My new daily **beveragino** of choice is officially…
**(MADE AT HOME ‘CAUSE I’M POOR! 
)**
Vanilla Chai Tea
1 tsp turbinado sugar
1 pump Jordan’s Skinny Syrup (Sugar-Free Horchata)
Splash of oat milk
My tanning drops
My liquid collagen
Quite literally the highlight of my day.
I don’t have a whole lot else going for me at the moment.
I’m employed.
Cool.
One day a week isn’t exactly paying the bills.
So today’s dilemma is figuring out how in the hell I’m going to realistically bring in about **$1,200 over the next two weeks.**
Otherwise…
The Millers are one unexpected bill away from living **IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER.**
*(In my best Chris Farley voice.)*
Okay…maybe August rent is survivable.
September?
September is giving…
**”Well…this is concerning.”**
Our cell phones getting shut off?
That’s becoming a very real possibility within the next couple of weeks.
That one is going to suck.
(I can already hear my teenage daughters complaining.)
Now before anybody gets the wrong idea…
**I AM NOT ASKING FOR HANDOUTS.**
Notice the wording.
I need to **MAKE** the money.
**BRING IN** the money.
Not have somebody else solve my problems.
(And to the couple of trolls I know are still silently watching every post…
This little paragraph is especially for you.
Kisses, bitches.)
Most of you have watched me juggle our finances ever since we left our old jobs a month ago.
We’ve stretched every dollar.
We lived off the little bit of savings we had left.
That savings is officially gone.
Now we’re back to paycheck-to-paycheck.
Which means I’m dusting off all the recipes from my poor-kid childhood and figuring out how to feed five people for approximately seventeen cents and a potato.
Honestly…
This is probably the hardest financial spot we’ve been in since Matt broke his shoulder and couldn’t work.
And I hate it.
I hate not contributing enough.
I hate feeling behind.
I hate feeling like no matter how hard Matt and I work, we’re constantly sprinting uphill carrying the weight of the world on our backs.
Three years ago…
Our credit was BEAUTIFUL.
We had over **$10,000 sitting in escrow.**
Almost **$8,000 in savings.**
We had busted our asses working 50-60 hour weeks.
We were ready.
Like…
I had literally emailed the property manager telling her we were finally ready to buy our house.
Then…
On a random Monday.
Middle of the day.
A board member texted us.
*”Can you come in at 1:00? We need to have a talk.”*
We did.
That meeting changed everything.
My hours were cut from 50 a week to 25.
Matt’s were cut from 50 to 35.
Then we were told…
*”Between the two of you, that’s still a living wage.”*
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sentence.
It felt like a slap in the face.
Especially when the very next conversation involved hearing about someone leaving on a two-week trip out of the country.
Talk about a gut punch.
Reality didn’t care what someone else thought was a living wage.
Reality said mortgage dreams don’t wait.
Reality said groceries still cost money.
Reality said kids still have to eat.
Reality said dogs and cats don’t understand budget cuts.
So we burned through our savings.
FAST.
When that disappeared…
We turned to credit cards.
Not because we wanted to.
Because we had to.
We didn’t qualify for assistance.
(We STILL don’t.)
Apparently we made “too much.”
(Still do.)
Funny how you can supposedly make too much to receive help…
…while simultaneously wondering how you’re going to keep the lights on.
Those reduced hours weren’t temporary either.
That started in August.
They didn’t return to anything close to normal until the following May.
By then…
The savings were gone.
The dream of buying our house was gone.
The credit cards were maxed.
And we’ve spent the last almost three years clawing our way back toward daylight.
We were FINALLY getting close again.
Paying off credit cards.
Building savings back up.
We STILL have over **$10,000 sitting in escrow.**
Then everything blew up.
On a random Sunday morning.
Three people in our household suddenly found themselves out of jobs. All after a long period where the work environment had become increasingly difficult to be in and around for me personally.
For nearly two years we dealt with constant nitpicking.
Constant criticism.
Multiple meetings where we tried to explain how the environment felt increasingly hostile from our perspective and asked for things to improve.
Walking into work every single day already knowing our opinions carried less value than the gum stuck to someone’s shoe.
The environment became so stressful that every shift felt more like survival than work.
My anxiety got so bad that my hair literally started falling out.
I had bald patches.
For the longest time I honestly thought it was the MS.
Turns out…
Stress can do some pretty horrifying things too.
It’s only now, after leaving, that it’s finally starting to grow back.
Looking back…
I honestly don’t know why we stayed as long as we did.
After our old manager left, we knew we weren’t the people they wanted anymore.
We were simply the people they felt “stuck” with.
And here’s the part that still amazes me…
Since we left…
Members.
Former coworkers.
Friends.
Family.
Even vendors who now stop by our new workplace…
Have all reached out and said the same thing “OH man are they talking allll kinds of shit about you guys!”
Meanwhile…
I’ve said absolutely nothing.
Not publicly.
In fact, when we left, I wished them well.
And I meant it.
Because despite everything…
I genuinely hope they’re successful.
I hope the club thrives.
I hope the employees still there have a great experience.
I hope everyone wins.
Could I tell my side of the story?
Absolutely.
Could I be petty?
Probably.
Would people finally understand why we chose to leave instead of trying to “work it out?”
Yep.
There’s one hell of a story.
But I’m not going to tell it.
Because peace is worth more than revenge.
I’d rather spend my energy building something new than reliving something that nearly broke me.
So that’s where we’re at.
Scared?
A little.
Stressed?
Absolutely.
Defeated?
Not even close.
If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you already know one thing about me…
I am too damn stubborn to stay down.
I’ll sell stuff.
(Hopefully.)
I’ll figure something out.
Because quitting has never been an option.
We’ve climbed out before.
We’ll climb out again.
Will we buy our house this year?
Probably not.
Will it happen on the timeline we dreamed about three years ago?
Definitely not.
But someday…
I fully intend to stand on the porch of our own home, ugly crying, thinking about every setback, every sleepless night, every maxed-out credit card, every “living wage” comment, every tear, every ounce of stress…
…and know that we earned every single brick. I just hope I want to stay in this town after all of this!
Until then…
I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep fighting.
I’ll keep believing that someday all of this bullshit will make one hell of a story.
And if nothing else…
At least I’ve got one hell of a new beveragino
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