Who Feels It Knows It: Walking Through the Shoes of a Caribbean Single Mother Living in Poverty

In Grenada, there is a common proverb that, without being told, we instinctively know the meaning of. That proverb, it turns out, is replicated in almost all cultures around the world. Different words, but the meaning remains the same.

In Africa, the proverb says, "Only the pot knows how hot the fire underneath it is." In China, they say, "The person drinking the water knows whether it is hot or cold." In Russia, it is said, "The full man does not understand the hungry man." Can you guess the Caribbean equivalent to these proverbs? If you guessed "Who feels it knows it," you are correct. Walk into your boss's office and demand that raise! It’s quite obvious you are the brightest spark in the room!

And I can—but I will not—bet my last dollar that there isn’t one of you who will stand in disagreement with any of the proverbs cited above. As a matter of fact, many of us can tell stories and cite evidence to validate the authenticity of such statements.

But I have learned that humans have the capability to exist in duality. Hold fiercely two opposing positions, thoughts, or streams of consciousness at the same time. You see, while believing wholly in the proverbs, the reality is, it is impulsively within the human nature to judge. We make judgments all day long based on people's looks, personalities, relationship status and the reasons for it, reasons for their economic prosperity or lack thereof, etc, etc, etc.

One only has to look at the comment sections on social media posts to see the conviction with which we hold judgments. Especially negative ones.

I came across a few most recently, in response to a post about a mother of seven who was crying out, asking the public for assistance for herself and her children. The responses were savage. It ranged from where the fathers of the children were, to why she had so many children, the importance of birth control, and people bearing the responsibilities for their actions. Some even detailed the woman's whole life history—birth, parentage, education level, relationship history, etc. I mean, I doubt a BBC journalist facing the breadline could do better coverage of the woman’s life story.

And so, it prompted me to do further investigations of stories similar to the woman of seven across Caribbean media houses, and the comment section seemed to be the same. Every judgment on earth. Few stopped to ask, "What can I do to help?" We forgot the proverb we hold dearly as a fact. We all profess to believe "Who feels it, knows it," yet we are often the first to judge people whose pain we have not experienced.

Seeing the passion that this topic causes among the citizenry of many Caribbean islands—and I suspect around the world though I have no empirical evidence to prove—I decided to keep in mind the proverb "he who feels it knows it" and without judgment have conversations with women like the one featured above to capture the essence of life's story.

You see, behind all these savage comments, the underlying question that is not being addressed is: why are you in this condition in life? How did you get to this? Could you not see your decline and put a stop to this? Why explain why. You see, people—well, some people—are always more in a position to understand if they can grasp the reason for a movement.

A woman may choose to go back to her husband who cheated on her whilst on a business trip if she understood the sexual hunger he felt. Uhhh, I can't say the same for men towards women, but that is a different conversation. We may be quick to forgive and stand by a pastor who fell from grace if he was to be real and frank about the struggles he faced. We may even forgive our family members for leaving our name out of the will if we understood. No? I've gone too far? Ok, well, I guess not everything is forgivable, but you catch my drift.

So let us unpack this topic that seems to stir most of us up into a fiery frenzy.

WHO FEELS IT KNOWS IT: THE STORY OF SUSAN DELGARDEZ

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Susan is not a real person. She is a composite character created from years of observations, conversations and stories shared by many women. No single life is represented here. Rather, Susan embodies circumstances and experiences common to countless women whose voices are seldom heard and whose lives are often judged before they are understood. Artificial intelligence was used as a writing assistant to help organize and shape this narrative, but the experiences, themes and emotional truths reflected in this piece are rooted in real human stories. The purpose of this series is not to excuse, condemn or romanticize. It is simply to understand. Because who feels it, knows it.

Broken women still love.

Susan cannot remember her father. Not really.

What she remembers are screams, licks, slamming doors, the smell of rum, her mother crying and men. Always men. Men being hurried out of the house in the dead of night. Men arriving with promises and gifts. Men leaving with neither. There was Uncle Randy, then Barron, then James and Hosten. None of them were really uncles.

Many evenings, Susan sat outside in the darkness with her younger brothers and sisters waiting for Mommy to come home. If there was bread, she made bush tea and bread. If there wasn't, they drank the bush tea alone and pretended they weren't hungry.

People looking from the outside saw chaos. Susan saw something else. She saw a woman stretching the last dollar until it screamed. She saw tears shed when Mommy thought the children were asleep. She saw exhaustion. She saw fear. And she saw love.

Broken women still love. Poor women still love. Tired women still love.

Her mother tried. Lord, she tried. And because she tried, she warned.

"Man wicked." "Don't let no man fool you." "Don't bring no belly here."

The words came harsh, not because her mother hated her, but because fear was the only language life had taught her. From a child, Susan swore she would never become her mother. Never. She saw the trickery, the humiliation and the tears and judged. She did not understand. Not then.

School brought little comfort. Children can smell poverty. They noticed the washed-out uniforms stained yellow with perspiration, the empty lunch bags and the same shoes every day. Children can be cruel.

Teachers looked at her with pity or frustration. She hated both. Susan wasn't stupid. She had a brain. She could count money, sell, reason and speak. But books mocked her. She listened to the other children read and wondered how they turned strange marks on paper into meaning. It seemed like magic.

She tried. Lord, she tried. But after years of falling behind, she stopped reaching. It hurt less that way.

Sometimes there was no bus fare. Sometimes there was nobody to mind the younger children. Neighbors complained. Truancy officers came. Eventually, Susan found herself in a home. People said it was for her own good. Perhaps they meant well.

But inside that home, she became a file, a number, a statistic. Nobody cared for her quite the way her mother did. Not perfectly, but fiercely. And despite everything, her mother fought to bring her back.

Because broken women still love. Poor women still love. Tired women still love.

Even wounded hearts hope.

By thirteen, boys had begun noticing Susan. She had been told she was beautiful before. Mommy had said it often. "yuh pretty, yuh know!." But mothers are supposed to say such things.

Then one day a boy said it. Not the way Mommy did. Different. He said it as though he meant it. As though she mattered. As though she were precious. And for the first time in her life, Susan felt chosen.

She resisted. Oh, she resisted. She had seen too much. She knew the stories, the tears and how these things ended. Being with boys was something to hide. Besides, her mother's warnings had always sounded more like threats than love.

Nobody had explained healthy relationships. Nobody had explained loneliness. Nobody had explained what it means for a soul starving for affection to finally feel safe.

The boy was kind. Gentle. Patient. He listened. He laughed with her.

And Susan found herself standing between two worlds. Fear on one side. Longing on the other. Fear of becoming her mother. Fear of making a mistake. Fear of being alone.

But beneath it all was a deeper hunger. The longing to be held. The longing to rest. The longing to believe someone would stay. And the soul seeks safety.

Resist as she might, Susan caved. Not because she was foolish. Not because she had not been warned. But because even wounded hearts hope.

Oh, how she believed them.

At fourteen, Susan became pregnant. Her mother was furious, not because she hated her daughter, but because she saw history repeating itself. Harsh words were spoken. Words neither would ever have the chance to take back.

Because not long afterwards, her mother died.

And suddenly everybody remembered. Not the years of struggle. Not the sacrifices. Not the tears. No. They remembered only to blame.

"Susan kill she mother." "That pregnancy stress the woman out."

The same people who had watched. The same people who had never helped. And Susan believed them. Oh, how she believed them.

She cried by her mother's grave. She talked to the dirt. Begged forgiveness. Asked questions no one could answer.

She was fourteen years old. Pregnant. And alone.

Her brothers and sisters scattered. Some went to relatives. One got lucky and found a fresh start. Another received help. And life moved on. Because life always does.

Perhaps Mommy wanted this too.

By eighteen, Susan found herself back in her mother's old house. If one could call it that. The boards were rotten. The roof leaked. Buckets stood permanently beneath certain corners.

But it was home. And she had a son. And despite everything, she still had dreams.

Then came Michael. Kind. Gentle. Helpful. He repaired the rotting boards. Patched the roof. Played with her little boy. And for the first time in her life, Susan felt proud. She had a family. Or so she thought.

Then she became pregnant again. Michael promised marriage. Promised another room. Promised uniforms. Promised forever. And for a little while, he kept those promises.

Then one day he drifted away.

And what broke Susan's heart wasn't that he left. Men leaving was familiar. No. What broke her heart was that she had believed. For a little while, she had believed. And hope has a terrible way of making loss feel fresh every single time.

Not recklessness. Hope.

Years passed. Another man came. Then another. Not monsters. Broken men carrying wounds of their own. Men with promises. Promises to help. Promises to stay. Promises to send the children to school. Some meant it. At least in the beginning.

Two children became three. Three became four. Four became five. Then six. Then seven.

And every child came wrapped in hope. Not recklessness. Hope.

Tonight or tomorrow.

People spoke about birth control as though Susan had never heard of it. But clinics often had none. And when they did, even small costs competed with food.

Survival creates cruel mathematics.

Bread or bus fare. Milk or medicine. Contraception or dinner. Tonight or tomorrow. And tomorrow usually lost.

People looked at Susan and saw foolishness. Susan looked at herself and saw exhaustion.

What they mistook for hardness was armour.

Years hardened her. People called her loud. Callous. Careless.

What they mistook for hardness was armour. Armour forged by disappointment. Armour forged by shame. Armour forged by people.

Love became secondary. Survival became everything.

The same fear she once saw in her mother's eyes now belonged to her.

Then came the knock. Truancy officers. Questions. Police. And suddenly Susan saw her own childhood staring back at her. She could lose them. Her babies.

The same fear she once saw in Mommy's eyes now belonged to her. Desperate, Susan reached out. She begged. She called for help. And by chance, the media passed by.

They knew the ending.

That evening, Susan watched herself on television. And she cried. Because this was not the life she had imagined. Not at fourteen. Not at eighteen. Not ever.

But tears do not feed children. So she hardened herself. Like steel.

And while neighbors whispered, soon the whole country whispered too. They knew how many children she had. They knew the fathers were gone. They knew the condition of her house. They knew what she should have done.

What happened to you?

What they did not know were the nights she cried by her mother's grave. The dreams she once carried. The promises she believed. The hunger she survived. The shame she swallowed. The prayers she whispered.

They knew the ending. But not the story.

And somewhere beneath the armour, beneath the woman the country thought it knew, lived the little girl who drank cocoa tea for supper and sat outside in the dark waiting for Mommy to come home. And she still held on to one foolish hope. That one day someone might ask, not, "How could she?" but, "What happened to you?"

Because who feels it, knows it.

Clinical breakdown: Removing the emotion

If you are like most people—this story may have tugged at your heartstrings, it may have caused you to shed a tear or just reflect on the people and faces you know who have been through similar experiences. If you are a bit abnormal—like me… you may have needed lots of tissue paper to clear the mucus that developed in your nose from an abundance of tears. Or perhaps you view the story as an abundance of excuses and believe it or not that is okay likewise.

My job is not to sway your opinion but rather to explain why.

So let me clinically remove the emotion from the case. Through my conversations and observations with women facing these conditions, the following are the recurrent themes that shape most of their experiences. Note well: about 90 percent of women experience all these factors, not just one or two.

1. Many of them grew up in abusive households, with father figures either missing or not active. They were never shown or educated about what healthy love looks like. This has a severe long-term impact on relationships in the future. Psychological personality theories on the topic show that it directly shapes an individual's attachment style where they unknowingly choose partners that reflect the toxicity they experienced in childhood and it affects the way that they themselves love and experience love.

2. Many experience cycles of extreme poverty. First, I would like to describe the difference between financially struggling and being poor, because many people confuse the two. We all struggle; poverty is a trap cycle. If you have the means to pull yourself out of a situation—be it education or a way to bring in money—you are not poor; you are facing financial struggles.

True poverty is a literal survival state that affects generations. There is no bank or friends to borrow from. You are faced with making choices like: do I spend this money on Crix today, or take the child to the hospital? Do I go to work? Or does the child go to school? Do I stay home with my young children and keep them safe or do I go to work to provide for their needs?

3. Lack of access to opportunities: These women see the opportunities all around them but they cannot access them. They are living so far beyond the normal day-to-day experiences that the organizers of the programme do not foresee their struggles and so the opportunities are not catered for them in their conditions… I spoke about the survival choices they often make. In a survival state, education is a luxury. Even if you offer the courses for free, how do they get there? If they can get there, where do they put their children? Do they sacrifice their children to do it? If they do, our child protection laws say it is neglect and abuse. Yet, the system provides no aftercare centers—so these women must carry the children on their backs and for the safety of their children many choose not to come.

I spoke about birth control; many would love to be on them if it's offered free from the centre they take it, but if not, do you really think they will choose the shot over food in their tummies? Having panels to educate them about life choices is not enough; these women are not stupid. In a survival state, awareness is not enough. Education is not the answer. Access is.

4. These women run the greatest risk of running into manipulators and toxic personalities such as narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths, etc., who prey on their vulnerabilities. This is not a matter of being stupid. There are many of us who work for toxic personality bosses. We are aware but we understand awareness is not enough. We know that we are not in a position to leave the job for various reasons.

These women are in vulnerable positions 24 hours a day 7 days a week and facing toxicity vs. nothingness, the human nature in a survival state will choose the lesser of two evils. So yes, these women do end up doing sexual favors in exchange for money or resources or end up in relationships that are abusive to themselves and their children. Yes, sometimes they are aware that abuse is happening to their children but again they are faced with: do I allow my children to be abused or do I allow them to die? Which will you choose?

5. Self worth stripped by community judgment and fake boundaries: The community plays a major part in this cycle. Neighbors and onlookers will sit by and watch a toxic situation happen in real-time. They often know the bad history of the man involved, yet they stay quiet and wait for the mistake to happen. They hide behind the excuse of "it's not my business" so they don't have to help. But the very minute the relationship ends in a complete catastrophe, those same "not my business" people are the absolute first to spread the business. They use the tragedy to talk about how much better they are, calling the woman stupid for not knowing, while forgetting that they watched the trap snap shut without saying a word.

6. Victims of Political use and public relations : These women and their children are routinely used by governments and political groups for quick PR coverage. When a crisis hits, the authorities will step in to provide minimal, short-term assistance. But to get that help, these vulnerable people have to pay a price: they are put all over television and social media at the absolute worst, most desperate moments of their lives. The system exchanges a basic band-aid solution for a good photo opportunity. It doesn't fix the deeper problem; it just uses their poverty to make the people in power look good.

7. Experiences of Religious Judgment & Romanticizing Poverty: Weaponizing the biblical text as a Cop-Out

The Exploitation of Pain: There is a heavy presence of religious groups who target desperate women just to boost their conversion numbers. They stand in full awareness of a woman’s pain, but they use scripture to both weaponize and romanticize her suffering rather than offering a real way out. To absolve themselves of material responsibility, they quote verses like "the poor you will always have with us" or "blessed are the longsuffering." They twist these scriptures to tell her it is better to enter the kingdom poor than rich, keeping her trapped in a perpetual dream of "beyond assistance" while denying her practical help today. It is a hypocritical double-standard: they preach poverty as a spiritual virtue to the vulnerable while doing whatever it takes to secure their own wealth and comfort.

The PR Cover-Up: The moment these broken women inevitably cave under the weight of their trauma, the church backbenches them. Because the modern church has an image to maintain and a PR team to protect, they discard the very people they claimed to save to keep their reputation clean. They justify this isolation by twisting Paul’s writings about cutting ties with sinners, completely ignoring the context. Paul was speaking about the arrogant, unrepentant sinner—the religious insider who proudly believes they are within their right to sin. Yet, the church applies it to the broken victim as an excuse to wash their hands of them.

The Impact & The Contrast with Jesus:

This approach is the exact opposite of Jesus, who saw right through this religious hypocrisy. When the Pharisees—the top officials of the religious institution responsible for passing down judgment—brought him a woman caught in sin, Jesus completely flipped the script. He exposed their internal corruption by challenging whoever was without sin to cast the first stone. Once the crowd dispersed, he looked at her and asked, "Where are your accusers?" He protected her safety first, provided a lifeline, and then told her to sin no more.

While modern groups use the text to say "keep no company with them," Jesus did the exact opposite: he actively sought out the poor and the outcasts. He didn't use theology to excuse neglect or protect a religious brand. He looked at the root causes, exposed the systemic injustices the elites ignored, and proved that true faith is not defined by those who shout "Lord, Lord," but by those who actually do the will of the Father

The Blind Spot of the Survivor

To those who claim this is merely making excuses, I understand why you say that. Personal responsibility matters, and I am not denying your hard work or your struggle. Poverty is a brutal, exhausting fight, and the fact that you survived it and never gave up deserves respect.

And while I do respect your journey and can in no way diminish the weight of the burdens you carried—God knows I myself may very well have collapsed beneath them—it would be remiss of me not to call attention to the biases that survival can sometimes produce.

But I ask you to revisit your own story honestly.

Where was your lifeline given?

Did someone give you your first job? Did your parents allow you to stay home rent-free? Did a grandmother raise your children while you worked? Did you receive a scholarship? Did a partner pay half the bills? Did someone send money from abroad? Did a friend give you a place to stay? Did someone simply refuse to give up on you?

You fought like hell, YES! and no one should EVER try to take that story away from you.

But you also had enough support to keep fighting until one door finally opened.

That is not weakness!

That is reality!

And that is the blind spot of the survivor!

Because if we remove that one person, that one opportunity, that one lucky break, or that final ounce of psychological reserve from your story, there is no guarantee that hard work alone would have been enough.

We are not all gifted with the same mental fortitude. Some people possess extraordinary resilience. Others, crushed by trauma, isolation, and hopelessness, simply break. Many lose the battle not because they are lazy, but because the burden became heavier than the strength they had left.

Maybe you had a mother who believed in you when the world didn't.

Maybe you had one person who refused to let you fall.

But some people have ABSOLUTELY NO ONE!

And that is why it is DANGEROUS to turn survival into a moral trophy.

Because your success is something to celebrate, but it is not proof that everyone who failed was less disciplined, less deserving, or less worthy.

Sometimes the difference between success and failure is not character.

Sometimes it is access.

Sometimes it is a lifeline.

The Golden Handcuffs

WAIT!

I heard you suck your teeth.

And I see your hands hovering over the keyboard, ready to light up the comments section.

In fact, I have a pretty good idea what you're getting ready to say.

"They don't want to work."

"People too lazy these days."

"Everybody looking for handouts."

"Back in my day we had less and we made it."

Here's what.

Give me another opportunity to convince you. Permit me to make my case another way.

Let me appeal not to emotion, but to arithmetic.

After all, they say numbers don't lie.

And for the statisticians, economists, mathematicians, and that one retired teacher with the red pen already hovering over this article, I must confess that I did not exactly pass Mathematics with flying colours, eh.

As a matter of fact, Mr. Douglas can attest to that. I was the only student who failed the subject that year, single-handedly ruining the man's perfect CXC record.

To this day, as a grown adult, I still avert my eyes whenever I see him.

Sir, if you happen to be reading this, I apologize. I hope I have made you proud in other ways.

And if my arithmetic is wrong, I stand corrected—but I must state for the record that I am still not taking extra math lessons. Now, let us walk through this together.

Consider the average woman in Grenada with one child earning minimum wage.

At approximately EC$6.50 an hour, she earns roughly EC$1,200 a month.

Suppose she is fortunate enough to find a landlord willing to rent her a studio apartment for EC$800. In reality, many landlords would insist that a mother and child seek a one-bedroom apartment, but let us be generous.

Suppose she takes the bus every day and places her child on her lap so she does not have to pay a second fare.

Suppose breakfast every day is oats and condensed milk.

Suppose the child receives EC$5 in snacks.

Suppose dinner every night is rice, peas, and chicken wings.

No KFC, No Pizza Hut, No Friday night lime, No Netflix, No vacations, No entertainment, No luxuries.

Just survival!

Monthly Income

Income

Amount (EC$)

Minimum Wage

1,200

Total Income

1,200

Monthly Expenses

Expense

Amount (EC$)

Rent

800

Transportation

150

Electricity and Water

200

Phone and Internet

50

Food for Mother and Child

600

Total Expenses

1,800

Monthly Balance

Description

Amount (EC$)

Total Income

1,200

Total Expenses

(1,800)

Monthly Deficit

-600

And this does not include school supplies, clothing, shoes, toiletries, medicine, childcare, furniture, eyeglasses, emergencies, or savings.

The numbers just do not work!

Not because she is lazy, not because she lacks discipline, not because she refuses to work.

The arithmetic itself is broken.

Which means something else is keeping people afloat.

And that something is usually a lifeline.

A grandmother watching the children, parents covering the rent, money sent from abroad, A scholarship, A side hustle, A neighbour lending a hand, A friend opening their home.

Or perhaps a sugar daddy quietly paying the electricity bill while the same person boasts publicly about being self-made.

Self-made! Really?

Self-made with free childcare? Self-made with inherited land?

Self-made with connections? Self-made with opportunities?

Self-made with parents who sacrificed?

The truth is uncomfortable, but it is still the truth.

Most people in Grenada are wearing golden handcuffs.

Working, Surviving, Barely holding on!

One missed paycheck away from crisis, one illness away from disaster, one broken appliance away from debt.

Not poor enough to qualify for help. Not rich enough to breathe.

And somehow, despite all of that, still expected to smile and pretend they are making it.

That is not laziness.

That is arithmetic.

If this is the reality of most Grenadians. Can you imagine the plight of people who are in extreme poverty ? People like Susan?

Investing in People Is Not Charity

This is precisely why the Ministries of Social Development, Education, Health, and Youth are not luxuries but necessities, and why they must command a significant share of national budgets and be staffed by competent professionals equipped to do the job.

Over the years, Grenada has produced some remarkable initiatives, and credit must be given where credit is due, regardless of political affiliation.

Sir Eric Matthew Gairy changed the lives of ordinary Grenadian workers. Through the Grenada Manual and Mental Workers' Union, he fought for labourers who were earning as little as 80 cents a day. The events of 1951, remembered as "Sky Red," forced wage increases, paid leave, and better conditions for thousands of workers. For many families, that struggle simply meant more food on the table and it paved the way for every single development we have in Grenada today.

Maurice Bishop's government is rightly remembered for initiatives such as the Centre for Popular Education, which gave thousands of adults a second chance through literacy and education. It also expanded health care and community development and, like most governments, built upon institutions already in existence, including the National Insurance Scheme established under Sir Eric Gairy. For ordinary Grenadians, these were not abstract policies but lifelines that provided opportunity, dignity, and hope.

Tillman Thomas introduced the SEED Programme, placing assistance directly into the hands of vulnerable households so parents could buy groceries, school uniforms, medicine, and bus fare.

Dr. Keith Mitchell's New IMANI Programme provided training, work experience, and stipends to thousands of young people and became a lifeline for many families.

Dickon Mitchell’s administration's free summer camp programme through the Ministry of Youth must be commended. It provides safe spaces for children and eases the burden on parents.

Kudos to every administration that understood a simple truth:

PEOPLE ARE NOT EXPENSES!

PEOPLE ARE INVESTMENTS!

But the fact is more must be done.

We need permanent after-school and aftercare programmes so mothers are not forced to choose between education and neglect. Such programmes would simultaneously provide employment opportunities for teachers, youth workers, counsellors, and social workers.

We need national feeding programmes and soup kitchens so no child or vulnerable person is driven into the arms of predators simply because they are hungry.

We need greater access to contraception and honest conversations about sexual health because human beings are human, and pretending otherwise has never solved reality.

We need parenting seminars so parents can learn how to teach and speak to their children especially their girls. Why girls? Because girls carry life, and overwhelmingly it is women who remain the anchor for families when others walk away.

If we protect the girl child, we strengthen the foundation upon which generations are built.

We need to invest in people before they break, because prevention is always cheaper than repair.

Strong societies are built from the bottom up.

If we invest in people, people will lift society.

Before the Editor Sends Me an Invoice for Excessive Word Usage...

I will eave you with this thought.

Those who have faced hunger understand the value of a meal.

Those who have faced abandonment understand the value of support.

Those who have faced despair understand the value of hope.

And those who have been thrown a lifeline should now understand that the greatest measure of a nation is not how highly it lifts the fortunate, but how firmly it refuses to let the vulnerable drown because:

WHO FEELS IT, KNOWS IT!

About the Writer: Audy Collins

Audy Collins is a writer and participant in the Grenada National Youth Parliament Training Program. Her social commentary examines the realities affecting vulnerable Caribbean communities, calling for empathy and understanding rather than judgment.