When I was in college, I didn’t have a dining budget. My parents didn’t put funds onto a college meal plan card so that I could eat lunch at the dining hall, and I didn’t have any sort of college savings set aside. I had SNAP. 

I grew up in poverty, and my parents never made it above lower-middle class, so I was mostly on my own through all three of my collegiate attempts. First, in Portland, Oregon, I worked as a barista to get through one semester of part-time classes at Portland Community College. SNAP helped me feed myself during this time, but life had other plans for me, and I dropped out after my first semester.

Still, being a SNAP participant has a certain stigma, and I surely felt the sting. I still remember the looks I would get when I would occasionally shop at the local “gourmet” grocery store. At this store, you had to tell the cashier you were using EBT before swiping your card. My face would flush, and I’d mumble to the cashier, hoping the person behind me in line didn’t hear me. If only people could look past their judgment and see how an occasional treat soothed my heavy heart, easing my worries for just a moment. Everything was so hard — why did I have to feel guilty for the type of food that I chose at the grocery store?