Marriage, Money, and Mansplaining

October is Disability Employment Awareness Month. For me, that’s not just a calendar event—it’s personal. It’s a spotlight on the way disabled professionals show up, speak up, and build careers in spaces that don’t always expect us to be there.

In life, I’ve had to prove my value again and again. Not because I didn’t already have it, but because people tend to underestimate you when you don’t fit their picture of “capable.”

a woman in a black shirt holding a mug that says like a boss

For disabled couples, there’s an extra hurdle most people never think about: the marriage penalty. In the U.S., if both partners are on disability benefits, getting married can actually mean losing a portion of your income, health coverage, or both. It’s not just an emotional decision; it’s a financial gamble. That’s the kind of real-world math that makes “happily ever after” a lot more complicated.

Because here’s the thing, whether it’s business, love, or navigating outdated policies, value and respect have to go both ways. This month, as I’ve been reflecting on my career and my worth, I’ve also been thinking about how often people expect me to compromise those things.

In employment, that might look like someone assuming I can’t handle a role before I’ve even had the chance to show what I can do. In relationships, it might look like someone doubting my vision, my ambition, or my ability to stand on my own.

I’ll always support chasing dreams, but I also live in the real world. The real world runs on both vision and practicality.

This morning, I saw a TikTok that said,

If marriage really benefited women, they’d take it away from us.

It reminded me of something Louisa May Alcott once wrote:

“They say marriages are made in Heaven. No, they are made here on earth, where the partners must work hard to keep them. It is a business arrangement as much as it is a matter of the heart.”

Let me mansplain who Louisa May Alcott was, just in case. She was a 19th-century author, activist, and all-around literary powerhouse best known for Little Women, a book about four sisters who, frankly, were more interesting and complex than half the romantic leads being written today. Louisa was a pioneer in writing women as fully human; ambitious, flawed, strong, tender, stubborn, and unapologetically themselves.

She never married, and not because she “couldn’t find a man.” Louisa had offers, but she just didn’t want to sign up for a life that would force her to trade her independence for someone else’s approval. She earned her own money, traveled, and spoke her mind in a time when women weren’t even allowed to vote. Think of her as the original CEO of “mind your own business” and “I can buy my own dinner, thanks.”

She also had a bit of Scarlett O’Hara energy, minus the marrying-for-land part. For anyone who doesn’t know, Scarlett is the fiercely ambitious, drama-loving Southern belle from Gone With the Wind who could charm the room, survive a war, rebuild a fortune, and still have time to throw shade in a ballgown. She’s manipulative at times, yes, but she’s also resourceful, relentless, and completely unwilling to let life beat her, qualities I’ll always admire. Louisa’s version of “As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again” was more like, “As God is my witness, I’ll never marry a man who thinks my worth is negotiable.” And for the record, Scarlett is still my favorite, always.

An old Victorian wedding picture

Louisa understood marriage as a transaction in her day because, for most women, it literally was. And she was bold enough to say, “If this is the deal, I’d rather not sign.” Now that’s the kind of energy I can respect.

In her generation, marriage was often about survival more than romance. Today, it might look different, but the principle still stands. Both people bring something valuable to the table, and it only works if both respect what the other offers.

For me, marriage isn’t about giving up my dreams or dimming my light to fit into someone else’s plan. It’s about partnership, two people building something side by side, both dreams having room to grow.

I’m clear. Clear about what I bring. Clear about what I need. And clear that love should feel like we’re in this together, not like I’m signing up to disappear into the fine print.

And just like Scarlett, I’ll keep my head high, my standards higher, and my heart set on building a life that’s worth living, with or without a Rhett Butler. Because, frankly, my dear… I don’t give a damn.