Freya Gillette, a single mother from Texas, has faced an impossible choice in the last few weeks as her budget has been stretched to the limit: buying either diapers or food for her two-year-old son.
The 37-year-old runs a small home care company in her neighborhood and is training to be a phlebotomist, but still relies on food stamps to get by. Now, even that lifeline has been taken away as she has become one of an estimated 41.7 million Americans affected by the abrupt pause of the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP).
“He gets himself worked up into a tantrum because the thing he’s used to having… I have none to offer him,” Gillette says of her son. “He doesn’t understand that I’m not saying ‘no’ to be mean, but because there are none that I can afford.”
“It breaks my heart, and stresses me beyond my limits, to listen to him cry over something so small that I cannot fix,” she tells TIME. “Those are the most trying times in all this, because it makes me feel as if I am failing him.”
Read more: Why Are Democrats Voting to End the Shutdown? Here’s What Guided Their Thinking
The battle over SNAP, also known as food stamps, has been playing out both in the courts and Congress amid the longest government shutdown in U.S. history.
Even as a deal to reopen the government looked close after eight Democrats struck a deal with their Republican counterparts on Monday to pass a temporary spending bill, the fate of SNAP payments was still uncertain as the Trump Administration was appealing a court order to release November’s payments in full.
That uncertainty has made life difficult for Gillette and many like her. When her SNAP payments were cut this month, she had to divide what little money she had among food and bills. She says her family has been able to help out, but she’s not sure how long they can keep going if the shutdown carries on.
The same is true for Kat Bogdon, 37, from Buffalo, New York. She was laid off in early June and had to turn to food stamps. The shutdown has made her nervous that she could lose that, too.
She now feels panic every day as she rations the creamer for her morning coffee. Could she maybe use a little bit less? Could she use milk instead?
“Daily things that are normal feel like luxuries,” Bogdon tells TIME. “It almost feels like a bit of dignity and a bit of choice—a lot of choice and autonomy is stripped away from you.”
Read more: Why Are Democrats Voting to End the Shutdown? Here’s What Guided Their Thinking
“I tell myself over and over, ‘It’s going to be okay, I’m going to be okay. I can just dip into savings. I have a family that can help,’” she says. “It’s not an end-of-the-road situation for me, but it’s still incredibly stressful that a program that I pay into [with] my taxes, that when I need it, can be stripped away from me at any moment in time, just for political theater.”
Bogdon was among the lucky ones amid the chaos. A back-and-forth has ensued in the courts over the past few weeks as the Trump Administration has fought federal orders to release emergency funds to pay the benefits, leading to an unequal distribution across the country.
Amid the chaos of federal orders and appeals, about 20 states had started the process of dispersing full “food stamp” benefits before the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) ordered them to stop or be “liable for any overissuances that result from the noncompliance.” Bogdon received her full SNAP income of $140 a month over the weekend, although other families have not been as lucky.
‘It hurts a lot’
Nina Amen, a 38-year-old mother based in Stark County, Ohio, gets emotional as she discusses the current political situation and the negative portrayal of people who rely on food stamps.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but it just hurts a lot,” says Amen, who is on disability assistance and cannot work. (More than half of U.S. households experiencing food insecurity have at least one person working full time, according to the USDA.)
Amen receives an average of $367 a month for herself and her 14-year-old daughter, but that amount alone is not enough to cover food costs amid rising inflation and broader increases in grocery prices reported since the pandemic, so she supplements her SNAP benefits by visiting local food pantries. She also tries to help others who don’t have their own transport get to the food banks.
Nina Amen, a 38-year-old mother based in Stark County, Ohio. Courtesy the subject
“I feel pretty powerless, which is frustrating, but I wish I could help people more,” she says.
More than 50 million Americans similarly rely on food banks and pantries for help, although these centers are also feeling overburdened. Last week, Ohio food pantries recorded a surge in need, as federal workers went over a month without pay. Food banks across the country purchased nearly 325% more food during the week of October 27 than at the same time last year to meet demand, according to Feeding America.
Amen says that she’s noticed food banks are giving out smaller amounts of food, presumably to meet the increased demand. And even with that additional help, Amen says that her local pantry often does not provide refrigerated items, such as milk, that she deems essential. “In my area, it’s rare to find something refrigerated, like milk. “Thankfully, I’ve been okay. People started helping us stuff like that, so she hasn’t gone without milk yet,” she says. “[But] I’m very hurt. I don’t understand it at all. I can’t comprehend it.”
Amen received her last SNAP payment on October 5. If the shutdown isn’t resolved and her payments don’t resume, she’s not sure how long she can keep relying on others for help.
“I don’t know how long people can help me, you know?” she says. “There’s people I love, like other people in my support group, for example, that are thinking about putting themselves in dangerous situations just to get food.”
Gillette, Bogdon and Amen all say they have felt hurt by the public backlash to people on SNAP that has emerged from the shutdown and debate over food stamps.
“People in this country seem to believe that those of us on SNAP are just sitting on our rear-ends doing nothing and milking the system for as much as we can get,” Gillette says. “I wish that were true! I work 30 hours a week, while raising a toddler all on my own with no help, while also schooling myself for a career change to better support myself and my son.”
Bogdon’s difficulties throughout this month have caused her to think of her grandmother, a Ukrainian refugee who fled the Holodomor—a man-made famine in Soviet-era Ukraine—and grew up in an orphanage.
“Her mother died young from pneumonia and her father was an alcoholic,” she says. “I think of her a lot as I navigate a broken system and society that seeks to shame you for accessing the basic necessities. She received social services, and her and my grandfather made a good life for themselves here.”
