Last year, as I was about to turn 50, my life unraveled faster than I ever imagined it could.
I had waited a long time to find love — maybe too long. After a few tragedies in my younger years, I wasn’t sure I’d ever marry at all. But then, I thought I found my person. I worked hard to build a marriage that would last, the same way I’d built everything else in my life: with loyalty, effort, and heart. But just a couple of short years later, it became clear that the marriage was falling apart, and I was headed for divorce.
A few months later, in October, just one month before my 50th birthday, I got another blow — my position at work was being eliminated. The job I’d dedicated 25 years of my life to. The place where I started at the bottom and worked my way up to General Manager, giving it everything I had, often putting the company and others before myself. My official end date: January 3rd.
At 49, separated and soon to be unemployed, I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.
I used to think hard work could fix anything. But what no one tells you is that sometimes, the system isn’t built for you to win — no matter how hard you try.
At first, I told myself it would be okay. I had a severance package, some savings, and a solid résumé. I’d spent decades managing large teams, leading operations, solving problems, and supporting others. I figured this was just a reset — a chance to do something new.
So I started my own business, PrettyBeeShop.com, an online store built from scratch. I even enrolled in digital marketing and web design courses, determined to make it succeed. And for a while, I believed it would. I was working harder than ever, learning new skills, and doing everything right — again.
But reality has a way of humbling you.
My business wasn’t making enough to live on, so I started job hunting — slowly at first, because I thought I could afford to be selective. After all, I’d been earning over $100,000 a year and had a lifetime of leadership experience. Surely I could find something at $80,000. Maybe $70,000 if I had to.
Nope.
Months passed, and the silence from applications grew heavier. So I widened my search — different fields, lower salaries, remote or not, anything that seemed viable. Ten to fifteen applications a day. Dozens of cover letters. For a while, I tried to stay positive. But then came the rejections. Or worse — the silence. No calls, no interviews, no explanations. Just nothing.
And with each unanswered application, another little piece of confidence slipped away. Every “thank you for your interest” email was another blow to the ego, another reminder that somehow, my years of experience and hard work suddenly didn’t count for much.
Now, without a miracle, I’m just inches away from being homeless. My unemployment is gone. My severance is gone. My savings are almost gone. I’ve done everything I can — applied everywhere, reached out to everyone, tried everything — and yet, here I am, holding on by a thread.
What makes it harder is reading the comments online — people talking about “lazy” Americans living off the system, saying, “They should just get a job.” And I want to scream: HOW?
How do you get a job when you’re applying to 10 or 15 every single day and can’t even get a call back? How do you survive when most of the jobs that do respond don’t even pay enough to cover the rent, never mind groceries, gas, or insurance?
I don’t get SNAP benefits, but I’ve read the things people say about those who do — the judgment, the cruelty, the complete lack of understanding — and it kills me. Because I am one of the “hard-working people” everyone claims to admire, and I’m basically begging for a chance to work. People should be careful about what they say. You never know when it could happen to you. And if you’re lucky enough to have the kind of money that means you’ll never have to worry, then count your blessings — and don’t judge those who do.
I don’t live in luxury. I rent an apartment in Fall River and drive a Kia. And yet, if I were offered a job today making $60,000 a year — I couldn’t even afford to pay all my bills. I did the math. It would take two paychecks just to cover my rent.
That’s the human price — the cost of doing everything right and still falling behind. The cost of being told to “work harder” when you’ve already given all you have. The cost of being judged by people who don’t understand how quickly life can change.
I couldn’t fix the system, but I could tell the stories. I could start by shining a light where others turned away. And maybe, if enough people began to see what I’ve seen, we could start to shift what it means to survive — and to care.
I share this not because I have all the answers, but because I know I’m not alone. So many people are living this same story — one paycheck away, one job loss away, one unexpected turn from seeing everything they’ve built slip away.
This is why I created The Human Price.
To tell stories like mine — and yours.
To remind the world that empathy matters, and that survival shouldn’t require sacrifice.
Because the truth is, the human price isn’t just mine — it’s ours.
đź’¬ If you’ve ever been where I am…
If you’ve ever been where I am — starting over, holding it together, or just trying to breathe through uncertainty — I’d love to hear your story. You’re not alone here. This is a space where honesty matters more than perfection, and where being human is enough.