I Thought I Was Bad with Money, But I Just Didn't Have Enough

For years, I believed I was terrible with money.

I blamed myself every time I overdrafted my account, when my savings never seemed to grow, and when an unexpected bill sent me into a panic spiral. I thought I was irresponsible. Undisciplined. Financially immature.

But I wasn't.

The truth was much simpler - and much harder to admit:

I just didn't have enough.

The Shame Was Immediate

I got my first taste of financial guilt in college.

While some friends had help from their parents, scholarships, or trust funds, I juggled three part-time jobs and still barely scraped by. I worked at the campus café in the mornings, babysat in the afternoons, and did weekend shifts at a bookstore.

Even then, I sometimes had to choose between gas and groceries. I'd pretend I wasn't hungry while sitting at lunch tables, claiming I'd already eaten. I once made a single pack of ramen last three days - adding extra water and frozen peas to make it feel like a meal.

But instead of recognizing the root problem - lack of income - I internalized evetything as personal failure.

"I'm just bad with money," I would say.

Not, "This system is broken."

Not, "I am trying to survive."

Budgeting Didn't Fix Everything

When I graduated, I promised myself I'd finally "get it together."

I bought a budgeting app, made a spreadsheet, followed all the finance influencers who said things like skip your latte and invest! I stopped eating out completely. I tracked every cent.

But even when I did everything "right," I still didn't have breathing room.

After rent, utilities, student loans, and groceries, there was barely anything left. If a tire blew out or I got sick and had to miss a shift, I spiraled. I blamed myself for not having an emergency fund, even though I didn't have the income to build one.

And yet, the guilt was overwhelming. Society tells us poverty is a result of poor choices, not poor systems. So when you're poor, you assume you're doing something wrong.

So I believed I was the problem.

Living Paycheck to Paycheck Isn't a Moral Failing

It wasn't until I started working full-time that I realized just how deep the damage had gone.

I got a job that paid "decent" money - at least by entry-level standards. I thought, Finally. I can save. I can stop worrying.

But then I looked at my paycheck after taxes, rent, transportation, and food.

The margin was still painfully thin.

And it hit me:

I wasn't bad with money. I was just underpaid and overburdened.

My bills weren't frivolous. My spending wasn't reckless. I wasn't failing. I was surviving.

There's a massive difference between being irresponsible with money and not earning enough of it. But capitalism loves to conflate the two - because it keeps us blaming ourselves instead of asking why the system is so brutal to begin with.

Comparison Made It Worse

Social media didn't help.

I saw people posting about paying off $30k of debt in a year, or buying a house at 25. People with matching containers for their perfectly organized pantries. People saying things like, "If I can do it, so can you!"

But they didn't have my reality.

They didn't have to help their parents with bills. They didn't have siblings relying on them. They didn't start adulthood already thousands of dollars behind.

Comparing my financial journey to theirs was like comparing a marathon runner to someone dragging a boulder through mud.

Unfair. Exhausting. And completely demoralizing.

The Turning Point: A Breakdown in the Grocery Aisle

It sounds dramatic, but I truly broke down in the grocery store one day.

I was holding a $4 jar of peanut butter, debating whether I could afford it. I had about $20 to get me through the week. I'd already put back yogurt, cereal, and a frozen meal.

I just stood there. Staring. Heart racing.

A woman walked by with a full cart, chatting on the phone about a vacation. And I thought: Why is this so hard for me? Why does surviving feel like a math problem I keep failing?

I went home that day and cried.

Not because of the peanut butter. Because I realized how long I'd been blaming myself for being broke - when I'd been doing everything right.

Rewriting the Narrative

That moment shifted something in me.

I started asking different questions - not "Why am I bad with money?" but:

• "Why is rent half my paycheck?"
• "Why is health insurance unaffordable on minimum wage?"
• "Why do we punish people for being poor?"

And most importantly:

• "What if I've been doing the best I could all along?"

I stopped following financial "gurus" who never had to choose between medication and food. I started reading more about systemic inequality, wage gaps, and generational poverty. I learned that most Americans couldn't afford a $500 emergency - not because they're lazy, but because the economy isn't built for them to thrive.

I stopped shaming myself. And I started honoring my resilience.

My Money Habits Didn't Change - But My Compassion Did

Here's the surprising part:

Once I stopped treating myself like a failure, my financial anxiety slowly began to ease. Not because I suddenly made more money - but because I gave myself grace.

Yes, I still budget. I still track spending. I still look for deals.

But I also remind myself:

• You are not your bank account.
• You are not a burden.
• You are not a failure for struggling.

Because you can't budget your way out of poverty. You can't "manifest" money if your job doesn't pay a living wage. And you can't build wealth on top of shame.

What I Know Now

I know now that financial literacy is important - but it's not a magic fix.

You can know everything about money and stull be broke if you're underpaid, overworked, or caring for others.

I know that survival takes strength. That feeding your family on a tight budget is a form of love. That saying "no" to outings because you can't afford them doesn't make you boring - it makes you responsible.

I know that asking for help isn't weak. And that financial struggle is often invisible - even among friends who look like they have it together.

But most of all, I know this:

Being broke doesn't mean you're broken.

If This Is You, Please Hear Me

If you're reading this and you've felt what I've felt - embarrased, ashamed, exhaustef - I want you to know you're not alone.

You're not falling. You're surviving. And that is nothing short of heroic.

You deserve rest. You deserve abundance. You deserve to live - not just exist.

So the next time you catch yourself saying, "I'm bad with money," pause. Breath. And ask yourself:

Or do I just not have enough?

Because that one question changed everything for me.

Maybe it can for you, too.