Last summer, Ms. Valadez endured a bedbug infestation in her apartment, which compelled her to throw away all her furniture, clothing and most other belongings. The portfolio survived the purge because she had already given it away to her daughter.

Ms. Valadez has chronic depression. For several years before the bedbugs arrived, she had been spending much of her time at home, going out only to buy food or to visit her daughter and granddaughter. “I’m a recluse,” she said. “Well, not anymore, not after this.”

While Ms. Valadez received emotional support from neighbors and friends, the bedbugs set her back financially and left her emotionally and physically exhausted, she said. It does not show: at 61, Ms. Valadez still has a striking appearance.

Ms. Valadez, born in Mexico City, became a naturalized citizen after arriving in the United States with her mother shortly before her first birthday. (Her estranged father never left Mexico City.)

Mother and daughter spent much of their lives in the Upper West Side, the neighborhood where Ms. Valadez still lives and is reluctant to travel far from.

It is easy to imagine her as a cabaret dancer on the New York scene in the late 1970s and early 1980s. She performed in variety shows, in dinner theater and as part of a dance troupe at Carnegie Hall before pursuing a solo career as a jazz singer. She knew people on the club circuit in Miami and lived there in the mid-’80s. She also spent time singing in Mexico and Puerto Rico and traveled farther afield, to Morocco among other places.

“You always look beautiful, you’re a blessing to the world; keep on doing what you’re doing,” a passer-by said as Ms. Valadez and Luna, her pit bull, began their morning walk.

“I’m kind of a legend around here,” she explained.

At 40, Ms. Valadez decided to start over. At Hunter College, she earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and sociology, and she went on to counsel prisoners at Arthur Kill Correctional Facility in Staten Island and Bayview Correctional Facility in Manhattan. She specialized in behavior modification and substance abuse.

“It worked out really well, but I burned out after a year,” she said.

She later became the director of development at Iris House in Manhattan, a center for H.I.V.-affected women and their families, and was involved with nonprofits helping Haitians in New York.

About 2003, she said, the depression she has fought her whole life started to win. She became unable to work; she went out less and less. Today, she is slowly crawling out of that deep hole of mental illness.

“Life has a way of forcing change,” she said. “I’m no longer a recluse; I get dressed and I put makeup on.”

These days, the rhythm of her life is set by Luna and her routine of daily walks. At her public housing complex, she is a member of the tenants’ association and the tenant patrol watch. Ms. Valadez, who lives on $761 a month in Supplemental Security Income and receives $200 a month in food stamps, can afford her $250 rent and cover necessities, but the need to replace many household items at once after the bedbug infestation was far beyond her means.

Her therapist at the Service Program for Older People told her about The New York Times Neediest Cases Fund and helped her submit a proposal to the Federation of Protestant Welfare Agencies, one of the fund’s seven beneficiary agencies.

The fund provided Ms. Valadez with $1,000 to buy new bedding and clothes.

She is grateful but wistful. “It’s hard to get back to normal when everything is brand-new and all the old stuff is gone,” she said.

View the original article here

Last summer, Ms. Valadez endured a bedbug infestation in her apartment, which compelled her to throw away all her furniture, clothing and most other belongings. The portfolio survived the purge because she had already given it away to her daughter.

Ms. Valadez has chronic depression. For several years before the bedbugs arrived, she had been spending much of her time at home, going out only to buy food or to visit her daughter and granddaughter. “I’m a recluse,” she said. “Well, not anymore, not after this.”

While Ms. Valadez received emotional support from neighbors and friends, the bedbugs set her back financially and left her emotionally and physically exhausted, she said. It does not show: at 61, Ms. Valadez still has a striking appearance.

Ms. Valadez, born in Mexico City, became a naturalized citizen after arriving in the United States with her mother shortly before her first birthday. (Her estranged father never left Mexico City.)

Mother and daughter spent much of their lives in the Upper West Side, the neighborhood where Ms. Valadez still lives and is reluctant to travel far from.

It is easy to imagine her as a cabaret dancer on the New York scene in the late 1970s and early 1980s. She performed in variety shows, in dinner theater and as part of a dance troupe at Carnegie Hall before pursuing a solo career as a jazz singer. She knew people on the club circuit in Miami and lived there in the mid-’80s. She also spent time singing in Mexico and Puerto Rico and traveled farther afield, to Morocco among other places.

“You always look beautiful, you’re a blessing to the world; keep on doing what you’re doing,” a passer-by said as Ms. Valadez and Luna, her pit bull, began their morning walk.

“I’m kind of a legend around here,” she explained.

At 40, Ms. Valadez decided to start over. At Hunter College, she earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and sociology, and she went on to counsel prisoners at Arthur Kill Correctional Facility in Staten Island and Bayview Correctional Facility in Manhattan. She specialized in behavior modification and substance abuse.

“It worked out really well, but I burned out after a year,” she said.

She later became the director of development at Iris House in Manhattan, a center for H.I.V.-affected women and their families, and was involved with nonprofits helping Haitians in New York.

About 2003, she said, the depression she has fought her whole life started to win. She became unable to work; she went out less and less. Today, she is slowly crawling out of that deep hole of mental illness.

“Life has a way of forcing change,” she said. “I’m no longer a recluse; I get dressed and I put makeup on.”

These days, the rhythm of her life is set by Luna and her routine of daily walks. At her public housing complex, she is a member of the tenants’ association and the tenant patrol watch. Ms. Valadez, who lives on $761 a month in Supplemental Security Income and receives $200 a month in food stamps, can afford her $250 rent and cover necessities, but the need to replace many household items at once after the bedbug infestation was far beyond her means.

Her therapist at the Service Program for Older People told her about The New York Times Neediest Cases Fund and helped her submit a proposal to the Federation of Protestant Welfare Agencies, one of the fund’s seven beneficiary agencies.

The fund provided Ms. Valadez with $1,000 to buy new bedding and clothes.

She is grateful but wistful. “It’s hard to get back to normal when everything is brand-new and all the old stuff is gone,” she said.

View the original article here