I've had this essay written for months. I pitched it to XOJane, Salon, Slate, Gawker, I can't even count the others. Radio silence.
I never published it here because I just had this feeling that the story was one that needed to be seen (not that people don't read here, they do, but you know.) So I held it. I held it and held it. And my friends would ask me for the link to it whenever there was welfare wank going on via Facebook or Twitter, but I never let it go and they had to rely on their own retelling of the anecdote.
The tale of the time I had to drive my husband's Mercedes to the WIC Office.
When I pitched this to the Washington Post, I went through their Op-Ed department which told me that it was a good story. But not good enough. Still, they might have some room for it, over at PostEverything.
And lucky for me, they did.
The story has gotten so much play that they moved it up to above the fold. I, for a time, was the top story on the Washington Post's homepage.
They want to publish it in the print paper, too.
The story is personal. In fact, it's almost too personal for so much attention. But it's important.
The lesson is: believe in yourself. Do your thing. Eventually, someone will see you. Eventually, the story will be told. Keep walking. Never stop.
You are worth it.
