In the beginning, I thought the answer to getting out of debt was simple: spend less. I made spreadsheets. I canceled subscriptions. I gave up streaming platforms, stopped getting my nails done, and switched to generic everything. For a while, it felt empowering—like I was finally being disciplined and doing what grown women are supposed to do. But after a few months, I hit a wall.
No matter how tight I made the budget, there was only so far I could stretch what I had. Rent was rent. Groceries weren’t getting cheaper. The debt payments, the phone bill, the transportation costs—none of that was optional. I was budgeting like a pro and still coming up short. I remember sitting at my kitchen table, coffee gone cold, staring at my budget for the third time that week. I kept tweaking the numbers, hoping I’d magically find some extra $300 lying around. Spoiler: I didn’t.
That’s when it hit me: I couldn’t cut my way out of this. Not entirely. My problem wasn’t just spending—it was income. I wasn’t earning enough to give myself real breathing room, and the only reason I hadn’t acknowledged it sooner was because I’d been so focused on fixing my spending habits. But I had cut just about everything that wasn’t essential, and I was still stuck.
So I started looking for ways to bring in more money—but carefully. I knew I didn’t have the energy to burn myself out. I already had a full-time job that drained me, and the last thing I needed was to run myself into the ground chasing side hustle dreams. I wasn’t trying to become an overnight millionaire. I just needed a few hundred extra dollars a month to create space—space to pay more than the minimum, space to save, space to exhale.
My first move was offering to babysit for a neighbor who needed help two evenings a week. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was easy, paid in cash, and didn’t require much extra energy. Then I started selling things I didn’t need—old furniture, unused electronics, clothes I swore I’d wear again. It was small money, but it added up. I opened a separate savings account just for extra income so I could see it build without accidentally spending it.
Eventually, I started freelance writing again. I’d done it years ago, but gave up because it didn’t pay much back then. This time, I set clear limits: one client at a time, short projects only. I wasn’t trying to build a business—I just wanted a slow trickle of income that didn’t steal my sanity.
Within three months of supplementing my income, I had enough to make an extra $200–$300 in payments toward my smallest debt each month. That progress felt incredible. Not just because of the numbers—but because of what it did for my mindset. I went from feeling stuck to feeling capable. From just surviving to slowly digging my way out.
I’m not saying earning more is always the answer, and I definitely don’t think hustle culture is something to glorify. But for me, bringing in extra money gave me choices. It gave me flexibility. It gave me relief. And I think for a lot of us—especially women in our 40s who are rebuilding or starting over—that is the most powerful part.
I still keep a tight budget. That habit saved me. But I also don’t expect budgeting alone to carry me anymore. It’s just one piece of the puzzle. Earning a little more—on my terms—was the missing piece that helped me actually start making a dent in my debt.
So if you’re staring at your numbers, feeling like you’ve cut everything you can and it’s still not enough—maybe it’s not about cutting more. Maybe it’s time to shift focus. Maybe it’s not about depriving yourself into financial freedom. Maybe it’s about finding a small, sustainable way to add to what you already have.
You don’t have to burn out. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to take the next small, doable step toward giving yourself some breathing room.