There are some things that feel harder to say out loud once you’re past a certain age, and “I’m still in debt” is one of them. I don’t mean a mortgage or a car note—those get a weird societal pass. I’m talking about credit cards that never seem to go away. A lingering balance from a personal loan I took out when things got tight. A little bit of everything, spread across too many accounts and too many years. I never expected to be carrying this into my 40s, and for a long time, I felt like it was a secret I had to keep.
When I was younger, debt was just part of life. Everyone I knew had student loans or credit cards. We joked about being broke and made memes about it. But as I got older, it started to feel like everyone else had moved on. My friends were buying homes, talking about their 401(k)s, going on real vacations. Meanwhile, I was still dodging phone calls from my old credit union and doing mental gymnastics every time the rent came due. I stopped talking about money with friends altogether. I didn’t want the pity. I didn’t want the judgment. I didn’t want to be the cautionary tale.
I know I’m not the only one. I’ve met women who are successful on the outside—career women, moms, entrepreneurs—who quietly admit to five figures of debt they don’t know how to shake. But we rarely talk about it in real life, because there’s this shame that creeps in. Like we’re too old to still be figuring this out. Like we should know better. Be better. Have better.
What made it worse for me was how personal the debt had become. Some of it came from choices I made when I was struggling emotionally—impulse spending when I was depressed, booking trips I couldn’t afford because I was desperate to feel normal, helping family even when I didn’t have it myself. These weren’t just financial mistakes. They were tied to pain, to coping, to survival. And that made it feel even harder to face.
I carried all of that around like a weight I couldn’t put down. I’d pay off one card and immediately rack it up again the next time life threw me a curveball. I felt like I was running on a treadmill with no off switch. Exhausted. Embarrassed. Angry at myself.
The turning point didn’t come with a big event. It came one day when I logged into my credit card app and saw a balance I didn’t recognize. I had been making payments automatically, without even tracking what I owed anymore. I realized then that I had completely disassociated from my finances. I wasn’t managing my debt—I was just avoiding it.
That night, I printed out every account, every balance, and every minimum payment. I lit a candle, poured a glass of wine, and promised myself I wasn’t going to beat myself up. I was just going to look. And what I saw? It wasn’t as bad as I feared. It wasn’t great—but it wasn’t the monster I’d made it out to be either.
The next step was forgiveness. I had to forgive the version of me who got into this mess. She was doing her best. She made some messy choices, sure—but she also kept going. She paid bills when she didn’t have it. She smiled when she was drowning. She showed up, even when everything felt broken.
I don’t carry the same shame anymore. I still carry the debt, yes—but I carry it with a plan, with boundaries, and with self-compassion. I remind myself that I’m not behind—I’m just on a different timeline. I remind myself that healing your finances is part of healing your life. And I remind myself, constantly, that I am not alone.
Debt in your 40s isn’t a moral failure. It’s a reality for a lot of women—especially those of us who’ve supported others, started over, changed careers, dealt with illness, or just weren’t taught how to build financial stability. It doesn’t mean you’re irresponsible. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re still writing your story.
And if you’re in the thick of it too, I see you. We can get out. Not perfectly, not overnight, but slowly and steadily—with truth, patience, and a whole lot of grace.