There have been many times in my life where I was vulnerable. Dictionary.com defines this as, "(of a person) in need of special care, support, or protection because of age, disability, or risk of abuse or neglect." Synonyms are: helpless, defenseless, powerless, impotent, weak, susceptible. During those times, my community was also small; sometimes, it was only my small family and maybe a co-worker, or a church.
As a single mom, an injured returned Peace Corps volunteer with no home or job, and also as a child, I have known vulnerability. By United States definitions, I grew up in poverty. We utilized government assistance, the help and goodwill of grandparents, and community non-profit clothing and toy closets, especially around the holidays. I really appreciated what we had. My four siblings and I rarely enjoyed food from restaurants, never went on vacations, and looked forward to grandma taking us back to school shopping for clothes, and the Indian commodity supplies that came right before school started. We piled into the backseat of an Oldsmobile when we went to church, before the days of car seats and boosters. While I never feared where my next meal was coming from, my mom has shared with me that she did. My parents stretched everything all the time, made all our meals from scratch. Poverty is exhausting. No money for a babysitter or a nanny to give you a break. Even if you are blessed with a home, a vehicle, as many are not, there is the constant maintenance and care of that home with no cushion of a savings or extra insurance. No money for medical or dental insurance. I was fourteen years old the first time I visited the dentist.
Visiting the library as a child was one of my favorite activities. I always got as many books as the library allowed, because I was a curious and voracious reader. For me, it was a nice quiet place (my home was never quiet; I am the oldest of five, it was filled with children!) that had brightly colored carpets, fun reading crannies, and so, so many books. I had no idea that the library was also a place for homeless individuals to come inside to get warm. Or the only place where someone could use the restroom. Or, that the library staffer may be the only person someone interacts with in a day. But, as an adult librarian, I have seen in different cities and towns, and even different countries, that we serve individuals in so many different capacities, not just intellectual. I take very seriously my duties to be the conduit of information, help people discern between fake news and legitimate research and publication, select appropriate items for our community, but also to be part of the continuing service of giving back and building community.
For me, the last part is probably the hardest. It's easy to sit in an office with a computer, internet connection, books and spreadsheets. But putting myself out there with real people, never knowing what they are bringing or might need in a particular situation, that's hard. Learning some techniques for helping people in crisis is somewhat helpful, having strong policies and procedures in place to keep it fair and access equitable for everyone is helpful. But, having confidence in yourself to be able to handle whatever life is going to throw at you, that's hard. Knowing that I'm not very good at it, but that I'm actively working on it, putting myself in different situations to keep trying, that feels good. Joining a professional committee and setting up scenarios, like the donation campaign for the homeless population in Winston-Salem, that's helpful. Not everybody is ready to put themselves, their time, into causes, but they are happy to give money. We need all of it. Time, care, prayers, money. People are needy. Myself included, and there are times when I can give more than I need, but many when I need more than I can give. From one vulnerable person to another, thank you for your service.
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