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I had been a Domestic Violence Advocate for children, for what felt like all of my life. This was the job I was meant to do, and the job I had worked, and struggled so hard to get. For more than 8 years this had been my desk, my office, for the most part, this had been my life.
Even as I walked into the office at the usual time on Tuesday, I already sensed that something was wrong.

As I walked into my coworkers office, I sensed that she was stressed. She appeared unusually quiet.
As she began to talk about what had happened at the staff meeting on the previous Friday, and to quietly list off the names of those who had lost their funding, had taken pay cuts, had been placed on lay-off... including herself, I was suddenly struck by a feeling of impending doom. With a knot in my stomach, I asked "What about me?"
She looked sad as she said "There's a letter on your desk."
Was this for real?
We had all been hearing about federal and state budget cuts, and loss of funding for agencies and programs like this one, all over the country. Somehow, though, we still weren't prepared for the blow.
As I walked to my office thinking of all of the others whom had been affected, our Legal Advocate, our Sexual Assault Counselor, our Children's Program Coordinator, our Rental Specialist... I already knew what my letter would say. "It is with a heavy heart that I am writing this letter..." it began. Due to budget cuts my position was, like so many others, completely eliminated. Our office would go from 5 full time employees, to 1 full time employee and 2 part time employees. Many of our client services were being eliminated.
Tears fell from my eyes, though I tried hard not to cry. I felt shocked and devastated, as I imagined cleaning out my desk, saying goodbye to this office, these people I had worked with so long.
Somehow I made it through day, as if nothing was wrong. While at times it felt like a normal day, at other times the news would suddenly hit me, and I would look around in disbelief, thinking of a time when I would no longer come through these doors. Then the tears would come against my will.
As I came home and broke the news to my family, I found (to my surprise) that my 18 year old son was my greatest support. He reminded me how this job had always been hard on me, as a survivor of Domestic Violence myself. There was always a lot of emotional stress for me, when working with others who were experiencing that same pain. He reminded me of the low pay I had settled for, along

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