When people seek help from the system, the system doesn’t always see them as people
By Shamecca Brown, columnist
Being off work lately gave me time to really think, to feel. And what I realized in that space is this: I was made to help people.
It’s in my blood. But I didn’t fully understand how deep that ran until I had to help a family member apply for Social Security Disability insurance. This time, I was on the other side, watching someone I love get treated like they were less than human just for needing help. And that broke me.
I sat in that office and watched how cold it was. Not the temperature, the energy. The looks. The tone. The way the woman behind the glass asked questions like she had somewhere better to be. “Just fill this out and bring it back,” she said, like we were wasting her time. No eye contact. No warmth. Just another number in her day.
I kept thinking: Why are some people in these roles if they don’t care? I get that not every day is easy, but when your job is to serve the public, especially the vulnerable, why show up with apathy? Why weaponize your position to remind others that they’re already down?
They’re dealing with a real person, not a number. A real person going through something hard, probably embarrassing, probably painful. And instead of being met with care or even just basic decency, we got treated like an inconvenience.
They ask for papers, proof, pay stubs, statements, and a million other things that feel like a test. And if you “fail”? You don’t eat. You don’t get help with rent. You don’t get medicine.
It’s wild how you can work your whole life, pay into the system, only to be told you make too much to qualify for help, but somehow, you still don’t have enough to survive.
I’m not gonna lie, I sat there getting hot. Angry. Not just for us, but for everyone who has to sit in that chair. Because it’s not just about forms or documents, but because of how the system makes people feel in that moment. I received the unspoken message: You don’t matter. That was how I was feeling.
And that’s when it hit me – some jobs require more than just showing up. If working with people, especially those who are vulnerable, is part of the role, then empathy, patience and basic decency should come with it. This kind of work isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. But choosing it means choosing to show up with heart.
To the workers on the other side of the glass: I know you have a job to do. I respect that. But sometimes the job is all you see – the checklist, the quota, the script. You don’t always see the people. You don’t feel the quiet panic in someone’s chest when they’re told they don’t qualify.
I wonder if they ever had to sit in a chair like mine? Or ever felt like they had to prove their worth just to get the basics needs to survive?
Because for some of us, it’s not just humbling, it’s deeply uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels like you have to be invisible, completely broken down, just to be seen as “deserving.” And that’s a hard truth.
Sitting and waiting for help
What’s even harder is watching how unstable things have become. Rent keeps rising, food prices are through the roof, jobs are disappearing. Yet when people reach out for help, they’re met with judgment instead of compassion. I’m not saying all, but from where I was sitting I witnessed that and it didn’t feel good.
One of my own family members got $12 in food stamps. Twelve dollars. That’s what they said she was “entitled to.” What are you supposed to do with that? It’s almost more insulting than getting nothing. It’s like the system is saying, “We see you, but not really.”
As I sat in that chair, I even felt like giving up – and I’m strong as hell. So I know how people feel sitting and waiting for that help.
Sometimes, the people on the other side of the glass don’t even realize they’re holding privilege. It’s not always about money. It’s about comfort. Security. The luxury of never having to ask for help. They don’t seem to understand what it’s like to pray your lights stay on or to stretch a meal or feel the weight of shame while waiting in a line that screams “poverty” to everyone who passes by. When you’ve never had to live like that, it’s easy to see someone like me and think I’m not trying hard enough.
Easy to judge. Easy to say, “Well, if you just…” or “That’s not our policy.”
People say, “I’ve been there,” but not everyone’s been where I’m from. Where asking for help feels like shame, not strength. Where showing emotion gets you judged, and needing support gets you labeled. And I know not everyone on the other side is like that. But I do hope more folks start showing up with compassion. A little more help can go a long way.
This isn’t just about my family member. This is about the system. About morals. About the human part of helping that gets lost when you stop seeing people. I don’t know what the solution is yet, but I do know this: I’ll keep advocating from the other side of the glass. People don’t want handouts. They just want a fair shot. But the way things are set up, sometimes you have to swallow your pride to apply for assistance. And that takes a toll on your spirit.
All I’m asking is this: look up and see the person, not just the paperwork. Because sometimes your kindness is the only dignity we’ll receive that day. And that kind of dignity? It can change everything.
Shamecca Brown, is a New Hampshire-based columnist who is family-oriented and passionate about serving underserved communities. These articles are being shared by partners in the Granite State News Collaborative. For more information, visit collaborativenh.org.