The Hidden Cost of Tariffs: How Families, Including Mine in Georgia, Are Struggling to Keep Up

From grocery lines to therapy sessions, families across Georgia are feeling the weight of political choices — and our children are paying the price.

Jennifer Agnew Family, at the White House, Washington, DC. United States.

I live in Georgia — a state with deep roots in hard work, small government, and family values. You can’t drive far without seeing signs of political pride, reminders of how much people care about their communities. I grew up with those values, too. I still believe in hard work. But lately, I’ve been wondering how much harder ordinary people are supposed to work before we admit that the system isn’t working for us.

I’m a former special education teacher who left the classroom to work in the therapy department of the same school. Now I spend my days fighting insurance companies so children with special needs can receive services like speech, occupational, and physical therapy. Most of our patients are on Medicaid. These children rely on programs that help them communicate, move, and learn — and I’m terrified for them, because rising costs and policy decisions threaten the coverage they so desperately need.

My husband and I are both educators. I spent 10 years in special education, mostly in the nonprofit sector, and my husband teaches ESOL at an elementary school. We spend our days pouring into the next generation — kids whose families are doing their best to hang on. These days, we can’t manage on just our salaries. Every Friday after school, we both get in our cars and open our rideshare apps, driving until late into the night to make a little extra. Weekends that used to be for resting, grading, or spending time with friends are now spent picking up strangers from bars, airports, and grocery stores, trying to cover the gap between our paychecks and the price of living.

I’ve even got an interview tomorrow for a part-time retail job. Not because I want to — because I need to. I’m exhausted, and I know my husband is too, but the math isn’t mathing anymore.

Grocery prices have gone through the roof. I know that’s not breaking news — everyone’s talking about it. But it hits differently when you’re standing in the checkout line holding your breath while the numbers on the screen climb higher than what’s left in your account. It hits differently when you start planning dinners around what’s on sale instead of what’s healthy. Tariffs and trade wars might sound like abstract political debates on cable news, but where I live, they show up on the shelves at Kroger and Aldi. They show up when milk costs a dollar more, when fruit from Mexico or South America costs double, when a bag of chicken that used to be $7.99 is suddenly $12.49.

That’s what “tariffs” really are — they’re taxes that politicians impose, but we, the people, end up paying. The grocery store is the middleman between global policy and the kitchen table.

At school, my husband sees the fallout every day. More parents are quietly telling teachers and school counselors that they’re skipping meals so their kids can eat. More kids are signing up for free and reduced lunch than ever before, and some come to school hungry on Monday because there wasn’t much at home over the weekend. Some have even heard children say they “don’t like” weekends anymore because at least at school, they get breakfast and lunch. That kind of sentence should break something deep inside anyone who hears it. It broke something in me.

And then there’s the Medicaid piece. Most of the children I work with in therapy rely on that coverage to access essential services. I see the anxiety in parents’ eyes when policy changes are announced — the fear that their child’s therapy sessions could be reduced or cut entirely. I know that for some of these children, missing even one session can mean regression, frustration, and lost skills that may never fully return. It’s a weight that follows me home every day.

I’ve also noticed more families falling through the cracks. There are more homeless people on the streets of our towns and cities—more people holding cardboard signs at red lights. I see the faces of our communities — people who used to work at chicken plants or local warehouses — out there with nowhere to go. Some lost their jobs when imports became more expensive and demand declined. Others are just casualties of this impossible economy.

The hardest part is knowing that none of this was inevitable. It wasn’t an earthquake or a hurricane — it was a set of deliberate political choices. The tariffs that were supposed to “protect American jobs” have made almost everything we buy more expensive, from groceries to car parts. Maybe that helped a few corporations, but it sure hasn’t helped teachers or the parents whose children need Medicaid-funded therapy to thrive.

I talk to people all the time — in my rideshare, in line at the gas station, in the teacher’s lounge — and everyone says the same thing: “I just don’t understand how it’s come to this.” We were told tariffs would punish other countries. What we didn’t realize is that they punish us, too. The farmers, the teachers, the parents, and especially the children who need Medicaid — the people who don’t have lobbyists or PACs or campaign checks to hand out.

I’ve lived in Georgia almost my whole life. I’ve seen our communities pull together through tornadoes, plant closures, and pandemics. But I’ve never seen this level of quiet desperation. People are embarrassed to talk about struggling. They’re ashamed to admit they’ve gone to the food pantry or started using Buy Nothing Facebook groups to get school supplies or clothes. But when I talk to the parents of my students, I see the same fear in their eyes that I see in the mirror: how are we going to keep this up?

When my husband and I sit and go over our bills, it feels like we’re constantly rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. We’re teachers — college-educated, hardworking, careful with our money — and yet we’re juggling side hustles and praying the car doesn’t break down. If this is what life looks like for us, I can only imagine what it’s like for parents whose children rely on Medicaid therapy and who are struggling just to make rent and put food on the table.

I’m not writing this because I have an easy answer. I don’t. But I am writing it because someone has to start connecting the dots out loud. Every time a politician promises to “get tough on trade,” every time tariffs are expanded or extended, every time someone cheers that we’re “putting America first,” I want them to think about who’s actually paying the bill. Because it’s not the politicians or the billionaires. It’s people like me and my husband, driving for Uber and Lyft on weekends. It’s kids coming to therapy sessions to improve their lives. It’s parents afraid their child will lose critical services.

I wish I could say things feel hopeful right now, but mostly they feel heavy. Still, I haven’t given up on us. Georgia is full of good people — people who care about their neighbors, people who donate to food drives, people who show up when others are hurting. If we can start to see that our struggles are connected — that we’re all being squeezed by the same policies — maybe we can find our voice again. Maybe we can demand better, no matter what party we’ve voted for.

Tariffs aren’t just numbers in a trade ledger; they’re the difference between a family eating fresh fruit or canned beans. They’re the reason a teacher has to drive strangers around at midnight instead of sleeping. They’re the reason children may lose therapy sessions that keep them learning, communicating, and growing.

The truth is simple, even if the politics aren’t: when the cost of living rises faster than our paychecks, something’s deeply wrong. And when policies that were supposed to “help the American worker” end up hurting them instead, it’s time for a reckoning — not just in Washington, but in every town and city in Georgia, where people are doing everything right and still barely surviving.

That’s what tariffs have done to our communities. They’ve taken dignity and replaced it with exhaustion. They’ve turned pride into quiet panic. And they’ve reminded me, in the hardest way possible, that patriotism shouldn’t mean accepting suffering in silence.

Maybe it’s time we start saying that out loud — for our children, our families, and our neighbors who rely on us to speak up.