I've been living with my mom for the last six months.

I'm a thirty-one-year-old Asian-American woman, and I'm on food stamps and state sponsored health insurance.

I feel shame about it. I feel suffocated when I hold back information when someone asks where I'm staying, or when I refrain from telling my boyfriend that my Medi-Cal doctor is in South Central. Being on food stamps makes me wonder if I've been lazy. Not having “made it" in three years in as an entrepreneur makes me feel I'm a loser who didn't have the business sense or ability to finish valuable projects.

Benjamin Franklin defined a person being "good" as being industrious, hardworking, and a positive contributor to society. As a reader of self-help books, the "I'm responsible for my success" narrative had seeped into my being.

Had I been a bad person?

According to me, my brother was a bad person when he was living with my mom. At the time, I was living in my apartment in Culver City. We were in the kitchen. He must have made me mad. He needed someone to tell him the harsh reality, I thought. His eyes would open wide, and he'd go upstairs and apply for jobs. Less than two feet from his face, I screamed, “Look at you. You’re thirty years old, doing nothing, living at Umma’s place. Look at yourself.”

Could it be possible he had done the right things and was still at my mom's place? I never asked what was on his mind. Now, being in his shoes, I embrace the choices I've made, including quitting my engineering job, saving money by living at home, learning how to program at the age of thirty, and selling the one product I love: makeup. I might be learning things now that will get me to success. It's not guaranteed, it might even be unlikely, but the possibility is there. Sadly, my brother was around me at a time I didn't know this.

My brother and I haven't been in contact for years. Did that kitchen scene hurt him? I'm worried it might have isolated him. I haven't told most of my friends I'm on food stamps. Shame makes people deal with hard things alone. Maybe the world gave me this period of shame so that I could learn empathy.

Writing this feels like taking a shit amidst a long period of constipation. I've carefully avoided these topics with strangers and friends. Yes—I'm a low income entrepreneur living with her mom, and so what? Fuck you! (not really). I'll get out of it, and I'll be better for it.

I made this piece public because I believe you also know shame.

I'm a 31-year-old woman on her laptop in California. I feel shame about a few big things in my life right now. And I'm not ashamed about that.