Juliet’s Personal Finance Blog

I already shared the numbers and the reality of the debt. This isn’t another confession. This is the context. The part of the story that explains how I got here and why this season looks the way it does. Not to excuse it. Not to justify it. Just to give an ide of what that season of life actually looked like.

Before everything fell apart, our life looked very different. I was a stay at home mom. My world was my kids, my home, our routines, our rhythms. My days were built around raising them, being present, and being there for everything big and small. At that time, I was homeschooling my fifteen year old and my 6 year old. My life revolved around them, their learning, their safety, their growth, their world.

We had about $30K in debt back then. It wasn't perfect, but it was manageable. Bills were paid. Plans made sense. Life felt predictable. There was a rhythm to it, a sense of safety and structure that made everything feel steady.

Then the table was flipped and I was left to pick up the pieces by myself. And the truth is, I am still picking up those pieces.

One season we were planning, budgeting, and building a life that felt stable and controlled. The next, everything changed. I was forced outside of my comfort zone and into a role I never planned for. I became the provider, the one responsible, the one making the decisions and carrying the weight.

It meant leaving the life I had built as a stay at home mom. It meant being away from my kids in ways I never imagined. It meant trading time for stability, presence for provision, and comfort for responsibility.

I found myself standing in the middle of a life I did not recognize anymore, trying to hold everything together with shaking hands and a tired heart, doing the best I could with what I had, one decision at a time.

It made me stronger in ways I didn't ask for. It forced growth I was not prepared for. It shaped a version of me that is more capable, more resilient, and more disciplined than I ever thought I would be.

But there is also anger there. Anger that I did not get to raise my kids the way I had imagined. Anger that the life I planned was taken from me. Anger that survival required sacrifices no one prepares you for.

This debt did not come from luxury or living above our means. It did not come from carelessness. It came from survival. From late nights staring at numbers, choosing between what was ideal and what was necessary. From doing whatever I had to do to keep us above water while everything else felt like it was sinking.

There were seasons where the goal was not building wealth or paying down balances. The goal was simply making it through the month. Sometimes the week. Sometimes just the day. This debt kept my kids fed. It kept a roof over our heads. It kept lights on and life functioning when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

And while I am sad about the numbers, deeply sad, I do not regret protecting my family. I do not regret choosing stability for them when chaos was the alternative. I do not regret survival.

But I also do not want to live here forever.

This does not even include student loans. Those came later, not from avoidance, but from a decision. I chose to go back to school so I could earn a degree, qualify for higher pay, and build long term stability instead of staying trapped in short term survival. I used student aid to help keep our mortgage paid and our home stable while I was trying to build a future that could actually support us. It was not an easy choice or a light one, but it was a strategic one made in a season where I had to think about survival and sustainability at the same time.

There is a difference between surviving and rebuilding.

Surviving is reactive and exhausting. It is emotional and chaotic. It is living in constant response mode, always bracing for the next hit. Rebuilding is quieter. It is slower. It is more intentional. It is making decisions instead of reacting to emergencies.

We are finally in a better place now, more stable, more grounded, more clear headed. For the first time in a long time, I do not feel like I am just holding on. I feel like I can actually start building forward.

So this is what rebuilding looks like for me.

I am using YNAB to actually track where my money is going instead of guessing. I am not taking on any new debt. I am being more intentional with spending and more honest about what is a want versus what is a need. I am finding cheaper meals. I am cutting what I can. I am picking up side hustles to bring in more money. I am tackling the high interest credit cards first because that debt is doing the most damage.

I don’t really know how to start this, so I’m just going to write.

It’s January, it’s cold in Alaska, and today I finally admitted to myself that I can’t keep doing this anymore. I’ve carried my financial mess quietly for years, not because I’m embarrassed, but because talking about money feels like handing someone my diary. It’s personal. It’s vulnerable. It says more about me than I sometimes want to admit.

But I’m tired of pretending I’ve got it all under control.

So… here I am. Day 1.
Writing it down.
Starting over.
Again.

My total debt is $122,653 and that’s just the credit cards.
It doesn’t even include the mortgage. Seeing that number still makes my stomach drop, but there it is. It exists whether I write it down or not. I’ve tried ignoring it, minimizing it, “someday-ing” it, none of that worked. So I’m doing the thing that scares me most: I’m telling the truth out loud.

I’m sharing this because I want to connect with people who get it.
People who budget at midnight.
People who stare at their bank apps way too often.
People who mess up, fix it, mess up again, and keep going anyway.
People like me.

I don’t have a magical plan. I don’t have a secret trick. I’m not going to pretend this journey is cute or aesthetic or easy. I just know I’m done avoiding the hard parts. I want to be intentional this year, with my time, my money, and my future. I want stability. I want freedom. I want a life where money isn’t a constant source of stress buzzing in the back of my mind.

And I want a place to sort through all of it, the numbers, the emotions, the progress, the setbacks. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m writing. If someone out there reads this and thinks, “Okay, I’m not the only one,” then good. But even if no one reads it, this space is for me.

A place to keep myself accountable.
A place to be honest.
A place to remember that starting over isn’t failure. It’s just a beginning.

So this is my beginning.
Day 1.
Let’s see where this goes.