I’m a struggling single parent and I’m terrified of Kwasi Kwarteng’s policies

On the third day of driving the hire car while my own was being repaired, I ran out of petrol. With no money in my account to pay for any more, I felt like I’d hit a brick wall.

I sat in the car and cried. ‘What have I done to deserve to struggle so much just to exist?’ I wondered to myself.

It’s a feeling I’m having increasingly as someone who is barely getting by, and last week’s mini-budget looks set to make it worse.

I’ve always worked, and tried to achieve better for me and my 11-year-old daughter, but my circumstances have never been easy.

At 49, I’m a single parent because I had no choice after my relationship broke down when my little girl was three. 

I live in a rural area of Northern Ireland where jobs are poorly paid and public transport is few and far between.

I lost my job six months into lockdown and so had to move onto Universal Credit. Thankfully, in January this year, I found work again as a SEN classroom assistant for 30 hours a week. But the terms of my job mean I only get paid for the 29 weeks of the year that the school is open – and we close for nine long weeks in July and August.

This summer was particularly difficult. My last wage packet was on 15 July and I’m not due my next wage until mid October. 

My July wage was already strictly budgeted to last me right through to the end of August to pay my rent, and all my bills for the summer. 

And even though I’ve remained on Universal Credit to top up my wages, the way the system works means the amount of money you receive in one month is based on the amount you were paid the previous month. 

So because I had my July pay, the amount I received in August was very low – even though I had no wages then. 

We’ve had virtually nothing to live on. I haven’t been able to afford to take my little girl to the cinema or even for a trip to one of our nearby beaches. 

I also had to try and purchase a school uniform for her new secondary school. I get a grant from the Education Authority due to my low wage but, at just shy of £80, this didn’t even cover the cost of the blazer. If it wasn’t for my mum – who knows how much I struggle and offered to help me out – I don’t know what I’d have done. 

I had to access food bank support twice over the last two months because I just couldn’t make my income stretch far enough during August and then again in September. It was incredibly hard to ask for this help and I felt sick to my stomach as I picked up the phone to say I couldn’t feed my child and I needed a food donation. 

I work, I grow my own small veg and we eat home-cooked meals as often as we can. Yet, it’s still not enough. 

I feel ashamed, like a failure – but I also feel anger and resentment. We don’t all get or have access to the same opportunities. 

I believe this shouldn’t be our shame, it should be the system’s shame.

But with last week’s mini-budget, the Government looks set to remain shameless.

The talk of pushing people on benefits to work more hours or face benefit sanctions fills me with fear and frustration: there’s tax cuts for the rich and threats and punishments for the poor, who need help more urgently than ever.

The mini-budget likely won’t improve my life or opportunities, it’s not ‘levelling up’ my community.

I’m scared that rises to mortgage interest rates will mean my landlord might put my rent up. I simply can’t afford to pay any more and there’s no social housing in my rural area so that would leave me homeless.

The Government doesn’t understand the everyday realities of poverty, and what that means for people who are already in work, but still struggle to get by.

Where I live, there are no bus routes to my place of work at the times I need it. This means that having a car is not a luxury but an essential item in my life.

On the day I ran out of petrol and broke down in tears on the road, I had to get a family member who works from home to drive out to me and put some petrol in the car and borrow yet more money. It’s degrading.

I am working, but costs keep spiralling. I’m trying my best but I feel like I’m stuck in a vicious circle.

I have to listen to and read comments about people in my situation from politicians, on the media and even social media. ‘They don’t work hard enough’, ‘They don’t want it bad enough’, or ‘Sure they can smoke and drink and go on nice holidays.’ 

It deflates me and fills me with a sense that I mustn’t be trying hard enough – even though I’m constantly trying hard. I’ve just finished a diploma in Community Development and I’m about to start a degree in Economics and Social Policy. 

Community is in my heart, but when all it pays is a minimum wage, I’d still be reliant on Universal Credit.

I want better for my life and that of my daughter. I tell her to look abroad for work as I see very little potential for children from low-income households in the UK.

But it doesn’t have to be like this. 

With other parents and carers living on a low-income, I’m part of Changing Realities, a project trying to improve things for families facing poverty. I came across it by accident on social media and – having been involved for over two years now – the people I’ve met are astounding, with such compassion for a more equal society. 

People from all across the UK with the same concerns about money but different lived experiences coming together, building bridges across communities. Working with them, my confidence has soared. 

Things can and should be different. It’s about time our government realised that.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

MORE : Kwasi Kwarteng insists he’s ‘sticking to the plan’ despite mini-budget chaos

MORE : Keir says Rupa Huq’s ‘superficially’ Black comment about Kwasi ‘was racist’

MORE : Kwasi Kwarteng’s mini-budget was so dire the IMF wants him to look at it again