Poverty Sucks

The Rage Of Repeated Rescues

Robin Divine — Thu, 28 May 2026 18:11:42 GMT

Gentle reminder: Please do not share my writing on LinkedIn, thank you.

From Stephanie Land’s Substack, author of Maid

My recent trip to the pet store was hard.

I remain in my feelings about Nico.

My heart is not ok.

But that’s not why I’m here.

To start, please know that I am not ungrateful nor do I feel entitled.

No one owes my Black ass anything.

However, I am broken by the lack of collective care I’ve received.

A lifetime of pleading for help has transformed my disappointment to rage.

I am furious.

With that said, Community Care is the reason I’m alive.

My apartment, car, vitamins, bed, the food in my fridge…

I’ve been saved by little financial lifeboats numerous times.

But damn, it shouldn’t be this hard.

Did I not scream loud enough?

Or maybe my life didn’t matter to enough people…

Why do I have to be in crisis to receive support?
Why do I have to put my trauma on display to deserve care?
Why do I have to remind people I’m actively drowning while they watch?

It’s been deeply painful.

Let’s talk about individual acts of Mutual Aid -vs- Collective Community Care

I’m a visual learner, I’ll paint you a picture…

I’m in the ocean about to drown.

Drowning = a pending car repo, eviction, phone disconnection etc.

I scream for help.

I’m (hopefully) thrown a buoy of support but remain in ocean with a temporary sense of safety. I am still about to drown, just not in this moment.

My goal: Make it to land. I need a boat.

But according to this bootstrap ass society, I have to build my own boat.

I am drowning.

How am I supposed to build when I can barely even breathe?

Individual acts of Mutual Aid have kept me temporarily afloat. Collective Community Care would allow me to break out of survival mode long enough to actually create a life that’s financially stable, creatively self-sustained and emotionally secure.

To the “you just need to work harder” crowd…

Kindly two-step your way to hell.

My expenses (I’m single, child free and live in a studio) are $4,000/month.

Does Mutual Aid cover my bills? lmao no.

Community Care is the bridge that keeps me afloat when I fall short.

In this capitalist dumpster fire, it happens often.

I’ve worked tirelessly my entire life because I’ve never had a safety net.

Poor people aren’t the problem; these oppressive systems are. And nope, they can’t be fixed because they aren’t broken. These systems work as intended.

Poverty was created on purpose.

Anyway, let’s talk about Mexico for a moment.

I’ve tried to leave for 4 years.

I can’t afford to be alive here. And as a Black, queer woman, I am not safe.

$10,000 was (is) my soft landing abroad goal.

I’ve crowdfunded several times with pitiful results. Having to consistently organize, remind, update, fundraise and write while trying to survive was unsustainable.

Here are 3 real ways that could have helped:

1. An Organized Effort

If twenty folks in my network (with connections, time or resources) had organized on their own to raise $500 each.

20 people. $500. Done.

That’s Collective Community Care.

I could have already been living my best life on a Mexican beach with a regulated nervous system and a healthy smile thanks to affordable dental care…

How would you start?

Connect with other followers or reach out to your contacts
Send a quick DM, email or write a post - Subject: Wanna help Robin?

(Share why my story matters to you.)

Set a timeline - 60 days max
Raise funds. Get creative. Have a yard sale, offer services, bake cookies…
That’s it, keep it simple

Care does not have to be complicated.

2. A Credit Card Swipe

If a person with solid finances who trusted me said “lemme swipe this 10k on my card and get you the hell outta here because I value your wellness. You can start payments after you’ve had space to breathe and you’re ok.”

I realize everyone can’t make that offer but there are folks who can.

If you’re unable to fathom that level of support then please expand your beliefs about how deeply we can care for each.

Money is made up pieces of paper, that shit ain’t real.

We need it to survive but people matter more.

And white folks who believe in the redistribution of wealth: embrace independent accountability and sustained action on behalf of Black women like myself.

Please learn how to organize.

Here’s a Poverty Sucks starter pack:

The Sum of Us

Poverty, By America

Let This Radicalize You

(These are linked to my favorite Black-owned bookstore)

3. The Community Care Experiment

This was my idea! The others are too but you know what I mean…

I created a list of my monthly expenses. Supporters could help cover an expense which would give me the opportunity to save money towards my move abroad.

The first month was so supportive, thank you! But the next month?

I hit the same brick wall as when I crowdfunded - it was all on me. If I didn’t write, share and repeat, then barely anyone remembered. It’s not because no one cares (I believe certain folks do) but life has overwhelmed many of us.

As a result, my survival often ends up overlooked.

It ain’t gotta be me, but if there are folks you genuinely want to support then I encourage you to shift from “I care about you” to “I want to organize care for you.”

As for today, I am worn thin. I need help.

I don’t have rent. ($1950)

Two stacks for a studio is pure capitalistic greed.

This could pay for a 3br home abroad but let me stay focused…

If you’re able to share resources, I’d be really grateful.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

When it comes to collective Community Care every amount makes a difference.

You can also visit my Amazon wishlist or my Soft Landing Abroad GoFundMe.

Travel expenses are on my June Community Care Experiment list.

June Community Care List

To those of you who:

Send care when I’m quiet
Include me in your Mutual Aid practice
Share support consistently (not only in a crisis)

Thank you for thinking of me.❤️

Ask for help if you need it, extend help where you can.

If you can’t offer help then at least don’t add harm.

I am one false promise of hope away from calling it quits.

Please take care of each other, we aren’t meant to do life alone.

I Have Happy News

Robin Divine — Mon, 25 May 2026 17:21:02 GMT

Gentle reminder: please do not share my writing on LinkedIn, thank you.

“I don’t think y’all realize that people with no support system gotta operate completely differently.”

-A quote from Threads.

Awww, look at Robin on her honeymoon cosplaying happiness.

Wait. Why are there fingerprint bruises on your arm? You’ve had such a lack of support in your life that you’ll accept any ol’ crumb of care, huh? I’m so sorry you haven’t been protected. You deserved tenderness, love and real care - you still do.

But that’s not why I’m here.

What an emotional ass month…

In April I wrote about my pup Nico. We were struggling. And by “we” I mean, me.

I was sent several recommendations for a trainer, one stood out. We were on a video call a few days later and the vibes were right.

Did I have money for a trainer? lmao no.

Was I about to figure out how to pay by any means necessary? You bet your ass.

I was honest about my commitment to Nico’s care despite my lack of doubloons.

“I just finished work with a pro-bono client” she said. “I have a spot open. Opportunities often align for a reason, this feels like one of those times.”

I believe that as well.

We started virtual training 3x a week.

First session: she recognized Nico’s fear and my anxiety.

Second session: he learned how to “sit” in minutes. My flabbers were gasted.

Third session: she invited Nico to stay for a week to work 1:1.

But also, she knew we both needed a damn break. A traumatized, fearful pup and a human with debilitating anxiety is a rough combo…

I drove him to Tennessee a few days later.

I felt at ease the moment we met. I silently sent gratitude to the person who connected us. As I headed home, I received a video that said “he’s doing beautifully.”

And, he was.

Nico was cautiously interacting with another dog while exploring the yard. He wasn’t socialized by his last person and this was his first time around other pups.

I started crying because of course I did.

As for me, I thought a quiet home would be a relief. But the moment I walked in and saw a single piece of food on my bed, it was a wrap.

(He takes one nugget, finds a comfy spot, eats it and repeats. It’s adorable.)

But ain’t nobody got time for emotions.

I told my raggedy feelings to go to hell and went to the co-working room.

That night, my senior cats (Nalo & Mila) slept on my bed for the first time in four years.

From the day I adopted him, Nico took on the role of pint sized protector and refused to let them near me. I missed my girls. I cried again.

My heart continued to ache when I woke up.

I knew It’d be an unproductive work day at home so I said “fuck it” and drove 10 hours to Ohio to clear out my storage. I needed a productive distraction. I had $2.17 in my account but I said “fuck that too” and used my overdraft checking to pay for the trip.

Arrived at 2am. At the gate by 6am. Car packed by 11am. Home at 10pm.

We give thanks.

As for Nico, my chicken tender thrived. I received another text towards the end of the week that said “he’s started to melt.” I’d never seen him that comfortable before.

I’m really tired of these damn tears…

We agreed that he’d benefit from more time there. I picked him up for a short break and planned to drive him back a few days later.

Nico, Nalo & Mila adjusted well. As for me? My heart was shattered but, I thrived too.

Humans are hard for me. No, seriously - they hurt. My nervous system has been trashed for decades. Hearing them talk, seeing them, having to interact…

It causes physical pain.

For 4 years I’ve pushed past my discomfort and tolerated people 4x/day for our walks.

After my Ohio trip, I didn’t see another person for days.

The healing my spirit felt was remarkable.

“Quiet. Peace. Calm. “This is what I need” I said to myself.

For our move abroad, I had planned to find a house with a backyard for Nico. But to keep it a bean, I’d prefer to live in a condo while I read books by my fireplace, barely leave home and have everything delivered because, please leave me the hell alone.

I desire to be unavailable to anyone for six months, mayhaps a year.

Life has worn me thin.

Anyway, Nico came home.

He was bored. My anxiety spiked. The cats were annoyed.

I replayed the videos the trainer had sent.

My boy was happy.

I realized how boxed in his life would be with me. However, I couldn’t imagine my own life without him.

I love my little dude.

Yesterday I drove him back to Tennessee. When he saw the trainer and his buddy Navy, he was over the moon. My heart sank. I knew what I had to do. We sat in the backyard and talked.

I cried like a baby goat as I asked her to help me rehome him.

Nicole was incredibly gentle with me.

“Of course” she replied.

We talked about options and then she said “I have room in my pack here too.”

And with that, Nico had a new forever home.

He’s now living his best life as the tiniest member of a gang called “The Khaki Killers.”

He jumped in my lap a few times to comfort me and I whispered goodbye each time.

I left quietly while he played inside.

I hugged the trainer and thanked her but “thank you” wasn’t enough - it couldn’t express the relief I felt knowing Nico would be well loved, safe and cared for.

I’m beyond grateful that every step of this experience felt aligned.

I parked at a rest area on the drive home and slept for hours.

Grief had overwhelmed my body.

Today I’ll pack his toys, maybe tomorrow I’ll sell his crate - we’ll see how I do.

Am I crying as I write this? Why yes, yes I am.

My heart will take a while to heal and that’s ok, my boy is happy.

As for my own happiness…

I plan to GTFO out of this country by July 1st.

I’m serious.

Storage is cleared out
I’ve donated the majority of my items
My car is headed to someone who needs it

The only piece I need is money.

If I’m forced to move with only $2500 then I will.

I know how to do life hard even though I shouldn’t have to.

I’ll make it work.

With that said, my weary spirit craves a soft landing.

Ways you can share support that don’t add to my overwhelm:

Visit my Community Care Experiment list (updated with travel expenses.)

Community Care List

Visit my Amazon wishlist even tho’ they suck (updated with travel items.)

Amazon Wishlist

The link to my Soft Landing Abroad Fund (GFM) is here.

As always, direct Community Care is appreciated.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.

What did you say, do I have rent for next week?

My account is in the negative $499.97. So lol, no.

If anyone wants to cover my last month of Atlanta rent then: love you, mean it.

(Please ask for what you need, it only takes one yes.)

To my sweet Nico -

If my assignment was to care for you to until we crossed paths with your forever person, then thank you for choosing me. It has been my privilege to be your kahu.

I’m so glad you’ve found home, now it’s my turn.

Be happy. Run free. Live well.

I love you. ❤️🐾

And just received a text with a picture of him at a family BBQ. She said he’s doing beautifully. Look at that face, I have no doubt that I made the right choice.

I Don't Want To Write Anymore

Robin Divine — Wed, 06 May 2026 15:31:37 GMT

Gentle reminder: please do not share my work on LinkedIn, thank you.

I am tired of writing.

I’m not done, I have more stories to tell.

But lately it’s become even more painful to share than usual.

I’ve met incredible humans who I’m grateful to have crossed paths with.

With that said, I regret the majority of my time online.

People know too much about my life. But in reality, they don’t know me at all.

And I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something about me (the way I share?) that attracts a certain type of harmful individual.

It’s happened over and over again.

I am not a pet.

I am not a project.

I am not free emotional labor.

But since I don’t know how to extract that piece of my heart, it’s safer to take a step back, stfu and stay to myself.

In other news, last month was hard.

The only parts of my body that aren’t in constant physical pain are my eyelashes and fingernails. Thanks to a kind human, I was able to schedule a doctor appointment. Unfortunately her first availability isn’t until this summer lmao. I’m too damn tired to search for another provider (this one gave me good vibes) so July it is.

Until then, I seriously need an iron transfusion.

I probably need vitamin B and D as well but lemme focus on one deficiency at a time…

As for money last month, I randomly found my old “Black People Trip” Patreon from 2020 when I worked in psychedelics. What do you mean I haven’t posted in 5 years but there are still paying patrons there? There was over $1000 in the account.

That’s how you support a Black creator.

You contribute to their care even if you aren’t consuming their content.

That was the only reason I was able to pay rent.

As for my move abroad…

I have my move date, I have my money goal and I know where I’m headed.

And I’ma keep my mouth shut about every detail.

I’ve learned that even though I don’t talk a lot, I continue to say too damn much.

My ancestors stay concerned at my lack of discernment.

All that to say, I’m still here.

I’m just quietly working behind the scenes to escape this place.

Wanna help? You da best, thank you.

My May list of needs & wants for the Community Care Experiment is here.

(IV iron infusion is my highest priority)

The wishlist for my little family is here.

(Thank y’all so much for the cat food.)

My GTFO “Soft Landing Abroad” Fund is here.

As always, direct Community Care is appreciated.

Venmo: @ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

My next task is to clear out my storage in Ohio. Any support received will go towards gas money (roughly a million dollars) and an Airbnb since I refuse to thug it out and sleep in my car the way I normally do for road trips.

I constantly have to remind myself that I deserve comfort.

And a quick Nico update: thanks to another kind human, he now has an amazing trainer that works with both of our anxieties to help us build trust with each other.

Tell people what you need. Please refuse to drown in silence.

I’m outta here to finish a work project because no one is coming to save me and that’s ok. My creativity will save me.

Ask for help if you need it, support others where you can.

We weren’t meant to do life alone.

(And this isn’t how we’re supposed to live.)

We all deserve better.

Buy Me A Cuppa Coffee

Nico's Story

Robin Divine — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 18:56:12 GMT

Gentle reminder: Please do not share my writing on LinkedIn, thank you.

Our first picture together (Nico’s adoption day)

The April edition of the Community Care experiment has been dusty.

I haven’t had the energy to write and remind folks about it.

My April list of needs and wants are here.

The wishlist for my little family is here.

(Thank you for the cat food and other generous gifts of care.)

And here’s the link to my Soft Landing Abroad (GTFO) GoFundMe.

But that’s not why I’m here.

Let’s talk about Nico.

I adopted him in 2022 because I was lonely.

I wanted a tiny old man pup who could live out the rest of his days wearing sweater vests and footie pajamas, curled up in my lap while I write.

The shelter said they had the perfect one.

I filled out the application. After two weeks, I hadn’t heard back.

I checked in and was told they had reached out to my landlord repeatedly but never received a response. The racist property manager pretended she’d had never heard from them. The lies! (I had copies of the emails.)

They gave their approval but it was too late, Beans had been adopted.

I was crushed.

The agency called that evening.

“We have another one. His name is Trouble, he’s two years old. His owner passed away and he was found curled up beside him. We don’t know how long he’d been there. He’s quiet because he’s grieving. He needs someone to help him heal.”

My heart broke.

I was curious why they named him Trouble. You know what? I’m sure it’s fine…

I picked him up the next day.

He was anxious. I tried to make him feel safe. As the months passed, his personality emerged - deeply fearful, reactive and aggressive.

He terrified me. And, I loved him.

I tried my hardest to learn his triggers.

I found myself walking on eggshells around my emotional support animal.

I took Nico to several local Vets but it was traumatic for us both.

Microaggressions for me (I lived in Ohio) or lack of compassion for him.

Please, I just need help.

The only Black Veterinarian was two hours away.

After she examined him (to the best of her ability) the kind-hearted Doctor sat beside me and gently said “for your own safety, please take him back.” I could see the concern on her face. “The shelter probably knew and hid it from you.”

No, I can’t leave him.

I should have listened but I didn’t.

And so, she came up with a plan: Prozac and a referral to a behaviorist. She also scheduled regular check-ups where we’d both quietly sit on the floor to help him acclimate to the environment. We did this for months.

Eventually he let them trim his nails.

It was worth the drive.

The behaviorist, on the other hand, was a waste of $800.

(I paid my rent late to afford the visit.)

I was told to monitor his behavior and schedule $200 follow-up video sessions.

That was unhelpful as hell.

I wanted to try another specialist but, money.

I naively believed that love, time and drugs would be enough.

Once he feels safe, he’ll be ok. Right?

I now know that isn’t how it works.

The Vet said Nico’s first years were probably traumatic.

Time doesn’t heal trauma - for them or for us.

Three years have passed and his aggression has increased.

I don’t talk about it because it’s painful.

He won’t let me pet him
I can’t make direct eye contact
He can’t be around other dogs
It’s impossible to groom him
And, he bites

I’ve needed a stitch multiple times…

The hardest part is my cats. Don’t worry, they’re safe. (He respects their space.)

Nico doesn’t like physical affection but he also won’t allow Nalo and Mila near me.

I sneak them in the bathroom for snuggles.

I miss my girls.

I’ve slowly accepted that he needs more care than can give.

I started researching how to safely find a home and, it’s bleak.

What do you mean aggressive dogs often can’t be re-homed?
What do you mean training and medication may never work for him?
What do you mean the last resort, compassionate option could be…?

I’ve been crying my eyes out all week.

After another unsuccessful nail trim with my Atlanta vet, we left with a prescription for a heavy sedative, a higher dose of anxiety meds and a referral to another specialist.

This new veterinary behaviorist is the real deal.

Evaluation fee: $725

(This would cost $100 in Mexico.)

I’m tired of living in a country where care is out of reach.

I’m so over having to ask for help…

This won’t be my reality forever but for now, this is where I am - and that’s ok.

If you’re able to support Nico’s wellness (and mine too), thank you.

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

To my sweet boy:

I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt, I wish I could fix your pain. I won’t stop trying. I know you protect yourself out of fear, I’m the same way. I keep picturing our life abroad. We have a home with a backyard where you can play in the garden, smell flowers and chase squirrels. I was able to get you the support you need. You have play dates and vet visits are stress free. If there is person out there who can care for you better, then I understand. You deserve the best life possible - even if it isn’t with me. And if the unthinkable is what’s most humane for you, then find my Mom. She’ll take care of you until we meet again. I hope you find healing, safety and joy - I hope we both do.

Thank you for choosing me.

I love you, Nico.

Buy Me A Cuppa Coffee (or Pup Cup)

Accepting The Suck

Robin Divine — Fri, 17 Apr 2026 21:32:24 GMT

Gentle reminder: Please do not share my work on LinkedIn, thank you.

“It’s demeaning at its highest levels to know my mind can do so many amazing things, but be stuck in a cage where survival takes precedence over creativity, art and world building.”

- A quote from Threads

I am long-winded as hell.

As a result, I often bury the lede for my needs.

The Community Care Experiment continues! (You can learn about it here.)

My April list of needs and wants are here.

My Soft Landing Abroad (GTFO) GoFundMe is here.

The Amazon wishlist for my little family is here.

(A restock on cat food would be really helpful.)

For direct Community Care, please use my payment handles:

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

To share the love and support another Black woman, visit ’s (founder of ) list of needs here.

Alrighty, let’s do this!

Remember the chaotic dental visit where the doctor snatched my emotional edges then told me I had an infection that was about to ruin my life in 10-14 business days?

lol she was right.

I’ve been sick for the last two weeks.

I have the chills, my face is swollen and I have random, sharp pains in my back.

It feels like I’m being kicked. Hard.

Energetically, that tracks.

Life has felt like one punch, kick or slap after another.

It took a minute but I finally realized I wasn’t at the dentist for my teeth. That woman crushed my little feelings and, she lit a fire under my ass.

I have to save myself.

While recovering under my weighted blanket with the heat on in April, I started having conversations (fever induced auditory hallucinations, who can say?) with the person I should have listened to this entire time: myself.

The voice picked up where the doctor had ended…

“I feel stuck.”

Yes, because you trust others more than you trust yourself.

If a person appears to have their life together or they’re successful at capitalism, then you believe they’re smarter than you. You’re quick to hand over your power. When it comes to your life: no one knows what you need better than you.

Also, you’re clear on what to do but you don’t want to do it.

“This is not fair.”

No, it’s not. None of this shit is fair. You deserve people who make you feel loved. You deserve to have your needs met. Your creativity deserves to be generously funded.

That hasn’t been your path. And yes, it sucks. But it’s time you accept it and move forward. Continuing to stay in the disappointment is a choice.

Nurture yourself.
Support your wellness.
Believe in your own ideas.

“I’m trying, I really am.”

Are you?

You’re worn down, I hear you.

Your exhaustion with the world (especially as a Black woman) is valid.

It hurts to say this, but: no one cares.

You want to escape poverty.
You want to relocate abroad.
You want 30k in dental work.

You sure?

You have a Substack paywall but refuse to use it.
You create resources but don’t promote them consistently.
You started a successful Youtube but quit because…strangers were mean?

It’s time to take your life seriously.

Do it crying. Do it tired. Do it enraged.

Take action, I believe in you.

“I don’t feel well.”

I know you’re afraid.

I am scared for you.You need affordable medical care and quickly.You have to leave this country for your health. Your body is failing, you already feel it.

Until then, do what you can: drink water, take supplements, do your bloodwork.

It’s not enough but it’s a start.

You need to be here. (For yourself and the littles.)

“I shouldn’t have to do life alone.”

You’re right. You shouldn’t have to. You deserve safe people.

I can’t promise you’ll ever find them.

But even if you don’t, you’ll be ok.

You’ve never been alone.

Your ancestors have always known your name.

Talk to them. Listen to them for guidance. Go to them for comfort.

If you do find kindred spirits then use your discernment.

Protect yo’ heart.

Do I wanna do any of the above? Absolutely not.

I’m tired of this, grandpa!

But I deserve to live well.

I’m determined to thrive (not just survive) for this cute face.

I love you 5yr old Robin. ❤️

2026 Goal: To only write about poverty and not continue to live in it.

(And escape this trash country.)

Robin's Comfort & Care Wishlist

Buy Me A Cuppa Coffee

Self Care Show & Tell

Robin Divine — Tue, 24 Mar 2026 17:44:42 GMT

*Gentle reminder, please do not share my writing on Linkedin. Thank you.

Let’s talk about the Community Care Experiment.

But first, one of the self-care items I purchased (thanks to your care) was body butter was from Elle Vie, one of my favorite Black-owned businesses.

I’ve been ashy, my mama raised me better than that.

This was the card that came with my order.

“You are allowed to expect good things. Not just survive, not just endure.”

Robin, you are allowed to expect good things.

Thank you, little tin of shea butter. I needed that reminder.

As for the Community Care Experiment, my flabbers are gasted.

A quick review, these are the March expenses that were covered by Community Care:

Rent
Groceries
Phone Bill
Canva, Freepik & Stan Store
Dental Consult
Mental Health (Medication)
Fresh Flowers

I also created a Comfort & Care wishlist on Amazon.

Here’s how my life has changed.

For the past year I’ve only had a bed (gift), TV (gift) and card table with a folding chair. I now have a sofa, living room table, work desk and ergonomic office chair where I can fold myself up like a pretzel while I write. I even added color to my grey space with cozy throw pillows: they’re blue.

As my apartment started to look like a home, I wanted it to feel like one as well. And so, I cleaned up. That may not sound impressive but I’ve been in a downward spiral for months (ok fine, an entire year). I gave no damns about cleanliness. My living space is now fresh, airy and spotless.

I went to the grocery store and didn’t have to edit my list based on my bank account. Two cartons of coconut water, not just one? Don’t mind if I do…

I have a month supply of pet food. I normally go to the pet store every 3-4 days which depletes my limited energy. I’d prefer to purchase cases on auto-ship but that’s a cost I can’t afford. (Being poor is expensive in more ways than one.)

I have routines for the first time in life. Like, ever. My brain stays consumed by chronic financial stress. Workout routine? Skincare? Vitamin regimen? Man, who cares! I’m tryin’ to stay alive. But now? I’m stretching my body, applying SPF and taking liquid iron all before 9am. I’m invigorated instead of overwhelmed. Is this…how life is supposed to feel?

But the changes haven’t only been physical and financial.

I’ve started to (kinda) have space for people.

Texts, emails and notifications used to cause physical pain and make me want to cry. My nervous system was shot to hell. To be clear, it still is - but it’s not as bad. I feel horrible replying after months of radio silence but I honestly wasn’t able to. I haven’t had space to breathe. Now thanks to care from this community, I do.

And of course I have to mention the chaotic dentist visit.

That Black woman told me to cut the excuses, get my shit together then said I needed 30k in restorative work.

I made a community ask for a co-signer and...

…there wasn’t one person who offered, there were two. (Thank you so much)

This is how deeply we can care for each other.

With that said, I may not move forward with the dental work. I’m unsure I can handle the loan payments and save for my move abroad.

Dental health would be incredible but leaving feels urgent.

I shouldn’t have to choose.

Anywhoo, I’ll keep you posted…

Another beautiful part of the experiment was when (founder of SistahCare Alliance) asked if she could try her own experiment.

You can check out her list of Community Care needs and wants here:

Teisha's March Needs

Why yes, yes you can support more than one Black woman at a time…

Black women deserve long lives of rest, health and joy.

As for my joy, I updated my wishlist additional items that support the comfort and care of my little family.

The experiment hasn’t fixed my Cycle of Suck™️ because that isn’t the intention. What it has done is create a safety net of support while I build a solid financial foundation for myself. And, it’s made my life bearable.

I want to be here. I just need it to not hurt so much.

Community Care really does save lives.

As for March, I have a handful of remaining needs:

Robin's March Needs

Direct contributions of care and support for my Soft Landing Abroad GoFundMe are always appreciated.

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

Alrighty, back to work on my next project. I have a healthy new smile and a beautiful life abroad to pay for because as the dentist said “no one is coming to save me.”

And not to jinx it but, I think I like this little life.💙

The Chaotic Dental Visit

Robin Divine — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 14:44:52 GMT

*Gentle request: Please do not share my writing or links on Linkedin, thank you.

Coco - the emotional support Yorkshire Terrier at the dentist

Have you ever been dragged for filth by a Black elder?

Recently I was sent Community Care for a dental visit. (Thank you.)

Since I can’t afford the extensive work I need, I just wanted a new flipper.

Cost: $500.

Dental flippers are a lightweight, removable denture worn after surgery until permanent implants or dentures are placed. They’re typically worn for a couple weeks to a few months.

Mine broke in half two years ago which is why I lack side teeth.

I’ve had it for 18 years.

I searched online for a Black woman who specialized in dental shame.

My appointment was yesterday.

The doctor was 20 years my senior, she cursed loudly and often, she proudly displayed her mixologist certification and Delta Sigma Theta plaque next to her numerous degrees, she wore neon leopard print leggings and had an emotional support Yorkshire Terrier named Coco that sat with me as I signed paperwork.

I am in the right place.

After the exam, she paused.

“What happened?” she asked without judgment.

I shared my usual pathetic story: poverty, chronic depression, lack of quality care etc…

“Do you work?” I could see her brain trying to connect the dots between the put together woman I (falsely) present as and my atrocious dental health.

I’ve seen that look often in medical care.

Me: “I do. I’m a freelance writer but I’m uninsured and can’t afford care.

Her: “Who made this for you?” She held up my flipper.

Me: “My uncle, he was an orthodontist. He was trying to help.”

Her: “Is he still here?”

Me: “No, he passed.”

Her: “Lucky for him because if he was I’d call him and cuss him out.”

Wait. What did she just say?

“He did you a disservice. That was not care. I won’t give you another temporary solution, that would be unethical. There is a dentist who will but it won’t be me.”

She pointed at the screen.

“See this? That’s an infection that’s about to make your life hell in two weeks.”

Cool. Good to know…

“Are you on psychiatric medication?” she asked.

I told her no but failed to mention that I have an appointment in April to start.

There was care in her words but no softness.

“I’m sensitive to mental health issues, I am. But outside of suicide and homelessness, there is no excuse for this. I don’t do excuses.”

My face flushed with anger.

She was unmoved by my circumstances, my story or me.

I wanted to scream “lady, you don’t know what I’ve been through!”

However, I didn’t say anything. She was right.

I’ve been writing Poverty Sucks for 3 years. And, I remain in poverty.

Yes, I’ve been stuck in a Cycle of Suck™️ that I didn’t create.

Capitalism, racism, systemic oppression…

But I’ve also been stuck in the story.

Both are true.

If I’d used my energy to take consistent action towards escaping poverty instead of writing about it and reliving the past, I’d have a completely different reality.

It makes me sick to think about.

I felt the tears start. I quickly began listing the ways I’m trying to improve the quality of my life but she stopped me mid-sentence. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

I felt like a child being scolded.

I had just proved her point that I was stuck in the story.

Her tone softened but she gave no damns about my tears.

“Listen, we can fix this but you can’t wait. I need you back here by April. The cost is $30,000 - I’ll do your ortho for free. You can have a new smile in 6 weeks.”

She took out a camera.

“Smile as though you have the teeth you want” she said.

It took a while for my face to cooperate, it was an unfamiliar feeling.

The screen generated an image of how I’d look after treatment.

For the first time in my life, I had a beautiful smile.

She removed her blue horn-rimmed glasses and leaned back in the chair.

“I know you didn’t qualify for financing. Is there someone who cares about you that can co-sign? A relative, a friend, anyone?”

I shook my head no.

“If you really want this then you’ll find a way.”

She started to clean up while I gathered what was left of my snatched edges.

As we walked to the lobby she stopped me.

“Wait, I want to show you this.”

She cut a long piece of floss and stretched it out.

“Say you live to be 100. You’re already 50, half your life is over.

She doubled the floss.

“Say you live to 85…”

She brought the ends closer together.

“And if you only make it to 60 due to your health…”

She shortened the floss until only an inch remained.

“Do you see? This is your life. We’re all going to die. How you take care of yourself in that time is your choice. No one is coming to save you. You have to save yourself.”

She dropped the floss in the trash.

“Thanks for dragging me to hell” I said.

I sincerely meant it.

“You’re welcome” she replied as she fist bumped me.

“You cool?” she asked.

“I’m cool” I said. (I was not cool.)

I reached for my wallet to pay but she shook her head ‘no’ as she firmly but gently waved me out of her office like an annoyed Auntie.

That was the most chaotic three hour dental visit I’ve ever had.

I hadn’t planned to share that experience but apparently I needed to process it so here we are.

My original intention for writing was to make an ask.

I need a co-signer.

There are three programs available: Care Credit, SunBit & Cherry.

You don’t have to put any money down and you don’t pay unless I default which I would never do. That’s not who I am. And, I don’t want that smoke with the Universe.

I’ll make the manageable monthly payments on time.

If you think “there’s no way anyone would do that” then this ain’t for you.

Please expand your beliefs about the ways we can care for each other.

But if that is you? Thank you. ❤️

Speaking of care…

If this is out of your reach but you want to offer support, you can contribute to my Community Care Experiment. The goal is to help me cover basic expenses so I can free up money and start saving towards my move abroad.

March List of Needs

You can also visit my Amazon Wishlist or ‘Soft Landing’ Abroad GoFundMe.

As always, direct Community Care is appreciated.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

My little feelings remain crushed.

But in six weeks I may have a healthy, confident smile and newfound self-esteem.

Completely worth it.

March Community Care List

The Community Care Experiment

Robin Divine — Sun, 08 Mar 2026 17:28:46 GMT

(A quick request: please do not share my writing on LinkedIn, thank you.)

Long Beach, CA - 2012. I thought I met my forever partner that day but, no. She was just the first person who made me feel loved.

“It’s time to put down the obligations society has put on my life and live for myself.”

-Stephanie Perry

To the relentless, dark spirit that wants to end my life, please go to hell.

Fighting my own brain to stay alive is hard. But, I’m still here.

I renewed my lease.

Thanks to your generous support, I have a home for the next year.

Many of you shared your favorite color or middle name when you sent care. There was even a personalized CashApp note with blue clouds and a silver heart that said “something blue and thinking of you.”

I love this community.

My little family is grateful for your care.

I even had enough money for a haircut.

I’ve had significant hair loss the past year. What’s left is thin graying strands and my curls are no where to be found.

The stylist started by looking at my scalp with a trichoscope. “Oh. Baby, have you been stressed?” “Kinda” I said with shame as I looked at the screen of empty follicles. She put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You did your best. And listen, I’ve seen worse.”

It reminded me of my last dental visit. I asked how many teeth I was missing - 13.

The kindhearted assistant said “Hey sis, it could be worse. It could be 20.”

You know what? Points were made.

After my wispy strands were styled, I almost cried.

“There you are” I whispered to myself.

The past year was rough on my body, I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror anymore,

In that moment, I saw Robin again.

Speaking of the past year…

My time in Atlanta has felt like a failure because I remain stuck in a Cycle of Suck™️.

(As a reminder, a Cycle of Suck is when a person lacks the resources, time or support they need to recover. Don’t try to research it. It’s a highly technical term I made up because I am unserious.)

I happened to stumble on a quote that read “sometimes success is surviving. If you’re overwhelmed, remind yourself that you’re surviving. That can be success.”

I survived last year. That was my success. Job well done, my love.

With that said, I can’t continue to live this way.

My life is painful.

I meant every word of my last post

But no, I deserve to be here and I can make it out of this.

I just can’t do it alone.

The Problem: I don’t make enough money to move forward or save.

My Idea: The Community Care Experiment.

Why? Because these trash systems are stacked against me in more ways than one.

I’ve never tracked my income because it ain’t never enough.

I put out the financial fire that could cause the most harm then move down the list. Recently I was curious, I did the math. Between freelance work, Substack and my Black Business Guides, I make decent money. Who woulda thunk? Community Care acts as a bridge when I fall short. But regardless of how hard I work, I remain financially underwater nearly every month - it’s trash.

Solution 1: Make more money (I’m trying but I’m exhausted)

Solution 2: Reduce my expenses. (C’mon man, I don’t even have furniture)

Since I’m solution oriented, I created my own fix: The Community Care Experiment.

How does it work?

I share my monthly expenses with transparency
Folks who want to offer support choose an expense to cover
My own money is freed up so I can breathe, save and GTFO of this country

A Poverty Sucks Q & A:

Q: What’s your reason for trying this?

A: Because I can’t build physical, emotional of financial stability when I’m depleted. I’ve been treading water for decades. This year I have to make it to land.

Q: How long do I cover the expense?

A: It’s your choice. Cover it for a month, an entire year or contribute when you can.

Q: How do I send payment?

A: You can use my payment handles. Or (depending on the expense) pay it directly.

Q: Will you send reminders?

A: Nope. This is an experiment in care. The goal is to ease my burden, not add to it.

Q: Do you think this will work?

A: We’ll find out together, friend. Everything in life is made up. As the current world falls apart, what if we decided to make up effective systems of care?

We can build this better.

These are my March needs, wants and comforts.

(I’ll share an updated list each month)

If you ever can’t honor a commitment, then please reach out and communicate.

Life happens. It’s ok. Just let a sista know.

In addition to my expenses, there are items for my emotional and physical wellness.

For example: Fresh flowers and eyeglasses.

For the past year, my apartment has been a place to sleep, eat and work.

This year I want it to be a home.

Amazon remains the worst but until there’s a Black-owned version, here’s my 2026 list if you prefer to contribute that way.

Robin's Wishlist (Amazon)

Highest priority: A boneless sofa. (What a ridiculous name, it’s perfect.)

If you see my expenses and feel the need to…

Question my choices (why do you want flowers?)
Suggest a less costly option (move somewhere cheaper!)
Offer a resource I didn’t ask for (go to a dental school for your teeth)

…then I invite you to kick rocks.

This ain’t for you.

To everyone else, can you see my vision?

My hope is that it transforms Mutual Aid from individual, random acts to focused, sustained community impact.

If you already know my heart and want to send love then, thank you.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

Paypal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

You can also contribute to my ongoing “Soft Landing Abroad” Fund

GoFundMe

To close this out, I recently watched In the Blink of an Eye. (Hulu)

A perfect movie? No. A tender story? Yes.

Rashida Jones, Kate McKinnon and Daveed Diggs reminded me why we exist.

- It’s love.

- It’s people

- It’s connection.

It’s you. It’s me. It’s us.

That’s what makes life worth living.

As the quote says “you haven’t met all of the people who are going to love you.”

To the friends, partner and whoever else is on the way, I can’t wait to meet you.

I’m fighting my hardest to stay.❤️

Robin's Soft Landing (GoFundme)

Buy Me A Cuppa Tea

Can You Sit With Me?

Robin Divine — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 15:23:04 GMT

“There you go again…comparing yourself to people who have a solid support system.”

-A quote from Threads

If you can’t handle hard emotions then please skip this post. I am not in a space to manage your feelings or minimize mine.

I am ready for this to end.

Yesterday I couldn’t stop crying.

Nico had a rough day. My check engine light came on. I thought I had worked out my lease to stay but I think it fell through however I’m not sure because the office (who continues to play in my face) is unresponsive and you know what?

Ok.

I’m tired of fighting.

Every part of my life is a battle.

People have limits.

I’ve been past my own limit for years.

I never expected an easy life. That’s not how this human deal works. However, what I didn’t expect is that I’d have to do this alone.

I think I’m a decent person but I’m not sure anymore. Where are my people? Why don’t I belong anywhere? Why don’t I have friends?

And yes, there are folks who genuilenly care about me and I care about them.

But none of them know my middle name or my favorite color.

None of them could sit with me today.

I am lonely in a way that I am unable to describe.

There is nothing left to hold onto, it feels like time to let go.

I wish we lived in a society where a person could say “I can’t handle the pain anymore. Can you help me close out my life with dignity and care?”

But, no.

People are quick to call a wellness check to ease their own conscience but refuse to open their wallets to help you improve the quality of your life.

Ok.

If I had a person, this is what I would say:

Life has taken many of my choices away, I want my final days to be on my terms.
Please help me find homes for my littles. Keep my sweet old lady cats Nalo & Mila together. Nico needs a home that’s patient and gentle. He is still traumatized from his first home. He needs support that I haven’t been able to give him. I kept saying “as soon as I have money, I’m hiring the best trainers for my boy” but that never happened. He deserves better care.
Please help me gently let go of my things. I don’t have much. But what I do have, I care about. Help me find people who will cherish them the way I have.
Please help me leave this country, I do not want to die here. Make sure my Mom and I end up together. Spread our ashes in the ocean, we both loved the beach. I’ve wanted to do that for years but haven’t been able to say goodbye.
Please offer me peace without trying to change my mind. Comfort me when you see fear in my eyes. Reassure me when you hear my voice shake.

And because capitalism sucks, I continue to need money - even at the end.

I need to pay back a loan to a kind human.
I need to clear out my storage unit in Ohio
I need a one way ticket to a beautiful place.

You’re not supporting my end.

You’re contributing to the softness I deserved while I was here.

The best way to help is Community Care.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

Paypal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

And since I’m a delusional triple fire sign, here’s my GoFundMe.

Life is unpredictable in beautiful, unexpected ways. You never know…

If funds aren’t used towards moving abroad then they’ll be used on the above.

I have a thousand details to untangle but, not today.

Ending a lifetime of pain should not be this hard.

Today I want to work on my Black-owned puzzle and drink my Black-owned tea.

And to leave my tiny mark on the world…

My middle name is Lynn and my favorite color is blue.

It’s kinda comforting that someone knows that now.

Thank you for taking the time to sit with me. ❤️

It's My 50th Birthday

Robin Divine — Thu, 11 Dec 2025 16:42:29 GMT

A letter of appreciation to myself….

You made it to 50, little one. I’m proud of you.

You’ve had more hard years than you deserved but this one? It cut extra deep.

Your Mom died at 49. You’ve spent this year wondering if you would too.

Between chronic stress and ruthless ideation, I wasn’t sure you’d survive - but you did.

I’m really glad you’re here.

Most days I know you don’t want to be.

And that’s ok.

But please, listen.

You’re here for a reason and it’s not to serve or teach.

You do beautifully at both. However, that isn’t why you’re here.

You’re here to find joy.

You’re here to live for you.

You’re here to love your life.

You’ve lived five decades of your life prioritizing others over yourself. Of course you’re exhausted and ready to quit. You were born to a family of broken branches who taught you their harmful ways. Your direct bloodline has never known happiness.

And that, is why you’re here.

The move abroad will be good for your heart.

You picked a location that’s overcast and rainy on purpose. You plan to wrap yourself in blankets in front of your fireplace and hide away from the world forever. It’s understandable, you’ve been so hurt. You want to protect yourself. You want to feel safe for the first time in your life.

I hear you, I do. Take all the time you need.

But please know that isn’t where you’re meant to stay.

One day you’ll wake up to your life.

You’ll want the sun and the ocean. You’ll want to walk the streets to buy fresh flowers. You’ll decorate your home with vibrant colors instead of muted grays.

Your home will reflect the light you carry.

As for other people? One day they won’t hurt.

I don’t mean you won’t be disappointed or have your heart broken - you will.

Instead, basic human interaction won’t cause you physical pain anymore.

I feel how harshly you berate yourself when you pull away.

Your nervous system is shattered, it has been for decades.

Please be easy on yourself.

The move will transform every aspect of your life.

I know you’re doubtful that it will happen.

The money isn’t there and the support feels minimal.

But trust, it will.

There are unseen forces at work that will unfold in your favor.

Steady your spirit. Hold the Vision. Prepare your heart.

As for your Mom, she’s proud of you.

She never felt joy here but you will.

Take her with you as you build a life you love.

She’ll be there. (She always has been.)

And for the first time, you’ll be there for yourself too.

Happy Birthday, Robin. You are loved. Job well done.

Thank you for sharing today with me.

I plan to have a quiet day, I want to read and drink tea.

As for my move, it feels stuck. The resources I need for the next steps haven’t found me yet. I’ll continue to hold the vision that abundant sums of money appear from unexpected sources with harm to none.

Birthday contributions to my “Soft Landing Fund” are appreciated.

Venmo:@ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

Please live your life for you.

We’re privileged to exist as this version of ourselves once in a lifetime.

What a gift - make the most of it. ❤️

With love,

Robin

I'm Too Sensitive For Life

Robin Divine — Sat, 05 Jul 2025 12:35:27 GMT

Last night I re-shared a post from Memorial Day 2024. Within minutes, I lost 3 paid subscribers. I deleted it with a quickness. The only reason I know is because Substack instantly shares stats when you open the app. I can’t stand it because I don’t wanna know. I’m aware that my numbers are pitiful, you don’t have to shove it in my face.

People leave everyday for their own reasons (the same way I do) but my brain takes it so damn personally. Then I ruminate and spiral and make apologies for my existence…

It’s the same when it comes to my work - it barely sells. It’s probably because I’m terrible at promotion but again, my brain defaults to “no, it’s because what you create sucks and everyone hates you sooo….”

Please, why are you so mean to me?

Then there’s human interaction. I’m unclear how to people.

The quick check-in text, the email, the video chat…

My brain 100% hyper fixated on every word before and afterwards.

I sounded like an idiot.

Oh no, was that offensive?

Ugh, I should have said it that way.

Sometimes I wait to respond until I find words that feel ok and before I realize it, a month has passed. Then I’m too embarrassed to write back and I look like a flake. But if you’ve ever reached out to me please know that your name is on a colorful post-it note in my home regardless of how long it’s been.

I really am trying.

The kind-hearted butcher who I asked for a hug? I wanted to invite her for tea. It took me a week to text her. This is what I wrote:

“Hi Pam, happy Friday. Would you like to have tea one day?”

That took me an entire week.

She wrote back but didn’t answer my question and now I feel extra dumb.

Robin, I hate you. You ruin everything.

I want to hide but the loneliness is painful too.

I have no clue how to exist.

I can’t even care for my own basic needs.

I have heaps of work to do today but I don’t care. My brain is stuck on how I messed up in my text and what I said wrong in my post. The truth is that I didn’t mess up or say anything wrong but tell that to my heart. And it’s deeper than “I feel like I do life ass backwards.” I genuinely feel like who I am as a person is defective.

I despise how trauma and neglect have hard-wired the beliefs I have about myself.

It’s makes me sad because I’m actually a decent person.

Please be easy with folks.

Many of us are carrying heaviness that isn’t ours but we aren’t able to put it down even though we really want to.

~Robin

Buy Me A Cuppa Tea

I Want A Mom

Robin Divine — Wed, 11 Jun 2025 14:32:34 GMT

Hey there.

Heads up - another hard read.

Kay, thanks.

Every month I buy one slice of honey maple turkey to give my pup Nico his meds. The butcher is a beautiful, older Black woman who wears a fresh flower on the side of her hat.

Yesterday I went to the store hoping to see her - she was there.

I was nervous. It took me a while to gather up the courage. By the time I walked over, the pint of ice cream I was holding had melted.

My voice was shaking as I rambled out the words. “I know you don’t know me but every time I come here you’re always so nice and I’m having the worst day and I don’t have people and I feel really awkward asking but can you spare a hug?”

She didn’t say anything.

She took off her gloves, walked around the counter and put her arms around me.

“Oh baby, what happened?”

I sobbed until I couldn’t catch my breath.

She pulled me in closer as I cried.

What had happened was…

Earlier that day I self-injured.

I knew it was about to happen. I’ve tried so damn hard to ignore the voice screaming at me. But overwhelming financial stress, constant emotional despair and heavy loneliness finally won. I needed relief. People have limits.

I really tried to fight…

I’ve had everything neatly organized on the table for two weeks.

One razor blade. One roll of gauze. One large band-aid.

I was just waiting for the moment that would push me over the edge.

Yesterday was the day.

Afterwards, I needed extra gauze - this one was rough.

I went to the cabinet and my supplies were gone. I stay stocked up. But now, it was empty. I sincerely believe whomever watches over me was like “nah” and disappeared that shit.

But I still needed gauze which is why I headed out.

That’s how I ended up crying like a lost child in the arms of a stranger.

I’ll be 50 in December.

Bold of me to assume I’ll survive until then. We shall see…

At my big age, the one thing I want most in life is a Mom.

I had a Mom (love you, miss you) but she wasn’t the nurturing parent who was a soft place to land. She was an exhausted, unsupported Black woman trying to keep a child alive by herself.

Now I’m an “adult” (but kinda a kid) who just really needs care.

I want a Mom.

It makes me sad that in this society, I’m ashamed to admit that.

Which is wild because, why?

Unmet basic human needs don’t disappear because we get older.

In a healthy society, there’d be a space of elder women where I could cry, scream and be held in the safe embrace of community.

But instead I’m out here fighting for my life and asking my butcher for a hug.

Thanks, I hate it.

To wrap this up -

Please hear me when I say I’m tired of writing traumatic ass posts. I’m a ridiculous, unserious, light hearted person who just wants to eat delicious international snacks and read cozy mysteries.

But at the moment, my reality is a dumpster fire.

And since I write about my life…

It’s been a craptastic start but I still feel like this is the year I finally escape my Cycle of Suck.™️

I can do this.

2025 Goal: To only write about poverty and not continue to live in it.

(And to be held.)

Poverty 101 - A Refresher

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Leave Poor People The Fuck Alone

Robin Divine — Sat, 15 Mar 2025 13:11:19 GMT

Monday Blues by Annie Lee

Paywalls suck. But you know what sucks even more? Poverty. Your subscriptions help me survive as I try to write my way out of a lifetime of lack. Want to read what I’m about before you invest in my wellness and my work?

Dear Mom, I’m Glad You Aren’t Here

White People Don’t Think About This (But I Do)

Or a recent post Boycott Like A Black Woman

Don’t wanna subscribe but you do wanna support?

You can send a cuppa care via Buy Me A Coffee.

Is $7/month not in the budget because capitalism is trash?

Email me, I’ve got you - no questions asked. iamrobindivine@gmail.com

Already a paid subscriber? Grateful for your support, thank you.❤️

Or maybe you know someone who could use a subscription to Poverty Sucks? That relative who believes poor people just need to work harder?

Send a gift subscription to help them be less terrible…

2025 Goal: To only write about poverty and not continue to live in it.

Let’s talk about why you should leave poor people the fuck alone.

‘Tis me. I’m poor people.

Here are three harmful experiences I’ve had while minding my damn business:

In 2021 I was hired as a freelance consultant and was paid part of my fee in stock shares. Last year a former co-worker reached out and said the stocks could be cashed out in a few months ($15,000) and he’d handle the transaction. I was shocked. First because of the amount and then because I had forgotten about them. That was about to be my “relocate to Mexico” money. I just knew my entire life was about to change.
As the months passed, his email updates consisted of bullshit excuses about why it was delayed. That life changing $15k crossed my mind every single day. After six months I decided to cash it out myself. Multiple brokers told me they were actually worth $3,000 and were garbage penny stocks that no one wanted to work with.

I know he meant well but I really wish he’d waited until he was sure.

Take the loss. Onwards and upwards…

I once posted on LinkedIn that I crowdfund for survival because my monthly basic expenses exceed my income by $1500. A connection reached out in January and said “In April, I want to help alleviate the deep pressure on you. I’m telling you ahead of time so you have something to work toward and something to raise your hope. This isn’t an empty promise.”

This isn’t an empty promise.

Back then I worked 10 hour days delivering food for Uber Eats. Each morning I’d say to myself “In a few months you’ll have space to breathe, just hold on.” My exhausted (but hopeful) self counted the days. I started to feel physical relief in my body as April approached. The month came and went - I hadn’t heard from her. When I reached out to gently check in she said “something came up.” That’s fair, life can do the most. But did it come up yesterday? You couldn’t give me a heads up?

Life happens. Keep it movin’…

A few days later I received a delivery from my Amazon wishlist. It was a sofa from her with a note that said “doing what I can.” Know what I would have preferred? Clear communication. Nah, you can’t buy your way out of accountability. Know what I did with the sofa? Sold it on Craigslist and purchased my own that I could sit on without sucking my teeth in disgust at her lack of consideration.

3. Later that year, I posted another need on Linkedin.

This time, it was emotional - not financial.

I need someone to hold me.
I need someone to make me soup.
I need someone to sit on the sofa while we read.
I need someone to let me cry without trying to fix it.
I need someone to listen to my hurt without saying a word.

Why yes, I do overshare on that platform…

A connection DM’d and said “I can do that.” I cried as I read those four words. We talked openly about any fears or hesitations - this was a risk on both sides. Her fear was that she would hurt me. She flew out the next day. We had a tender visit (with soup we made!) and before her flight that evening she said “I can come back next weekend.” And she did. In fact, she flew out every weekend for months. And no, it wasn’t romantic - however, I did catch feelings. I’d never been that deeply seen or heard in my entire life. But she didn’t feel the same way. We talked honestly and our friendship stayed in tact.

At her next visit she said “I know Mexico is the goal. But what if I pay for an apartment in my complex? I have an extra car you can use. All you have to do is focus on writing and resting - what do you think?”

We’d…be neighbors? We could…have Sunday dinners? I’d have a real life…friend?

Oh. My heart.

My entire life I’d ached for a person who wanted me around.

It felt too good to be true - because it was.

I drove down to visit and it went well. I said yes.

I gave her my SS# for the application and headed home to pack up my life. The next day I received a short text saying I was a risk to her job (say what?) but we’re ok (smily face.) I never heard from her again.

ROBIN, YOU ARE AN IDIOT.

Baby where is the discernment? The ancestors are concerned.

Which brings me to my recent experience.

In July a long time Substack subscriber reached out with an offer. He was applying for a grant to create a program that would serve individuals experiencing poverty. If selected, he’d hire me as a consultant for 10 hours/month at $100/hour to share feedback on his idea.

A $1000 every month to teach about poverty? I can do that.

But the details were sketch and the updates were minimal.

Last month I received dates for a required training - let’s get to work!

Then he invites me to be an apprentice in his program - Ok, I guess.

Then he says he’ll be my coach and, wait…my coach?

He’s a decent dude with business savvy. My own skills suck - who knows, maybe I’ll learn a few tips to help me escape my own Cycle of Suck.™

But what about the consult job, man?

At our Wednesday session I directly asked.

“The program I’m in, is this the one you hired me to consult on?”

His eyes darted back and forth as he searched for an answer. “Yes” he said slowly.

“So, I’m not a consultant - I’m a client? In your poverty program?”

He hesitated. “This sounds bad but, you’re my project. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you.”

I’m your project? I’M YOUR PROJECT?

And the worst part was “I’ll still pay you.”

Lemme stop you right there - this isn’t about the money.

I sent an email to end our communication, blocked him and refunded his yearly Substack payment because sir, who in the hell do you think I am?

But what hurt even more was the realization that he didn’t see me as a person.

People aren’t projects.

Had he been above board with his intention (and not called me a project) I would have been open to the support.

The common theme in these experiences is that everyone involved could have left me the fuck alone.

With that said, I sincerely believe they had good intentions.

(Maybe not the apartment lady, that shit was diabolical.)

But the rest of them are kind hearted humans.

And yet, that doesn’t minimize the pain I felt. Impact over intent.

Your good intentions can still be harmful as hell.

What did you say, what harm did they cause?

They gave false hope to a person already on the edge of hopelessness.

And they hurt my little feelings.

It breaks me when I think about their lack of consideration and care.

For anyone curious, yes - they were. (And wealthy)

And it’s a safe bet that none of them recognized the power dynamics involved…

Here are a few tips to minimize harm when you feel called to help:

Can you for real show up or are you just trying to look/feel good? Check in.
Thought you could but now you can’t? Renegotiate.
You can but don’t want to anymore? Communicate.

This ain’t gotta be hard.

Poor people have been let down, told nope and disappointed our entire lives - we can handle it.

Respect our humanity, please tell us the truth.

The way that $1000 a month would have made such a difference…

To close this out, since I believe in wealth redistribution (and paying this Atlanta rent) I welcome contributions of Community Care. And my bank account is absolutely overdrawn hundreds of dollars.

Why do I even exist?

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

Take care of each other out there, we’re all we’ve got.

#PovertySucks

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I'm About To Relapse

Robin Divine — Sun, 02 Mar 2025 01:47:58 GMT

Revenue from Substack helps to sustain me as I attempt to write my way out of a lifetime of poverty. If you have the means, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription which supports my survival and continued creative work.

Whenever my life feels unstable and chaotic, I shave my head.

It’s one piece of my reality I can always control.

Before I start, if you don’t have space for heaviness then please tap out here…

I am 5 minutes away from shaving my head.

I’m in such deep pain that it takes my breath away.

Earlier I went to the drugstore to buy razor blades and was annoyed that I couldn’t find them in the first aid aisle. It took a minute to remember that people don’t often use them the way that I do.

They shave their legs, they cut their hair…

…I cut myself.

I’ve self-harmed since I was 15, the last time was in April.

Damn. I almost made a year.

But I deserve it.

And it’s not “I deserve to be punished.”

Instead it’s “I deserve relief from the constant pain.”

Every part of me hurts. This is the only way I know how to make it stop.

I sincerely believe any hardship can be faced if you have at least one of the 5 P’s.

People - Your blood or chosen family. The ones who make you feel whole, accepted and seen. The folks who love up on you when you can’t love yourself. Please understand, I have people who love me down. I feel the same way about them. But at the end of the day, there’s no one I can call and say “can we sit together in the quiet, can I lay my head in your lap, can you please hold me?” We need four hugs a day for survival. My last hug was Thanksgiving when a kind friend in Ohio brought me dinner. I am touch starved and desperately lonely.
Person - Your partner (or partners.) I was in a play in High School called the Curious Savage. My character, Mrs. Paddy, hated everything in the world. Each monologue was an extensive list of each specific thing she hated. During the play she bonds with someone - which is unexpected as her hatred extends to people as well. One of my final lines was “I hate everything in the world…I hate everything in the world but, I love you and I wish you wouldn’t leave us.” I want my person. I want someone who I love and who loves me - a person I can face the world with. And while I crave partnership, my teeth (the remaining ones) are in shambles from decades of poverty and I’m too ashamed to date.
Place - Your home or a city, the space where you know you’re meant to be. I’ve never lived in a place where I felt at home. Mexico remains the goal. With that said, I’m painfully aware that anti-Blackness is global. I don’t belong anywhere, I probably never will. I continue to question why I exist.
Passion - What you’re here to do. As for me, who knows. I love writing and creating. But at nearly 50 years old, I’ve yet to figure out how to sustain my life with either. I don’t even mean excessive wealth - I’m talking the basics of life. I’ve been in my new apartment for two months and I have a bed (that was gifted to me) and a card table. For fucks sake Robin, is this the best you can do?
Pet - I’ve often heard people say “my life is trash but thank goodness for my pet because they make it worth it” and, huh. Can’t relate. I’ve had my little old lady cats Nalo and Mila for 10 years. I love them with all my heart. They tolerate me. Then there’s Nico. I adopted him a few years back for emotional support. I requested a little old man dog who wanted to spend his final years curled up in my lap. When I went to visit, he was reserved. They said he was just sad from the recent loss of his owner. They neglected to mention that he was aggressive, unsocialized and would eat your face if you attempted affection. My little guy is more traumatized than I am. He’d probably thrive without me, to be honest.

We each need someone or something in our life that makes the bullshit bearable.

I can’t check any of those boxes. And I’m poor? I can’t even buy comfort.

C’mon, man.

Why in the hell do I fight to stay alive?

But then I think, maybe one day I’ll be ok.

I want to know how that feels…

Maybe I’ll find a way to fix my teeth then I can date and kiss beautiful women. Maybe I’ll even find a partner who wants me.

Maybe one day I’ll have the financial stability to relocate my little family to Mexico and can afford the support Nico needs to live his best carefree life.

Maybe I’ll figure out what purpose my words and creativity have in the world.

Maybe I’ll find the people who light up when I walk in a room.

But I have to stay here to find out.

And right now, the only thing helping me hold on is the pack of razors and butterfly stitches neatly laid out across from me as I write this.

My hope is that I’ll wake up tomorrow and my heart won’t be as heavy. Perhaps I’ll throw everything in the trash and then I’ll be a day closer to my 1 year anniversary.

But if not, that’s ok.

I’ll extend compassion to myself, I’m tryin’ my best with what I have.

I’m unclear how to end this except to ask for what I need.

(I wish I could ask for a hug.)

If you have Community Care to share, I’d be grateful. Rent is due and I have no clue how I’ll pay it.

Venmo: @ divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

Robin, why are you like this? Please get your shit together.

I swear I’m trying. I am! But my spirit is weary.

I wanna go home except that place doesn’t exist.

If you have your own need then please make it known to those who love you.

There really are people out there who care. (even about me)

Last Writes

Robin Divine — Mon, 30 Sep 2024 15:57:55 GMT

A picture from 2021 when I lived in my car with my two cats, Nalo & Mila

There needs to be an end of life service for people who don’t have anyone. A database where you can upload your final wishes and a kind human, one who understands the pain of a lonely life, will make sure they’re honored. I think it should be called Last Writes because those are the last words that we’ll share with the world.

I came up with this idea when my Mom passed away.

She didn’t have family or friends but she had me.

I honored her final wishes which were written on looseleaf paper
I gently packed her treasured record collection with love and gentleness
I saved her favorite books - the earmarked ones filled with notes in the margins

I did my best to be a good steward for her.

Recently I’ve started to plan the end of my own life.

I purchased When I’m Gone: A Simple and Thoughtful End of Life Planner. It’s only available on Amazon but this was the one I wanted - I appreciate simple. But please be clear: we support independent Black Bookstores every damn day over here.

Why have I started to plan for my death?

Because life feels bleak and hopeless.

I want to live but not like this.

This is not a life, it’s daily crisis management.

Why do I feel hopeless?

Because I’m a Black woman who lives in chronic poverty. Because I’ve never had a solid support system. Because I exist in a society that wasn’t built for my survival and only values my labor, not my life.

Oh. And I am very, very bad at capitalism.

I can’t figure this shit out to save my life and I’ve tried for decades.

I feel exhausted and out of options.

I’m grateful that I’m not afraid to die. My only fear about death is that is that I’ll be as lonely over there as I am here.

Can I cease to exist in any form? Is that an option?

As for my own last wishes, it barely took me an hour to write them out.

Please take my body out of racist ass Ohio and cremate me literally anywhere else
Donate any items of use to families of the Black Fairy Godmother
As for my ashes, scatter them in Mexico - bring my Mom too. I’ve tried to spread her ashes several times but could never let her go.
My adorable little old lady cats, Nalo and Mila. I’ve had them for over ten years, they need to stay together. Mila is the sweetest and will melt your heart. Nalo will hurt your feelings on a daily basis. Please take care of my girls.
Oh my sweet traumatized Nico. He doesn’t need an owner - he needs a Kahu. In Hawaiian, a Kahu is a beloved attendant, steward or honored guardian. Please love him exactly as he is. He’s been so harmed, be gentle with my boy.

Then reality set in.

It occurred to me that no one would read my final wishes.

Who would know the book existed? I’m alone.

My littles would be taken to a shelter
My apartment would be cleared out by a junk company
My unclaimed body would be placed in a basic random grave

No, I reject that. I deserve a good death.

This is where Last Writes would step in.

It could work like this:

I’d list Last Writes as my beneficiary
I’d upload my final wishes to the database.
Upon my death, I’d be matched with a “next of kin”

Last Writes would use my life insurance to cover the costs of my final wishes and give a monetary gift of appreciation to my attendant.

This could be a final act of community (after life) care.

I’m grateful for the beautiful work of Death Doula’s such as A Sacred Passing.

However, their purpose is to create a peaceful transition. After that, the family or their community carries out the last wishes.

Last Writes is for those of us who don’t have anyone.

This idea is close to my heart as my own time feels limited. You don’t have to believe me, it’s ok. I’m close to homelessness for the fifth time in my adult life and I refuse to live in my car again. I refuse to live in my car again.

I’d rather end my time here.

And thank you for your kind offers, but no. It wouldn’t help to temporarily stay in your spare bedroom while I figure life out.

I need money.
I need healthcare
I need affordable housing
I need to care for my basic needs
I need to move to Mexico for my safety

I need a miracle.

And while this situation feels impossible, the spirit of my ancestors continue to remind me of the truth: there is always a way even if I can’t see it.

I desperately need resources to relocate - temporarily to Atlanta and then to Mexico.

My apartment has been packed, I could leave in a week.

Goal amount: $5000

($2000 for moving expenses and $3000 for a month in an AirBnB)

I’ll figure out the rest once I’m there…

To send Direct Community Care, please use:

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

Life is such a precious gift and I want to embrace every moment. I truly believe I can create a beautiful reality, one beyond my own imagination!

But I can’t do it alone. I’ve tried so damn hard and failed.

I need help.

Please know that once I make it to the other side of this oppressive existence and I’m writing my Poverty Sucks book on a beach in Mexico, I’ll pay every ounce of kindness and support I’ve received forward.

And for real, I’ll find a way to create Last Writes because we all deserve someone.

We weren’t meant to do life alone.

Share Poverty Sucks

Why I'm Poor

Robin Divine — Mon, 23 Sep 2024 19:33:29 GMT

Image courtesy of @cocktailsandcapitalism

*A reminder the Funds for Palestine guide with 100’s of verified campaigns and Mutual Aid organizations to support can be downloaded here or by clicking the image.

Let’s talk about poverty facts that suck!

Did you know that poverty is the 4th leading cause of death in the US and that according to the Poor People’s Campaign there were 295,000 deaths that resulted from long-term poverty in 2023?

My friend Lori Yearwood was one of those deaths.

We are not numbers, we are humans who deserve to live full lives.

I don’t want my own life to be a statistic in 2024 but my chances feel bleak.

As a person who lives in chronic poverty, it chaps my ass when people make assumptions about our situations.

For example, they assume we’re poor because:

We aren’t intelligent
We’re bad with money
We need to spend less
We’ve made bad life choices
We’re lazy and need to work harder

Damn, the way y’all hate us…

But fine, let’s discuss.

- We aren’t intelligent.

Do you know how resourceful you have to be to survive with no social safety net in a society that wasn’t built for you and that doesn’t value your life? Please be serious

Resourced people couldn’t last a week below the poverty line.

What did you say, you could?

Prove it.

Play SPENT.

If you make it to the end? Contribute to a Mutual Aid fund.

If capitalism takes you out? Contribute to a Mutual Aid fund.

Them’s the rules.

- We’re bad with money.

I’m phenomenal with money. My problem with money is that I don’t have any.

We need to spend less

Alrighty, let’s take a ride.

My credit is trash.

(Credit scores are racist as hell but that’s not why I’m here.)

5 years ago my car broke down. I was an Uber driver and needed to replace it with a quickness since that my income. Carvana was the only place that approved a loan.

I purchased a 2013 Honda Civic (Bluebook value: $6,000)

The predatory details:

My car payment is $450 per month
The interest rate is 23%
I’ve made payments for 4 years.

Total paid to date: $21,600

Oh, but wait! I have 2 years of payments left.

At the end of the loan I will have paid $32,400 for a raggedy 10+ year old Honda Civic.

*Again, the car is worth $6,000*

This should be illegal.

But I just have to budget better - is that right?

It’s expensive as fuck to be poor.

We’ve made bad choices

We absolutely have! People with terrible options make terrible choices.

*Please see above*

We’re lazy and need to work harder

Here’s a quick overview of my own “apathetic” work history.

-In high school I worked two jobs at 15 years old.

-During undergrad I worked three jobs every single year.

-After college I worked in corporate for 10 years. (I regret every second.) One day I woke up and realized I was over worked and under paid - can you believe it? I’m playin, of course you can.

I attempted to find another job but my brain felt…broken.

My thinking had slowed down, I wasn’t able to process information and I couldn’t comprehend basic instructions.

My cognitive ability was in decline.

Unhealed childhood wounds, poverty trauma and untreated c-ptsd had started to impact my ability to function. My entire life had been lived in survival mode. I’d never had the resources, time or support I needed to recover.

Trauma doesn’t just disappear, babe.

*insert several months of homelessness and living in my car*

I knew I had to be resourceful if I wanted to survive.

Here are a handful of ideas I’ve created over the years to help me not die:

Choose Happiness (an online community)

I created inspirational posts, merchandise and self-published a (really terrible) book!

Your Divine Driver

When the pandemic hit, there were folks in my community who needed rides but wanted extra safety precautions taken. Since I was already an Uber driver, they reached out. I created a viable business that served the community and covered my expenses. Later that year my rent increased because, capitalism. I closed up shop and moved to a less expensive state.

Easy Writers Course

I hosted writer retreats and created a program for authors on how to self-publish.

I looooved this one! But It needed more time…

Black People Trip (An online space for the Black Psychedelic community)

I curated two melanated playlists that featured psychedelic music by Black and African artists, I created an “ad campaign” to destigmatize psychedelic use in the Black community and I started The Black Psychedelic Equity Fund to cover costs for psychedelic therapy and education.

Then the racists found us.

They mass reported the community that I’d built for two years, had my account banned and threatened my safety. They warned me not to start any new spaces or they’d target me again.

And that’s my time, folks! My psychedelic career was over.

I despise that they won but I was worn down and didn’t have any fight left in me.

A lifetime of racist bullshit will do that to you…

But back to my ideas. Every single one of them had potential.

However, the problem with poverty is that I don’t have the luxury of time. My life of chronic urgency hasn’t allowed me space to nurture my creativity.

Rent is due NOW. That bill is due NOW. Find a solution NOW.

If an idea fails then I have to move on quickly or my life falls apart even further.

And today, I have my Poverty Sucks Substack and (brand new!) Patreon.

But after a year of writing on this platform, it’s started to feel like another failure.

In the last 30 days I’ve had 120 new subscribers! 2 were paid.

I’ll always fight to keep my head above water but it’s tough to hold on these days.

I is tired.

All that to say, please tangibly invest in creators from the global majority.

Those you learn from.
Those who inspire new ideas.
Those that serve the community.

Don’t just consume our content, contribute to our care.

I once read a quote that said “it’s hard to be a light when you can’t keep the lights on.”

And yeah, that part.

My personal ask as a creative?

If you’re a current free subscriber who values my content and you have the resources, then I invite you to upgrade to a paid subscription.

Want to learn about Mutual Aid and how to build a new society? Join the Patreon!

Want to send a cuppa coffee of support? You da best, thank you!

You can do that here.

2024 Goal: To only write about poverty and not continue to live in.

This post was lengthy as hell but my point was this: Poor people worker harder than you will ever understand.

To close this out, poverty isn’t a moral failure of the individual. Please understand that it is a function of our society that was created on purpose. The system isn’t broken - it works exactly as intended.

This can’t be fixed. But for real, we can create it better.

#PovertySucks

Share Poverty Sucks

Let's Talk About Suicide Prevention

Robin Divine — Wed, 11 Sep 2024 21:10:20 GMT

Chile, I have pneumonia.

Because I am unserious and believe that every illness I experience is the result of stress induced racism, I asked the ER physician if stress could cause pneumonia and she said “actually, yes.”

MA’AM PLEASE, I WAS JOKING.

Poverty can go to hell.

Let’s talk about suicide prevention beyond safety contracts, wellness checks and crisis lines.

I exist in a state of suicidal ideation.

And it isn’t because I want to die.

I actually wanna live - just not like this.

I lack true community
My health is in shambles
I’ve never had financial stability
I have chronic unmet basic needs
I’ve been housing insecure for decades

This is not a life, it’s daily crisis management. Why would I want to stay?

Ok fine! I’m severely depressed too. However, I could live with that.

But to be depressed while I live in poverty, am constantly worried about staying housed, can’t care for my health and I have to face it on my own?

There are days when I want to put down the heaviness forever.

I can’t even afford the tiny comforts that make life bearable - it sucks.

This is why ideation stays tucked in my own back pocket.

But since I’m always about that resource life, here are a handful of ways (I believe) you can support a person who may want to end their life.

Find out why

Outside of therapists, I’ve never been asked why I’m suicidal. People are afraid to talk about it because that…makes it real? Or perhaps it’s because we live in a violent, colonized society where we’re deeply disconnected from our own humanity and the emotional lives of each other.

Who can say?

As for me, I need money. That’s it.

I don’t need therapy, a crisis line or a safety plan. I need resources.

lmao, I’m playin.’ I absolutely need therapy.

You know what I mean.

2. Don’t wait for an ask

If you know a person is already on edge emotionally and they’re overwhelmed with financial challenges, childcare, running errands, making meals or any basic need, then don’t wait for an ask to offer support.

Wait, hold on. Consent.

Consent in Mutual Aid is important.

If you already have an established relationship, hit up their payment handles
Want to help out with groceries? Find out their food preferences and allergies
Unsure what would be helpful? Ask!

This ain’t gotta be hard.

3. Wellness checks - just say no.

One day I plan to write about why carceral wellness checks are hot trash but today ain’t that day. All I’ll say is this: your well intentioned wellness check could end my Black life. I’ll leave it there.

If you just have to make a call, try Don’t Call the Police - a directory of community based alternatives in your city.

*Please do your own due diligence on the crisis lines provided.

Want to share a warm line with someone without causing further harm? Say less.

Image c/o Inclusive Therapists on Instagram

Feel free to share any additional harm reduction based resources you know of in the comments.

About to head out of here and start on my next project which will hopefully (?) help me build a stable income, relocate out of the country for my safety and sanity and help me take care of my health after decades of poverty induced neglect.

Or, mayhaps I’ll take a nap.

I deserve rest too.

If you’re a current free subscriber who values my writing and you have the means to purchase a paid subscription, then I invite you to upgrade. This Substack is my attempt to write my way out of chronic poverty and create an easeful life.

Another way to tangibly invest in my content is to join my Patreon.

To send a coffee of support, please use the Buy Me a Coffee link.

2024 Goal: To only write about poverty and not continue to live in it.

Every paid subscription helps move closer to that reality.

#PovertySucks

Reasons I've Cried In August

Robin Divine — Wed, 21 Aug 2024 16:25:12 GMT

There’s a short video that lives rent free in my head.

In this clip (2 min) renowned author Toni Morrison speaks about how during the civil rights movement, white mothers in the South would violently push over school busses of Black children.

They were children.

She continues by saying she can’t imagine a situation where she’d be able to convince Black mothers from any walk of life to take that same action towards white children.

I believe this statement continues to hold true on both sides.

The date has changed. However in many ways, the hate remains the same.

My random thoughts on the racist history of this country…

But that’s not why I’m here.

Let’s talk about a handful of reasons I’ve cried in August.

I saw a father and baby at the park (the child was alive and their limbs were intact)

I heated a pot of water for tea and thought about Sonya Massey

I remembered that slavery was real and there’s never been accountability, emotional repair or financial reparations

Click here to watch a breakdown by Black History educator SunnyDaeJones

I reconciled with the truth that I may never make it to Mexico to create a life of rest, ease and safety simply because I lack money

Generations of Black people have made the choice to leave for survival

I thought about the reality that as a poor Black woman who lacks an in person community, I’ll likely die alone and unclaimed

A Black woman called me ‘love’

I heard a beautiful piece of violin music and thought about the gentle face of Ralph Yarl
Click here to read about the recovery of this gentle human

(Another video on this topic by the brilliant Sunny Dae Jones because I can.)

My heart ached at the knowing that I’ll never have children (I turn 50 next year - I really wanted to be a Mom)
I put on a hoodie one chilly day and thought about the smile of Trayvon Martin

Trayvon, we will continue to speak your name and honor your light

I accepted the fact that my life will presumably be cut short by poverty, racism or weathering

Click here to read my recent “f*ck, I’m having a heart attack” Substack

These are a handful of moments that made me weep this month, I’m certain they’ll be others.

Lastly, if you’re in search of a deeper way to learn from, engage with, and invest in my writing then I’ve created a Patreon. *jazz hands* Please don’t be fooled by the enthusiasm - I is tired. I am on the edge of a mental health crisis resulting from chronic financial and emotional stress that makes it hard to breathe.

However, the violence of capitalism demands that I create or die.

This is not how we are meant to live.

Join the Patreon community here!

On that note, lemme wrap this up and start that next piece…

If you’re a current free subscriber who values my content and you have the means to upgrade then please do.

If you’re unable to subscribe but want to offer support, you can buy me a coffee here.

When it comes to Black creators, don’t just consume our content - contribute to our care.

#PovertySucks