There’s this myth that once you commit to paying off your debt, it’s all momentum and progress from there. That once you have a plan in place and start seeing those balances drop, everything just clicks into place. I wish that were true. But real life doesn’t work like that, especially when you’re juggling bills, mental fatigue, and unexpected expenses on a tight budget.
About three months into my debt payoff journey, I hit a wall. And not just any wall—a full-on emotional and financial crash that made me question whether it was even worth trying anymore.
It started with my car breaking down. Of course it did, right? It wasn’t a dramatic breakdown on the side of the road, thankfully. Just a weird noise that turned into an expensive repair. The estimate: $1,147. I stared at that invoice like it was written in another language. My emergency fund was still tiny—barely $500—because I had been aggressively throwing every extra cent toward my credit card debt. The plan had been to build the emergency fund slowly while attacking the highest-interest balances. But suddenly, that plan felt completely naive.
I felt like all the work I had done was being erased in one swoop. I’d spent months cutting back, saying no to dinners out, skipping the cute spring sales, and squeezing every dollar until it begged for mercy. And now here I was, swiping my nearly-cleared credit card to fix my car because I had no other choice.
That moment crushed me. I remember crying in the parking lot outside the mechanic’s shop. Not because of the money, exactly, but because I felt defeated. Like I was trying so hard to climb out of this hole and life just kept kicking dirt in my face. I’d been so proud of my discipline, and now it felt like I was right back at square one.
I almost gave up right there. I thought, maybe I should just go back to minimum payments and try again some other time. Maybe this isn’t the season of life to fix my finances. But after the crying and the cursing and the quiet drive home, I sat down and looked at the numbers again.
And you know what? It wasn’t square one.
Yes, I’d put some money back on my credit card. But I had also paid off over $2,000 since I started. I had canceled $200/month in expenses I didn’t need. I had sold old stuff around the apartment and made extra payments with that money. I had started tracking my spending for the first time in years. I had built habits. And those things didn’t disappear because of one setback.
So instead of spiraling, I decided to reframe the moment. This wasn’t failure—it was proof of why the emergency fund mattered. It was a reality check that life doesn’t stop throwing curveballs just because you’re trying to clean up your financial mess. But it also reminded me of why I started in the first place. I didn’t want to keep living on edge, hoping nothing bad would happen. I wanted security, and I wanted freedom.
That month, I hit pause on debt payments and shifted focus to rebuilding my emergency savings. Just enough to give myself breathing room again. I didn’t like slowing down my momentum, but I realized this wasn’t just a debt payoff journey—it was a long-term lifestyle change. And part of that meant being flexible when life didn’t go as planned.
It also meant giving myself grace. I wasn’t perfect, and I wasn’t going to be. Some months were going to be harder than others. Some months, I might even slide backward a little. But that didn’t mean I was failing. It meant I was human.
And to be honest, that month taught me more than any of the “good” months had. It taught me that resilience is just as important as discipline. That getting out of debt isn’t just about numbers—it’s about mindset. It’s about continuing, even when the progress slows. Even when the balance doesn’t drop. Even when life gets in the way.
I’m still not out of debt. I’m still figuring it out, one month at a time. But I’m in this for the long haul. And I’ve learned that it’s okay to fall—as long as you get back up. That’s what makes the difference.