I was laid off last Friday. I found out as I was leaving for the day. In a week of panic because of the growing COVID-19 pandemic, I can’t say I was surprised. But it still hit me hard. I love my work, instructing a course at a community college in Kansas City, helping people learn skills like how to use Microsoft Word. I took myself home and began to organize my thoughts.

It’s been a week since I was laid off, and I’m angry. Whatever initial sadness and shame I felt is gone. Now, I’m just furious. My husband, Derrick, is out of work, too. We have no idea how we’re going to make rent next week.

By no fault of our own, we are being pushed to the brink. We’ve been here before — we were homeless for six months last year after my second cancer diagnosis — and I don’t think I could survive another loss. My thirteen-year-old son, AJ, definitely shouldn’t have to.