When I first met Ama, I was still searching for a job. She was supportive and promised to stand by my side through thick and thin. But when the "thin" came, she disappeared. Then came Araba. She didn’t even last; after three months, she was gone too. When Janice left, I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering what was wrong with me.

"It’s not you, Joe, it’s the women. They want the easy life," my brain told me. And I believed it. Women want a soft life, so I decided I needed to get money before finding someone again. At that point, I had a job, so I focused on working hard and building my income.

Then Alice came into the picture. Silly me, I fell in love again. A few months later, though, the company shut down, and I was jobless. I knew Alice would leave, so I braced myself. I started withdrawing from her—stopped calling, stopped texting, and we began fighting a lot. But did she leave? No. Instead, she sent my CV around, helping me find another job. Soon, she found one for me: a two-year contract with a decent salary. She advised me to start a side business with the earnings so that by the time the contract ended, I’d still have a source of income. It sounded like a good idea, so I took her advice.

She was there every step of the way, supportive and working alongside me. When the contract ended, the company hired me permanently, and we celebrated. I proposed, and she said yes. A year later, we were married.

One day I got injured at work. The company gave me money for treatment, but the longer I stayed bedridden, the more they seemed to give up on me. My business was still doing well, but I was terrified of losing my stable income. I was afraid that this time Alice would leave for real. I felt scared and depressed, convinced that no one loves a man without money.

One day, Alice took me to the hospital for my routine checkup, and there I saw Ama—my first girlfriend. I had been receiving treatment for three months and had never seen her there before. "Ama," I exclaimed. She stared at me for a moment before responding, "Joe! It’s been ages, how have you been?"

I laughed. "Injured, as you can see. What about you?"

She chuckled. "Just tired of taking care of people like you."

We both laughed, but then she looked at my hand and noticed my wedding ring. "You got married?" she asked. I nodded, "Yeah. What about you?"

"I’m in a relationship, but we’re not married yet," she replied.

"I guess he has a good job and more money than me," I remarked.

She frowned. "If you didn’t have a good job, how did you get married and manage to look this well taken care of?"

"Things are good for now," I admitted. "But if I lose my job because of this injury, I know she’ll leave. You women love money. You dumped me because I was broke."

Ama shook her head. "You think that’s why I left?"

I nodded, but she continued. "No, I left because you didn’t like yourself. You felt inadequate as a man without a job, and you couldn’t like me because of it. You treated me poorly. I was patient, but you let the situation ruin us. But it’s all in the past now."

Her words stayed with me long after that conversation. At home, I couldn’t shake the thought, so I decided to ask Alice. "Babe, would you still love me if I lost my job and went broke?"

She chuckled, "Does it look like I’m going anywhere? I’ll only leave if you push me away."

Her playful tone made me dig deeper. "Alice, is it true that I’m mean when I’m broke?"

She looked at me, a little confused, but eventually nodded. "Yes. I can always tell when you’re broke because you start yelling at me and our son over the smallest things. You get so angry. That’s why I pray for your business to do well—so you don’t get frustrated."

I felt a pang of guilt. "So… is that why women don’t like broke men?" I asked.

She laughed. "Men don’t like broke men. You tie your worth to how much money you make. Your ego and self-esteem are tied to your income, so when you lose it, you hate yourself, and you treat those who love you badly. Why would you expect a woman to love you when you don’t even like yourself?"

Her words hit hard. She continued, "I’m not saying money isn’t important—we need it—but when you lose your income, don’t be too hard on yourself or on us. We still love you regardless. Just don’t be mean to us."

I smiled, and she smiled back. Maybe it’s not all women who don’t like broke men. Maybe it’s us, men, who don’t like ourselves when we’re broke.