The sting was immediate. “So this is my fault?” “No,” she said gently, “this is your responsibility.” I gripped the phone tighter, the air in the room suddenly heavy. “You’re not a kid anymore,” she went on. “You have a good job, don’t you?” “Yeah, but it barely covers everything.” “What about budgeting? Have you looked at where your money’s going?” Silence. Because the truth? I hadn’t. I knew I was overspending, but I’d been avoiding the mirror, afraid of what I’d see. My version of a plan had been… swiping my card and hoping something would magically work out.
“I didn’t raise you to be helpless,” Mom said. “If you need help—not just a bailout—I’m here. But in a way that will actually help you in the long run.” “Like what?” I asked, my voice more skeptical than I intended. “For starters, I’ll sit down with you and go through your finances. We’ll make a budget, find where you can cut back. I can even recommend a financial advisor.” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “So no free money.”
Her voice softened. “You’re not a failure for struggling. Everyone hits a rough patch. But you can either stay stuck and let it define you, or you can take control and change your story.” I swallowed hard. “So you’re really not going to pay off my debt?” She chuckled softly. “No, sweetheart. But I’ll teach you how to make sure you never end up here again.” I sat there, letting her words settle. Maybe she wasn’t being selfish. Maybe this was the lesson I’d been avoiding for years. “Okay,” I said at last. “Let’s talk about my budget.” Continue reading…
