Karen Whitman Article

A Need for Pride- written by Karen Whitman

In 1988 I separated from my husband. Seven years of a challenging marriage had left me
somewhat unsure of any contribution that I could make to the world. At the time of our
separation I was 29 with two small children. One child was still breast-feeding, and the other
not yet in school. My husband and I had just claimed bankruptcy from a failed business
venture. With no job, money or credentials other than a high school diploma, I thought I had
missed the boat to a decent future. It would take a full year to work through the haze of
transition to see that life still held opportunities for me and my children. It was a tough year,
which made me feel more shame than pride with my life. The only way to survive was to get
financial help from the government. "Mother's Allowance" is what it was called at that time.
The term was a stigma in itself, and caused me to feel ashamed. I had and still do have, a
strong sense of pride, and I dearly needed some at the moment.
At first the money was a relief, as I wouldn't have to move and I was happy to tell my mother
that "yes, I can take care of the kids". But the regular visits and probing questions from the
social service worker became a humiliation. She always came in the door with a smile but her
eyes were looking everywhere but at me. Looking for signs of a man, of money, of broken
rules, every question had the underlying intention of determining whether I was cheating the
taxpayers. "Has your husband seen the children? Where has he been living? Has he given you
any money? Why NOT?! When are you going to divorce him? I knew it was time for the next
step, to change my circumstances so I wouldn't be obliged to answers such intimate questions
to a complete stranger.
There were other women in the townhouse development were I was living in the same boat as
me. Some of them terrified me and some of them inspired me and all of them I noticed, were
looking for another man to get them out of their circumstances. The ones that terrified me
looked like old pros to the system. Embittered by a stagnant life, abandoned dreams and lost
hope. Their hair was dull and matted, their voices deep and raspy from the constant stream of
cigarette smoke swirling in and out of their lungs. They would walk down the street in track
pants so old that you could no longer distinguish what the original colour or shape had been;
tops so baggy that the whole side of their torn, graying bras could be seen clumped
underneath. "Hey girl" they'd rasp "You seen my brats anywhere?" followed by a flemmy
cough. "I tells ya, when I get my hands on 'em they's gettin' an ass kickin". It would make me
freeze when I happened upon one of those encounters, and I always managed to make some
senseless statement making me want to run and hide…if I could only unfreeze myself.
I was also a little scared of the women that inspired me too. They seemed strong and confident
and always busy doing something. They were going to school or working or going on dates.
They had friends coming and going all the time and their kids were polite and friendly, neatly
dressed. They had their dreams, they were pretty and I thought that they would be the ones
that would show the way! I watched all of these women; the worn out ones and the still strong
ones change their lives and dreams at the drop of a hat with the appearance of a new man. For
a while it seemed that they had it all together, I envied them and felt somehow less than them.
But then, the man would go and they would fall apart for a while and then start rebuilding their
lives anew. It seemed to happen over and over again. I couldn't help but ask myself if all wasn't
adding more problems than solutions to change the man again and again?
Before we separated, I told my husband that being a wife and mother wasn't enough for me
and tried to explain that I felt the world was calling to me to do more. I wanted to be out there
being a part of it all. My husband was deeply offended by my feelings and I felt the crush of
walls closing in tighter on me.
Now that I was freed from that resistance I was not so eager to be with someone else to reign
me in again. So onward it was, where to I didn't know, but what I did know was that at least for
the time, I was going to be alone. It was about this time that it occurred to me that if I were to
fulfill my desire to be successful, independent and to participate in the world I would have to
actually do something about it. It was during lunch with a friend that the idea of school came
up. It didn't take much thinking to realize that this was my ticket. Within days I was registered
in the community college for the Business Accounting program. It was late in the season, and
I was told that the program was full but was fifth on the waiting list. If someone dropped the
program I would be accepted, so I waited, knowing that I would be accepted.

I continued to enjoy the freedom of the summer, knowing that once fall came and I was in
school, life would change dramatically. I didn't have a car at the time and the college was on
the other side of the city. It would mean some mornings I would be getting the kids out of bed
at 5:00 a.m., carting them off to the babysitter and catching the first bus of the day to make
the 8:00 a.m. classes. But I was eager, the call finally came from the college saying that there
was an open spot in the program. Life surged through me again and hope filled my heart. The
details of babysitters, bus schedules, class schedules, and all the details of life as a single
mother fell into place and a new chapter of life had begun. I was there in the moment relishing
the challenge and beginning to dream of the new doors that would open. I felt power surging
through me again and for the first time in a while felt a sense of pride.