Sensory Soul

Sometimes life doesn’t just knock you down. It brings you to your knees and leaves you wondering how the hell you’re supposed to get back up.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much our financial situation has changed me.

Not in some beautiful, inspirational, everything-happens-for-a-reason kind of way. Because, quite frankly, there have been moments when I’ve wanted to tell the universe exactly where it can shove its life lessons.

And I mean that sincerely. With feeling. And probably a few swear words.

Financial hardship is humbling in ways I never truly understood until we were living it.

And I don’t mean having to cut back on takeaways, cancel subscriptions or skip the occasional luxury.

I mean having absolutely nothing.

I mean looking at your bank account and wondering how you’re going to put food on the table.

I mean counting down the days until a payment arrives, only to realise there’s still far too much month left at the end of the money.

I mean lying awake worrying about things that, once upon a time, you probably wouldn’t have given a second thought.

And perhaps the hardest part?

Knowing that you’re doing everything you can, and it’s still not enough.

The Humiliation Nobody Talks About

There’s a particular kind of shame that comes with struggling financially.

It’s strange, really, because I would never look down on somebody else for needing help. Not for a second.

Yet when it’s you?

Suddenly, asking for help feels enormous.

You find yourself explaining your circumstances, justifying your situation, almost apologising for needing support in the first place.

You swallow your pride so many times you wonder whether you’ve got any left.

And the thing is, poverty doesn’t just affect your bank balance.

It affects your confidence. Your self-worth. Your relationships. Your mental health.

It makes you feel small in a world that seems to measure people’s value by how much money they have.

But needing help doesn’t make somebody a failure. It makes them human.

I’m learning that. Slowly.

Learning to Accept Help

I think one of the biggest things financial hardship has taught me is how difficult I find it to accept help.

Not because I think I’m better than anybody else. Quite the opposite.

I’ve always believed that if somebody needs help and you’re in a position to give it, you should. No judgement. No questions about whether they’re deserving enough.

But when the tables turn, it’s a completely different feeling.

Suddenly, you’re the one who needs somebody to lend a hand.

And it’s uncomfortable.

It’s vulnerable.

Sometimes it’s downright humiliating.

I’ve had to swallow my pride more times than I care to remember.

But I’ve also had to ask myself why I can extend compassion to everybody else while being so reluctant to offer that same kindness to myself.

Why is it perfectly acceptable for somebody else to struggle, but when it’s me, I somehow feel like I’ve failed?

I’m still working on that one.

Because accepting help doesn’t mean I’m incapable. It doesn’t mean I’m weak, irresponsible or less deserving of respect.

It means that right now, life is difficult, and I can’t do everything on my own.

And perhaps that’s the most humbling lesson of all.

Learning that I deserve the same kindness, understanding and compassion that I would give somebody else without a second thought.

I don’t want to become somebody who expects others to rescue me.

I just want to stop feeling ashamed when somebody offers me a hand.

Because sometimes even the people who hold everyone else together need somebody to hold them up for a little while.

The Emotional Cost of Constantly Fighting

One of the most exhausting parts of our experience has been the waiting.

Waiting for decisions. Waiting for payments. Waiting for somebody to read a message, return a call or finally recognise what we’ve been trying to explain for months.

The endless paperwork. The chasing. The uncertainty.

Having to repeatedly prove that your family needs support when you’re already exhausted from simply trying to get through each day.

It’s soul-destroying.

There have been tears. Anger. Frustration. Moments of genuine despair.

And moments when I’ve found myself obsessively checking for updates because that one decision could make such an enormous difference to our lives.

When you’re struggling financially, a delayed payment isn’t just an inconvenience.

It can be the difference between having food in the cupboards and not.

And I wish more people understood that.

It’s Changed How I See People

If there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it’s that you really have no idea what somebody else is going through.

The person standing next to you in the supermarket might be mentally calculating every penny in their basket.

The parent smiling at the school gates might have spent the previous night crying about money.

The family who appear perfectly fine on the outside might be holding everything together with sheer determination and a frightening amount of hope.

Financial hardship doesn’t have a particular face.

It doesn’t discriminate between people who work hard and people who don’t. It doesn’t care how responsible you’ve been or how carefully you’ve planned.

Circumstances change.

Lives unravel.

And sometimes people find themselves in situations they never imagined they’d face.

I’ve become much more aware of the quiet struggles happening around us.

And much less interested in judging anybody else’s circumstances.

Gratitude and Anger Can Exist Together

I’ve felt incredibly grateful for the help we’ve received.

For the people who’ve listened, supported us and helped us fight for what our family needs.

For every little bit of relief.

For the moments when something finally went our way.

But I’ve also been angry.

Angry that things have been so difficult. Angry at the delays. Angry that we’ve had to fight so hard when we were already struggling.

And I’ve realised something important.

You can be grateful for the help you receive and still be angry that you needed to fight so hard to get it.

Those feelings aren’t mutually exclusive.

Neither is gratitude and exhaustion.

Neither is hope and fear.

Sometimes they’re all sitting together in your head, having a bloody argument at three in the morning.

What I Won’t Take for Granted Again

It’s funny how your priorities change when life strips away the things you once considered normal.

A full fridge.

A decent food shop without mentally adding everything up.

Being able to buy something your child needs without worrying about what you’ll have to sacrifice elsewhere.

The freedom to say yes to something small without that horrible sinking feeling in your stomach.

Peace of mind.

God, the value of peace of mind.

I don’t dream of being wealthy.

I dream of stability.

Of opening my banking app without dread.

Of being able to breathe.

Of living rather than constantly surviving.

And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

We’re Still Here

I won’t pretend this experience has magically made me stronger.

I was already strong.

I’ve had to be.

And, quite frankly, I’m a bit bloody tired of having to prove it.

What this experience has done is make me more compassionate towards myself, more aware of the struggles people carry quietly, and perhaps a little less proud in the ways that don’t really matter.

It’s taught me that asking for help isn’t weakness.

That circumstances don’t define somebody’s worth.

And that there is absolutely no shame in struggling.

We’re not completely out of the woods. There are still uncertainties, still battles, still things we’re waiting for.

But we’re here.

Still laughing when we can. Still loving each other. Still finding little moments of joy amongst the chaos.

And still hoping that life might eventually give us a chance to simply exist without constantly fighting for the basics.

I wouldn’t wish this experience on anybody.

And I refuse to romanticise it.

Nobody should have to experience financial hardship to learn compassion, gratitude or humility.

But if sharing our experience makes just one person feel less ashamed of their own circumstances, then perhaps something worthwhile can come from speaking about it.

Because behind every financial struggle is a human story.

A family.

A life.

And people who deserve dignity, regardless of what’s in their bank account.

We are not our financial circumstances.

And being brought to our knees doesn’t mean we belong there.

With love, a slightly battered sense of humour, and an absolutely unshakeable determination to keep going.

Sensory Soul 🌙