Being overweight already makes me a target, but being overweight and on benefits? People think they’ve got me all figured out.

I live in a small flat with my daughter, Lyra. She’s seven and full of questions I don’t always have the answers to. Like why we don’t have apples in the fridge, or why we never order pizza like her friends’ families do.

Last month at the shop, some woman looked in my trolley, saw my size, and made this loud “tsk” sound. Didn’t say a word—just judged me right there like I was invisible. Lyra noticed. Asked me later if we’re bad for eating crisps.

I applied for every job I could manage, even cleaning shifts at night while Lyra sleeps. Nothing. I’ve had to choose between topping up the gas meter or getting a packet of chicken breasts. You know which one wins when it’s freezing and your kid’s coughing.

Then the school sent a note home. Said Lyra’s lunchbox needed “nutritional balance.” As if I didn’t already know. I cried in the bathroom with the tap running so she wouldn’t hear.

But last week, I found something in the community center that might help. Something I didn’t expect. And now I’m wondering if it could change everything for us—or just make things worse.

I was at the community center to pick up a secondhand coat from the donation rack for Lyra. She’s outgrowing her old one, and there was this lovely red jacket that looked like it might still have a season or two of wear left in it. While I was there, I saw a poster: “Community Cooking Workshop—Learn to Cook Balanced Meals on a Budget.” It mentioned something about a local program that partners with nearby farms and grocery stores to provide discounted produce. The workshops were free, childcare was included, and you even got a box of fresh ingredients at the end.