As I sit at my kitchen table, the new weight of an engagement ring on my finger should feel like a promise of our future — a wedding, a home, a life together. Instead, my joy has been hijacked by the math of survival.
Since receiving my 90-day notice to vacate the SAVE student debt repayment plan from MOHELA in July, I’ve spent my time crunching expenses, not planning my nuptials. Under the current administration, my future marriage is no longer just a union; it’s a financial liability. We’re already planning to file taxes separately once we are married just to keep my loan payments from ballooning. What should be a time of celebration has become a chaotic unraveling — a time of perpetual worry.
Student debtors were sold the myth that hard work and education guarantee stability. But for those of us who played by the rules, the dismantling of the SAVE plan — the most affordable student debt repayment plan to date — has erased that promise, turning debt into a life-altering trap. While the current federal government funds wars and tax cuts for billionaires, it is leaving working families fractured, effectively prioritizing corporate interests over the people it was meant to serve.
I followed every rule the system set. I earned two degrees: a BA in Health Promotions and a Master of Arts in Teacher Leadership. Still, some weeks I work over 50 hours across my two jobs. My time, energy, and emotional currency get stolen from planning the future my fiancé and I envision. It is difficult being present during this time in our engagement when we’re supposed to be looking forward to building our life together. Instead, with every glance at my engagement ring, I calculate how many months of loan payments I could cover. Despite the long hours worked, I don’t see a dime of overtime pay. I also lack employer-sponsored health insurance, and basic survival is a constant struggle. Rent alone takes $1,400; my private student loans add another $434. Together, these two expenses consume nearly half my monthly income.
In comparison, when I was enrolled in the SAVE plan, my payments were manageable, between $35 and $110. Now, under the Extended Graduate Repayment plan — one of the plans I’m eligible for — that cost is set to skyrocket to over $700 a month. In preparation, I’ve had to slash my retirement contributions, skip groceries, and turn down invitations to celebrate with friends and family. I have even canceled Christmas and have been reluctant to share the celebratory news of my recent engagement. When student loan bills eat your paycheck before you even see it, the endless questions about planning a celebration feel less like excitement and more like a taunt from an alternate reality.
To be clear, SAVE wasn’t a handout; it was a lifeline that tethered my debt to reality. Without it, I’m not just paying back loans — I’m living in a state of perpetual hypervigilance. SAVE was not replaced with something more efficient or ethical. Instead, debtors are navigating a system where communication with loan providers is confusing and scare tactics are prevalent, forcing people off of SAVE and onto plans they cannot afford. Instead of straightforward plans and terms, we are riddled with rigid guidelines, high interest rates, and punishing reprimands if payments cannot be made. Millions of debtors are already in default, and those numbers will continue to grow. Meanwhile, our administration pretends it’s doing borrowers a favor by offering the possibility of loan forgiveness after 30 years of on-time payments. What about those debtors who are older? Many elders will die with more debt than they originally took out, having paid into a system for years without chipping away at a fraction of their debts.
Why is it that while the pockets and livelihoods of the American people are being squeezed to the absolute limit, there always seems to be money to fund pointless wars overseas, new paint jobs for national monuments, golden ballrooms, and UFC fighting rings for Presidential birthday celebrations? Some claim that administrative changes to the student loan system are a necessary legal adjustment to a Biden-era policy, claiming “you took out a loan, you should pay it back.” But when the math of the current world we live in outstrips livable wages, and the cost of living is ever-climbing, the problem is not the personal discipline of individuals; it’s a rigged system where the government prioritizes everything but its citizens.
We do not need empty political conventional wisdom about resilience nor a 30-year treadmill of debt masquerading as “forgiveness” at the end of the term. What we need is an immediate pause on federal loan payments and interest accrual. With an unstable economy, stagnant wages that barely cover living costs, and households that are just one emergency away from financial ruin, throwing millions of people into the deep end of inflated monthly payments isn’t just bad policymaking — it’s an economic freefall. In essence, our government needs to stop funding foreign wars, pursuing political vanity projects, and handing out corporate tax cuts while telling the people who actually sustain this country that there is nothing left in the budget for them.
An engagement ring should be a promise of a beginning, not a calculation of financial ruin. When I said yes to my fiancé, I was also speaking for the student debt tethered to our future. In a very real way, we took our vows early — adding an agonizing asterisk to “for richer, or poorer.” When people make the commitment to get married, the promise is supposed to be about standing by each other through sickness and health, building a home, and growing old together. Our dream isn’t extravagant; we just want a loving, prosperous, stable marriage where we can breathe. Instead, because of a broken system, we are downsizing our celebration and opting to elope. The ledger of life events I fear we will miss out on grows at the same speed as my compounding interest. Yet, despite the noise, the gaslighting, and the endless confusion of the student loan discourse, my fiancé is my peace. He doesn’t hold my debt against me, and he wishes I didn’t have to work so much, running like a hamster on a wheel just to stay afloat.
When the weight feels unbearable, we find our moments of calm and clarity. We practice mindfully saying “when” instead of “if.” We refuse to let the dark cloud of debt steal the love we share. We still protect our joy — replacing full-length vacations with little trips, or turning our dates into budget-conscious, at-home evenings that keep us grounded. The system is trying to extract every ounce of our labor and joy, but it cannot touch what we have created. We are working toward a prosperous marriage, one intentional, stubborn step at a time. A payment pause would be the green light necessary to finally build our lives together, rather than dreading each payment demand as it drains not just our bank account, but our will to dream of a fulfilling future.
About the author:
Jacqueline Wheelock (she/they) is a Debt Collective member, Connecticut-based chef, baker, and educator carrying over $69,000 in student debt. When they aren't working their two jobs, she enjoys sewing, cosplaying, diving into films as a dedicated cinephile, or seeking out the perfect latte as a coffee connoisseur.