Igrew up deep in the coalfields of Fayette County, a child of generational poverty. Raised by a single mother, my brother and I had a grasp on what it meant not to be able to pay our bills from a young age.

We lived paycheck to paycheck, scraping by with the assistance of church food pantries. I know what it’s like to wake up to a house with no electricity, with no guarantee of a hot shower or a warm meal. This is the reality for so many people in West Virginia. There’s no room for error, no safety net and little to no assistance. We went without because we had no other choice.

Now, at 35, I run a small website development business in the state I love. Even so, the grasp of poverty is not easily broken. I am not rich; I am lower middle class, at best. The anxiety that comes with receivin

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