Most people assume that if you work a union job, drive a reliable route, and keep your head down, financial stability follows. Monique Washington does all three — and she is still being slowly hollowed out by a system that never accounted for people like her.
When I sat down with Monique at a diner near her home in East Baltimore on a Tuesday morning in late March 2026, she had just come off a split shift. She ordered coffee, black, and set her phone face-down on the table. She looked like someone who had learned not to expect much from conversations like this one.
A Family Crisis That Never Had an End Date
Monique Washington, 43, has driven for UPS for eleven years. Her hourly rate, bolstered by the Teamsters contract, puts her comfortably above median wage for Baltimore. On paper, she is doing fine. In practice, she is the sole financial and physical caregiver for her younger brother, Darnell, who was 25 when a car accident left him with a traumatic brain injury and partial paralysis.
Their parents died within three years of each other — their mother in 2019, their father in 2021. When I asked Monique how the transition from shared caregiving to solo caregiving felt, she paused for a long time before answering.
Darnell, now 37, receives Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) and is enrolled in Maryland Medicaid. According to the Social Security Administration, the average monthly SSDI payment in 2025 was approximately $1,537. Darnell’s benefit, Monique told me, falls close to that figure. It covers his rent in a subsidized apartment nearby and some basic living costs. It does not cover everything.
The Expenses That Fall Through Every Safety Net
The gap between what Darnell’s benefits provide and what he actually needs is where Monique’s financial life disappears. She walked me through the monthly costs she absorbs personally, speaking in the flat, practiced tone of someone who has recited these numbers to herself many times.
The costs Monique described include accessible transportation for medical appointments not covered under Maryland’s Medicaid transportation benefit, specialized medical supplies her brother requires that fall outside Medicaid’s coverage limits, and a part-time personal care aide on weekends when she is working double shifts. She estimated these combined expenses at roughly $500 to $650 per month, depending on the quarter.
Maryland Medicaid does offer a range of home- and community-based waiver services, but according to Maryland’s Medicaid program, waitlists for some waiver slots can stretch months or longer. Darnell is enrolled in one program, but it does not fully cover his weekend aide hours.
- Accessible van transport to specialist appointments: approximately $120–$180/month
- Medical supply co-pays and items outside Medicaid formulary: approximately $150–$200/month
- Weekend personal care aide (partial hours): approximately $200–$250/month
- Incidental costs — adaptive equipment, clothing, dietary supplements: variable
The Retirement She Stopped Planning For
This is the part of Monique’s story that she was most reluctant to discuss. When I brought up retirement, she laughed — not warmly.
Monique is 43. The Teamsters pension she participates in through UPS will provide some retirement income, but she acknowledged she has not reviewed her projected benefit in years and does not know what it amounts to. Her 401(k), which she stopped contributing to in 2020, sits largely untouched.
The financial reality she described is what researchers sometimes call the “caregiver penalty” — a documented pattern in which family caregivers, disproportionately women, reduce their workforce participation, forgo promotions, or drain savings to fill gaps in formal care systems. A 2023 analysis by AARP’s caregiving research division estimated that family caregivers provide an average of $7,200 in unpaid labor annually — a figure Monique almost certainly exceeds.
What She Has Looked Into — and What She Found
Monique is not passive about her situation. She told me she has spent hours researching what assistance might exist for her, not for Darnell, but for her as a caregiver. The results have been frustrating.
A Life Structured Around Someone Else’s Needs
Beyond the finances, what struck me most about Monique’s situation was how completely her life has been reorganized around Darnell’s care schedule. She cannot request a different shift at UPS because her current hours align with when the weekday aide is present. She cannot take an overnight trip because there is no backup plan. She has not taken a vacation in six years.
When I asked whether she resents her brother, she shook her head immediately — then reconsidered.
She is not wrong about the systemic dimension. According to the Family Caregiver Alliance, women make up approximately 61 percent of family caregivers in the United States, and caregivers who provide 36 or more hours of care per week are more likely to experience poverty in retirement than non-caregivers. Monique estimates she provides roughly 20 to 25 hours per week of direct caregiving, on top of her full-time driving schedule.
Where Monique Stands Today
When I asked Monique what she wants people to understand about her situation, she was quiet for a moment. Then she said something I have been thinking about since I left the diner.
Monique told me she has a meeting scheduled with a benefits counselor at a local nonprofit in April, her first attempt in several years to get a structured look at her full financial picture. She is not optimistic, but she is going. That, she said, is about as hopeful as she gets these days.
She paid for her own coffee. She picked up her phone, flipped it face-up, and checked the time. She had a delivery route starting in forty minutes.
Monique Washington is not a cautionary tale about bad decisions. She is what the system looks like when it works exactly as designed — and still leaves someone behind. Her brother is cared for. Her union dues are paid. Her retirement is evaporating, quietly, one month at a time, and there is no form to fill out for that.
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