Category: Lifestyle

The little life things: cozy habits, personal essays, rituals, daily magic, and observations from the burrow.

Posted in Lifestyle

I Want to Post More… By Sharing Less

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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I think with the baby coming, I want to be a little more offline while somehow posting more.

I know that sounds contradictory, but hear me out.

I want to share my journey into motherhood because I’m sure I’m not going to do everything “right.” I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to learn as I go, and I think there’s value in being honest about that. At the same time, I don’t really want my daughter growing up online. I want to protect her privacy for as long as I can.

I’ve realized I really admire content creators who make family or parenting content without making their children the content. The parents are the personalities, not the kids. Their children aren’t expected to perform for the camera or grow up with strangers watching every milestone.

My goal is to be more like that.

If, one day when she’s older, she tells me she wants to be in a video or be part of a post, that’s a conversation we can have when she’s actually old enough to understand what that means. But until then, I want that choice to be hers.

And I don’t mean the trend of filming your kid anyway and just covering their face with an emoji. If I don’t want her online, then I don’t want her online. My content can be me sitting down at the end of the week talking about what motherhood has been like, sharing what I’ve learned, telling funny stories, or doing dramatically over-the-top reenactments of whatever chaos happened that day. Honestly, those reenactments might end up being funnier than the actual footage ever would have been.

That creates a weird balancing act.

I’ve been thinking about switching back to using my actual cameras instead of my phone for photos and videos. Part of it is privacy. Between Meta, Google, and just about every app asking for access to your camera roll, it makes me uncomfortable. I know there are settings and ways to limit that, but if I’m trying to create content while also keeping my daughter’s photos private, I’d constantly be sorting through what stays personal and what gets apps have access to.

Unless I bought a second phone just for content—which feels incredibly excessive.

Instead, I already own two cameras that deserve a lot more love than they’ve gotten: my Canon Rebel T5 and my Canon PowerShot G7 X Mark II. I bought the G7 X back in 2014 when I decided I was going to become a YouTuber. Life happened, I never fully committed, and both cameras are still in nearly perfect condition.

Maybe this is finally their time.

There’s another reason I want to do this, though.

I want physical memories.

My mom made photo albums for me. My grandpa had albums full of pictures of my mom. My stepdad has boxes of old digital camera photos and enough camcorder footage to embarrass all of us for years to come.

And I love that.

He wasn’t the type to take 200 pictures trying to find the perfect one. He’d snap a photo, maybe two, and move on. The memories mattered more than perfect lighting or editing.

For a long time, I was like that too.

I’d take goofy pictures. Blurry pictures. Random videos that nobody else would understand but that made me smile every time I watched them.

Then an ex told me that I never let myself “live in the moment” because I always had a camera in my hand.

And I believed him.

Without realizing it, I stopped documenting my life.

That insecurity followed me into my relationship with Hector. In the beginning, he wasn’t the biggest fan of having his picture taken, so I figured maybe I should just stop asking.

Eventually… I stopped bringing my camera altogether.

It wasn’t something I consciously decided. It just happened.

One year, I talked nonstop about wanting one of those little Polaroid printers that connects to your phone. Hector surprised me with one for Christmas because he knew how excited I’d been about it.

Then he noticed something.

I wasn’t printing photos.

I wasn’t really taking photos at all.

Sure, I’d occasionally pull out my phone, but I wasn’t documenting our dates or our little adventures the way I used to.

I don’t think I realized how much that one comment from years ago had changed me until then.

It’s something I’m still trying to unlearn.

That feeling hit me again earlier this month when my niece turned three.

I didn’t take a single picture at her birthday party.

Normally, I’m the unofficial family photographer. Nobody asks me to do it—I just always have. I capture everyone else enjoying the day while I quietly document it all.

But this time…

I just didn’t.

I wasn’t feeling up to it, and afterward I felt awful.

It made me stop and think: if I’m already letting moments like this slip away, what happens when my own child gets here?

I don’t want to look back and realize I have more screenshots than family photos.

I don’t want to have thousands of pictures sitting in a cloud somewhere that I never print.

I want albums.

I want videos she can laugh at when she’s twenty-five.

I want blurry pictures from trips to the zoo, sticky fingers covered in ice cream, first-day-of-school photos, Halloween costumes, and random Tuesday afternoons.

I don’t need every moment to become content.

Some moments deserve to stay ours.

So I think I’m going back to carrying a camera everywhere.

Not because I want perfect photos.

Because I want a life that’s remembered.

Posted in Lifestyle

Is the Nesting Instinct in the Room With Us?

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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Someone please tell me… when is the nesting phase supposed to kick in?

Because I’m 30 weeks pregnant, and all I want to do is sleep or eat.

That’s it.

If I’m not scrolling TikTok or Instagram, there’s a 95% chance I’m unconscious. I swear I sit down thinking, I’ll just rest my eyes for five minutes, and suddenly it’s an hour later and I’ve somehow time-traveled into the future.

Everyone talks about this magical nesting instinct like one day you wake up possessed by the spirit of Martha Stewart. Suddenly you’re organizing baby clothes by size, labeling bins, deep-cleaning baseboards, sanitizing bottles, and meal-prepping enough freezer meals to survive both postpartum and the zombie apocalypse.

Meanwhile…

I’m over here celebrating because I remembered to load the dishwasher.

Gold star for me.

I think part of it is just that the third trimester is genuinely exhausting. Growing an entire human being is apparently a full-time job that forgot to mention overtime pay.

But I also think I’m still mentally catching up.

I only found out I was pregnant 12 weeks ago.

Twelve.

Weeks.

One minute I wasn’t pregnant, and the next thing I knew I was somehow already well into my second trimester. There wasn’t a slow build-up or months of anticipation. It felt like the universe skipped the tutorial level and threw me straight into Chapter 12.

Then there’s the fact that I had to move in the middle of my pregnancy.

I’m incredibly grateful my parents opened their home to me, and I know how lucky I am to have that support. But as thankful as I am, it doesn’t quite feel like my home. Hector and I are still living apart while we figure out our next place, and everything feels temporary.

It’s hard to feel inspired to organize a nursery when you don’t know where the nursery is going to be.

You can’t really “nest” when you’re still looking for the nest.

I’m hoping that once Hector and I get our own place—hopefully by August or, at the very latest, the beginning of September—that little nesting switch finally flips. Maybe I’ll suddenly become one of those women who spends an entire Saturday folding tiny onesies while debating the optimal drawer organization system.

Maybe.

Right now, though?

I’d rather take a nap.

Honestly, this whole pregnancy has felt like the beginning of a sci-fi novel.

You know those stories where pregnancies are weirdly accelerated and everyone acts like that’s completely normal?

That’s been my life.

I blinked and somehow I’m 30 weeks pregnant.

The symptoms have been just as dramatic. I went from wanting to eat literally everything to somehow being starving while also getting sick over the most random foods. My ribs constantly feel bruised, my back feels like it got into a fight with a Greyhound bus, and every day one of my ribs seems to announce that it’s filing for resignation.

It’s very rude of my skeleton, honestly.

Basically, I got the Twilight pregnancy experience… just without the craving for raw meat or blood.

And unlike Bella Swan, let’s all hope I make it through childbirth without needing to become a vampire afterward.

So if anyone is expecting me to suddenly alphabetize diapers, color-code baby socks, and reorganize every cabinet in the house…

We’re still waiting.

Maybe my nesting instinct is just running late.

Or maybe my version of nesting looks a little different. Maybe it’s making sure I always have ice water, snacks within arm’s reach, and the world’s comfiest pillow before settling in for Nap Number Three.

Honestly?

That feels like preparing for motherhood too.

If the nesting instinct decides to show up before this baby does, I’ll gladly welcome it.

Until then, I’ll be over here… resting my eyes.

Posted in Lifestyle

I Think I Have a Scrolling Problem

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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What app eats up most of your screen time — and do you even feel bad about it?

For me, it’s not just one app. It’s two. TikTok and Instagram have me in a chokehold.

When I was working, my entire lunch break was spent scrolling videos. I would tell myself I was just taking a quick break, and suddenly my lunch was over. Now that I’m not working, my screen time has somehow jumped to 10 hours a day, and almost all of it is still TikTok and Instagram. It’s honestly kind of impressive when you think about it- like in a pathetic way.

I did download a game, but if I’m being realistic, I barely touch it compared to the amount of videos I consume every day. Apparently watching strangers organize their pantry, deep clean their house, and tell dramatic storytimes has become my full-time hobby.

I also read that you’re supposed to post every time you open the app to make yourself more intentional about using it. In theory, that sounds great. In reality, no one needs to hear from me every 10 minutes. I would become everyone’s most muted person within a week.

Posted in Lifestyle

Four Years Later: From a Pregnancy Scare to Pregnancy

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Four years ago, I wrote one of the most vulnerable posts I’d ever published. It was messy and honest and filled with questions I didn’t have answers to. I had a pregnancy scare, and instead of thinking about a baby, I mostly thought about pregnancy itself.

Now I’m writing this while very much pregnant.

It’s funny how the same topic can feel completely different depending on the season of your life.

When I reread that old post, I don’t cringe. I actually feel a lot of compassion for twenty-five-year-old me. She wasn’t immature. She wasn’t selfish. She was just scared.

Back then, Hector and I weren’t married. We hadn’t lived together yet. We were still learning each other and trying to figure out what our future even looked like. Money was constantly stressful. We weren’t just budgeting—we were surviving. Every unexpected expense felt catastrophic.

So of course an unexpected pregnancy felt terrifying.

I remember writing that during the month I thought I might be pregnant, I never imagined a baby. I thought about sore boobs. Morning sickness. My body changing. Never reaching my goal weight. Buying maternity clothes.

I only thought about the baby after the pregnancy test came back negative.

Reading that now almost makes me laugh because this pregnancy has been the exact opposite.

Don’t get me wrong—I have still complained about pregnancy. A lot.

I’ve complained about gestational diabetes. About getting stuck with needles. About swollen feet, aching hips, acid reflux, and wondering if I’ll ever sleep comfortably again. I’ve complained about food restrictions, hormones, and the fact that my baby apparently rejects half the foods I actually want to eat.

Pregnancy still isn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world.

But this time, every miserable symptom has a face attached to it.

Every kick reminds me there’s a little person in there.

Every doctor’s appointment feels less like checking on my pregnancy and more like checking on my baby.

The pregnancy isn’t the point anymore.

The baby is.

That’s probably the biggest difference.

Another huge difference is that Hector and I are in such a different place.

We’re married now.

We’ve lived together.

We’ve learned how to be partners outside of date nights and vacations. We’ve figured out who does dishes, who takes out the trash, who panics first, and who stays calm when life gets chaotic. We’ve built routines together.

We’re not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re also not living paycheck to paycheck the way we once were. We can actually breathe a little. That security changes everything.

It doesn’t erase fear.

It just makes the fear manageable.

Four years ago, I questioned whether I should even become a mother. I listed all the reasons I thought I’d fail.

My anxiety.

My depression.

My relationship with my parents.

My finances.

The possibility that one day I’d end up raising someone else’s child, too.

Those fears didn’t magically disappear.

They’re still there, just quieter.

They’re no longer the loudest voice in the room.

Instead, I spend more time thinking about what kind of mom I want to be.

I think about taking my kid to Disneyland.

To the library.

To splash pads in the summer.

To baseball games.

I think about reading bedtime stories, making Halloween costumes, helping with school projects, and introducing them to my favorite movies and books.

Four years ago, motherhood felt like an abstract concept.

Now it feels like a person I’m about to meet.

Looking back, I also realize something about Hector.

During that pregnancy scare, he panicked.

I wrote about how he immediately imagined our future while I couldn’t see past the pregnancy itself.

At the time, I thought we had completely different reactions.

Now I think we were just carrying different burdens.

He was trying to figure out how we’d survive.

I was trying to figure out how I would survive.

Today, we’re imagining that future together.

We’re still nervous.

We’re still learning.

We still don’t know exactly what we’re doing.

But the fear has transformed into anticipation.

If I could tell twenty-five-year-old me one thing, it wouldn’t be, “Don’t worry, you’ll get pregnant in four years.”

It would be this:

You don’t have to have every answer before becoming excited about your future.

Life has a funny way of giving you exactly the experiences you need before you’re ready for the next chapter.

Four years ago, I was afraid of becoming pregnant.

Today, I’m counting down the weeks until I get to hold my baby.

Same woman.

Same relationship.

Completely different life.

Posted in Lifestyle

My iPod

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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Which outdated technology do you miss the most, and why?

There was something so simple and satisfying about an iPod. I only had the songs I intentionally chose to put on it, so every track felt personal.

Today, with Apple Music and Spotify, I have access to millions of songs, which is amazing, but it can also feel overwhelming. I honestly listen to many of the same songs anyway, so having endless options doesn’t always make the experience better.

Making playlists now can even feel a little performative, especially when they’re shared with other people. Instead of creating them just for myself, it sometimes feels like I’m curating a version of my music taste for others to see.

My iPod was private, uncomplicated, and distraction-free. I could just plug in my headphones, press play, and enjoy the music without notifications, algorithms, or the pressure to constantly discover something new.

Posted in Lifestyle

The Books I Will Never Stop Rereading

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Which book have you read more than any other?

Every reader has those books. The ones you finish only to immediately start thinking about reading again. The ones that feel like comfort food in book form.

When I saw this prompt, my first thought was that I’m sure a lot of people would answer the Bible. If you go to church every week and attend Bible study, it’s probably the book you’ve spent the most time reading. Honestly, it should probably be my answer too. But I don’t really count it because, for me, it’s not usually a start-to-finish read. I’m typically reading specific books, chapters, or passages depending on what we’re studying, so it feels different than rereading a novel from cover to cover.

For me, it’s not just one book—it’s a whole tradition.

Every single year, I reread Pride and Prejudice. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of Elizabeth Bennet roasting people with impeccable manners or Mr. Darcy slowly becoming one of the greatest romantic leads of all time. It’s one of those stories that somehow gets better every time I read it.

I also reread Much Ado About Nothing every year. Shakespeare can be intimidating, but this play has always been one of my favorites. The banter between Beatrice and Benedick is still top-tier enemies-to-lovers, and honestly, I don’t think anyone has done it better in over 400 years.

Then, every two years, I used to reread the entire Twilight Saga. Say what you want about Twilight—I genuinely love it. It’s nostalgic, cozy, and reminds me of being a teenager. There’s something comforting about revisiting Forks every couple of years.

Well… there was.

About a year ago, when Hector and I were moving, I somehow managed to accidentally put my Twilight books in the donation box. I didn’t realize it until they were already gone. I’m still not over it. Somewhere out there, someone got a free Twilight collection, and I hope they’re enjoying it because I’m still mourning the loss.

One day I’ll replace them and start my reread tradition again. Until then, Pride and Prejudice and Much Ado About Nothing are holding down the fort.

Apparently, I’m just the kind of reader who likes revisiting old favorites as much as discovering new stories. There’s something special about returning to books that have grown with you through different stages of life.

Posted in Lifestyle

I Can’t Wait for the Fun Stuff

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So as you know, I’m officially in my third trimester with my first baby, and I was telling one of my friends how excited I am to be a mom.

She looked at me and said, “Because you love babies?”

Girl… no.

Don’t get me wrong—I think babies are easier than toddlers in a lot of ways. They mostly eat, sleep, and stare at you dramatically. But when I think about becoming a mom, I’m not daydreaming about the newborn stage.

I’m excited for the kid stage.

I can’t wait to take my kid to Disneyland, the park, splash pads, museums, libraries, and all those random little community events. I see all the fun things my 11-year-old niece, Hector’s 8-year-old niece, and my 4-year-old nephew get to do, and I get so excited thinking, “I can’t wait until I get to do this.”

The libraries out here in Vegas have been amazing. They had a puppet show, a magician, and even a teen rave—all completely free. They really try to have activities for every age group. My local library back in California was the same way. Every time I see one of those event calendars, I think about taking my future kid there.

When I was in high school, my church even hosted a duct tape prom because the duct tape craze in the early 2010s was such a huge thing. Looking back, it’s kind of ridiculous… but it was also so much fun. Those are the kinds of memories I want my kids to have—those random, goofy experiences they’ll remember years later.

A lot of the parents I follow online also have older kids, so I think that’s shaped what I imagine motherhood looking like. One creator I absolutely love helps teach her daughter how to budget, and I genuinely recommend checking out her page if you’re a parent or just want some wholesome content. I also love all the lunch-packing videos.

My dad packed my lunches growing up. They weren’t Pinterest-worthy bento boxes with tiny heart-shaped strawberries or dinosaur sandwiches. It was usually just a sandwich—although, to be fair, it was always stacked like a Scooby-Doo sandwich. Looking back, I appreciate that so much, but I also think it would be fun to occasionally surprise my kid with one of those over-the-top lunches just because.

Maybe that’s what I’m really excited about. Not just raising a baby, but getting to create traditions, make memories, and be the kind of mom who says yes to the puppet shows, library events, splash pads, and spontaneous adventures.

Of course, there are moments that remind me my baby isn’t actually here yet.

My niece just celebrated her third birthday, and every time she throws a tantrum I jokingly tell her I’m going to take all her toys for my baby.

Well, at her birthday party she looked at me very seriously and said, “You can have my toys… but you have to share them with you, not the baby.”

I asked why.

She said, “Because I can’t see the baby, and she might be mean.”

The funny part is she says this because a while back I asked if she wanted to feel the baby kick. The baby kicked her hand, and she immediately pulled away and completely freaked out.

So apparently my unborn child has already scared away their first cousin.

We’re off to a great start.

Posted in Lifestyle

Greyhound at 7 Months Pregnant Is a Form of Torture

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I don’t know how I used to do this.

I’m currently on a Greyhound from Las Vegas to California, seven months pregnant, and my back is screaming. These bus rides are only about five hours, and there was a time when I’d climb on, put my headphones in, fall asleep, and wake up when we got there.

Today? Absolutely not.

Every position hurts. Sitting hurts. Leaning hurts. Existing hurts. Pregnancy has officially made me the most high-maintenance passenger on this bus.

And then there are… the people.

The woman traveling with her baby? She wasn’t the problem. In fact, I felt bad for her because everyone kept complaining every time the baby cried. The poor little one cried for maybe 30 minutes before completely knocking out for the rest of the trip. Babies cry. That’s literally part of being a baby. The adults complaining were honestly more annoying.

Then there’s the group of men talking at the complete opposite end of the bus somehow loud enough for everyone in the front to hear every single word. I don’t know how that’s even possible, but congratulations on your impressive lung capacity.

And let’s not forget the guy who fell asleep while playing the same TikTok over and over. If I hear that audio one more time, I may lose what’s left of my sanity.

Of course, my anxiety also decided to make an appearance. Usually I travel with my suitcase that’s covered in a million stickers, making it easy to spot. This time I brought a plain black duffel bag because all I’m carrying is dirty laundry. My mom’s washing machine is broken, so I’m taking my clothes to my friend’s house to wash them. Not the point of the trip but a key role in the story. 

There is absolutely nothing valuable in the bag.

Literally just dirty clothes.

Yet somehow I’ve convinced myself someone is going to steal it.

To make the trip even longer, we ended up delayed leaving Las Vegas because there was a truck on fire near the highway. Definitely not something you expect to see before starting a five-hour bus ride.

Then came my favorite part.

I pulled out my snacks because, newsflash, I’m seven months pregnant. I cannot go hours without eating something. Apparently the woman sitting across from me felt the need to comment on how often I was snacking.

Ma’am…

I’m growing an entire human.

My doctor would probably be more concerned if I wasn’t eating every couple of hours.

I promise my Goldfish crackers and granola bar aren’t affecting your trip.

At this point, all I want is to get to California, do my laundry, stretch my back, and never see the inside of a Greyhound again.

At least until I inevitably book another trip back home to Vegas. Let’s hope by then I completely forget how miserable this trip was.

Posted in Lifestyle

The Hard Years

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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What’s a chapter of your life you’d title “The Hard Years” — and what got you through it?

If I had to give one chapter of my life a title, “The Hard Years” it’s definitely when I was leaving las Vegas in 2019.

Not because it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but because it changed me in ways I didn’t understand until years later.

When I was 21, I got kicked out of my parents’ house.

At the time, it felt like my entire world had been flipped upside down. Before all of that happened, my mom and I talked every single day. She was one of the first people I’d call if something happened, whether it was good or bad. Then suddenly… nothing.

The silence was honestly the hardest part.

People assume getting kicked out is mostly about finding somewhere to live or figuring out money, and those things are incredibly difficult. But for me, losing that daily relationship with my parents hurt more than anything else.

Looking back now, I don’t deny that I was wrong. I understand why my parents made the decision they did. At 21, I couldn’t see it. I was hurt, angry, and convinced they didn’t understand me.

Now, years later, I can admit that if I were in my parents’ position, I probably would have made the same choice.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Two things can be true at the same time.

So what got me through it?

Honestly, I distracted myself with life.

I worked. I spent time with friends. I focused on whatever was right in front of me because thinking about what I’d lost was too painful. I don’t know if distraction is the healthiest coping mechanism, but at the time it was the only one I had.

Little by little, things started to heal.

When I turned 22, my mom and I slowly found our way back to each other. We started talking again, and over time our relationship became strong again.

My relationship with my stepdad took a little longer. We didn’t really get back to where we used to be until I was almost 24. Healing isn’t always quick, and every relationship moves at its own pace.

Now, I don’t take either of those relationships for granted.

As I’m getting ready to become a mom myself, I think about those years differently than I used to. Parenting isn’t just about loving your child. Sometimes loving them means making decisions they’ll hate you for in the moment because you believe it’s what’s best for them.

I hope I never have to make that kind of decision.

But if I ever do, I understand it in a way that 21-year-old me never could.

Those years were painful, lonely, and full of growing up faster than I wanted to. I wouldn’t want to relive them, but I also wouldn’t erase them.

They taught me accountability.

They taught me that relationships can survive even after they’re broken.

Most importantly, they taught me that forgiveness doesn’t erase the past—it allows you to build a future together anyway.

“The Hard Years” eventually came to an end.

And now, as I prepare to start a brand-new chapter with my own little family, I’m grateful that mine found their way back to each other.

Posted in Lifestyle

Confessions of Someone Bad with Money

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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I’ve never been good with money. I’ve never been the person who checks my credit score, keeps track of bills, or gets excited about budgeting spreadsheets. Honestly, I was the type of person who thought, If I have money, I’ll spend it. If I don’t have money… I’ll probably still spend it.

Financial responsibility just wasn’t something I ever learned.

According to my stepdad, I get that from my mom. Apparently, years ago she forgot to make the final payment on one of those buy-now-pay-later plans—Klarna, Afterpay, one of those—and it ended up hurting her financially. I guess I come by it honestly.

Unfortunately, I’m no better.

Right before COVID, I took out a loan because I needed to move from Las Vegas to California. At the time, I also had a couple of credit cards. Eventually, one of those accounts was closed, but I managed to pay it off before it went to collections. The other one stayed open, and I kept up with it.

Then about a year later, I opened two more credit cards.

At first, I was doing everything right. I made my payments on time. Then I missed one. Then another. Suddenly it became this endless cycle of paying just enough to keep the accounts from completely falling apart instead of actually making progress.

I kept telling myself I’d get everything back in order.

Then life happened.

About two years ago, I lost my good-paying job. I took a minimum wage job just to survive, and I was barely scraping by. Then I left that job for another one, but by then I was already behind.

Then I got pregnant.

Pregnancy brain is real, and while it’s definitely not an excuse, it didn’t exactly help me stay on top of bills. Between doctor appointments, moving, stress, gestational diabetes, and everything else this pregnancy has thrown at me, my finances kept falling further and further down my priority list.

Now, over a year later—maybe longer; honestly I’m measuring time by pregnancy at this point—I owe more money than I care to admit.

And that’s terrifying.

I’m not working right now, so I don’t even have money to throw at the problem. It’s just…there. Hanging over my head.

The hardest part is admitting that I’m embarrassed.

Hector has always wanted to keep our finances separate. For a while I kept asking if we could combine everything, but if I’m being honest, it wasn’t because I thought it was the best financial decision. It was because I wanted someone else to take over.

I wanted someone to remember the due dates. Someone to organize everything. Someone to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

That isn’t fair to him.

My financial mistakes are my responsibility, not his.

The truth is, I get overwhelmed easily. When life gets chaotic, I tend to avoid problems instead of facing them. It’s a habit I’ve picked up from both of my biological parents, and while understanding where it came from helps explain it, it doesn’t excuse it.

I’m about to turn 30.

I’m about to become a mom.

And I can’t help feeling embarrassed that I still struggle with something that seems so basic to everyone else.

But maybe that’s exactly why I’m writing this.

Not because I want sympathy, and definitely not because I’m proud of the choices I’ve made. I’m writing it because pretending everything is fine hasn’t helped me. Avoiding it hasn’t helped me.

Maybe growing up isn’t about never making mistakes.

Maybe it’s finally looking at the mess you’ve made, admitting it’s yours, and deciding you’re going to clean it up—even if it takes years.

I don’t have some inspiring ending where I tell you I’ve paid everything off and suddenly became a budgeting expert.

I’m still in the middle of it.

I’m still scared.

But for the first time, I’m at least willing to admit that I need to change.

And that’s probably where becoming financially responsible actually starts.