile—like I just told them I survived the flood.

I’ve decided to talk about this now, despite any potential reactions to this piece, because receiving Medicaid and SNAP benefits as a child and Pell Grants once I entered college set me up to build a better life. And the Big Beautiful Bill, passed into law on July 4, stands to take this opportunity away from millions of others.

America’s social safety net does two crucial things. It prevents people who need help from falling into destitution, and it provides ground to stand on while trying to escape poverty. This was true in the 1990s and 2000s for me, and it’s true now that I’m out of work and back on these two programs. When families don't have to choose between keeping their housing and feeding their children, they can focus on other things, like finding more profitable work, pursuing higher education, or learning a trade. For students seeking a college education to open more doors for themselves, Pell Grants lessen the financial blow of going to school. Children with access to SNAP benefits and Medicaid do better in school, have better health outcomes, and are more likely to escape poverty as adults. One study from the Congressional Budget Office found that ongoing Medicaid coverage during childhood can lead to increased earnings in adulthood. Research from Columbia University found that Pell Grant recipients saw a significant increase in their lifetime earnings. These benefits, along with others that make up the safety net, like housing vouchers, help families provide the stability children need for them to become well-adjusted, potentially high-earning adults.

Trump and congressional Republicans seek to undermine efforts by levying extensive funding and enrollment cuts to Medicaid and SNAP while making Pell Grants harder to access. It’s disgusting and ridiculous, but most of all, it is cruel and unnecessary. As we can see from the data, the cycle of poverty is not an inevitable reality—it’s the result of policy choices, and poverty has no place in any society, least of all one of the wealthiest nations on earth.

Without Medicaid, I likely wouldn’t have had insurance as a child. When my stomach swelled to twice its size, I wouldn’t have been able to go to the doctor and discover that my spleen was inflamed and I needed antibiotics to fight off a potentially nasty infection. Thanks to SNAP benefits and the fact that I qualified for free lunch, I didn’t miss a meal. Instead of fighting a growling stomach, I could focus on my classes. Pell Grants significantly minimized the amount of loans I needed to take out to pursue my education—and thanks to that degree and the connections it brought, I'm sitting here writing for a living, something that seemed as fantastical as flying when I was growing up.

This brings us back to the party.

I knew her intent wasn’t malicious, but it irked me anyway. When someone who has “escaped” poverty mentions that they were once immersed within it, the prevailing narratives about people who still live in poverty rear their heads. These assumptions are shaped by stereotypes and deep misconceptions, which distort public understanding of poverty and its causes. Many people believe that poverty is primarily due to individual failings—such as laziness, poor financial decisions, or lack of effort—rather than systemic factors like racism or unequal access to education and employment opportunities. Another doozy is the narrative that those living in poverty have become reliant on government assistance and lack motivation to work, ignoring that many people receiving aid work hard but do not earn a living wage.

Trump’s Big Beautiful Bullshit upholds these inaccurate beliefs of moral bankruptcy and disguises them as fiscal responsibility. It takes the most vulnerable people in our society and tells them their struggles are their fault, that they don't deserve help, and that they should somehow magic their way out of crushing circumstances. It's the kind of thinking that allows people to be surprised when someone like me exists—as if escaping poverty should be impossible, rather than the expected outcome of a functioning social safety net.

I want to be clear that my story doesn’t eradicate or alter the systems that keep people trapped in the vicious cycle of poverty, and it certainly doesn’t undermine any harmful narratives. It does, however, speak to what’s possible when thoughtful investments are made into communities that need them most.