By K Redd

The uncomfortable truth is that ignoring financial problems doesn't make them disappear. Sometimes it just gives them more time to grow while we convince ourselves we'll deal with them later.

But here's something else I've learned: just because somebody is struggling financially doesn't mean they're financially irresponsible.

Sometimes life is just lifeing.

Sometimes you're working hard, doing everything you're supposed to do, and the money still isn't enough.

And sometimes, if we're keeping it a stack, we have the money and simply make decisions we probably shouldn't.

I've experienced both.

I've made good money. I've made bad decisions. I've experienced homelessness, wage garnishment, collection calls, job loss, and the anxiety of knowing bills were coming in faster than I could pay them.

I've also experienced abundance, generosity, financial recovery, and the freedom that comes with making better choices.

And if there's one thing life has taught me, it's this:

Growing up, I understood that money meant different things to different people.

My mother was young, single, and raising me without financial support from my father. I knew she struggled, but she did everything she could to give me opportunities.

My grandmother, on the other hand, was the money bag. At least, that's how I saw her.

She had a good job at a hospital, drove a nice car, took us on trips, and would get off work and buy me McDonald's. In my little mind, Grandma had BREAD.

My great-grandmother showed me another side of money.

She kept a jar in her bedroom where she'd stash little amounts of cash for me. I'd take that money to the carryout for chicken wings, french fries, and mambo sauce. Sometimes I'd go to Lee's Mini Market with my cousin and friends for candy and snacks, or we'd wait for the ice cream truck.

Those were simple experiences, but they were meaningful.

I also learned early how to make money.

My cousin and I were probably 11 or 12 years old when we started selling grilled cheese sandwiches.

My great-grandmother had taught us how to cook, and we figured, why not turn those skills into a little business?

We were making money until my grandmother got tired of us using all her cheese.

So we changed the business model.

You want a grilled cheese? Bring your own cheese!

Looking back, that's hilarious. But it also reminds me that I've always had an entrepreneurial spirit.

In high school, I was selected for a competitive internship with Nextel.

This was the summer of 2000. I was making $8 an hour and working 40 hours a week at the company's headquarters in Reston, Virginia.

I was still in high school, commuting to Virginia on my own, working in a professional environment, and earning my own paycheck.

I loved it.

I saved some money, but I also enjoyed having money to spend. I could buy myself nice things, go places, and have a little independence.

As I got older, that mentality followed me.

I've worked jobs where I made $35 an hour and others where I earned substantially less. There were times I worked multiple jobs simultaneously.

At one point, I was working at RadioShack, working at The Princeton Review, and tutoring children on the side.

I was literally running my own tutoring business while working two jobs.

I've always believed that when I need money, I'm going to figure out how to get it.

But here's what took me years to understand:

I've always been ambitious, resourceful, and determined to find a way.

But ambition doesn't automatically equal wisdom.

Looking back, there were times when I was so focused on making money and enjoying what it could provide that I didn't fully consider the long-term consequences of certain decisions.

I was young. I wanted to live well, enjoy myself, and make things happen.

And sometimes I made choices that taught me lessons I wish I could have learned differently.

As I matured, I started asking myself different questions.

I eventually realized that financial success means very little if achieving it compromises the things that matter most.

Today, I approach opportunities with a different level of intention.

I think about the long-term impact of my decisions, not just the immediate benefits.

And I don't believe that my past mistakes have to determine my future.

I've learned. I've grown. I've changed.

That's what matters.

One of the hardest financial lessons I learned came through relationships.

I was in a long-term relationship when my partner moved out unexpectedly.

I remember coming home from work with a friend, expecting to have a few drinks and enjoy the evening.

I unlocked the door, walked inside, and immediately felt like something was different.

Then I went into my bedroom and turned on the closet light.

Her things were gone.

She had moved out while I was at work.

And guess what didn't move out?

All those financial responsibilities were still sitting there, waiting for me.

I worked harder, picked up overtime, and managed to maintain that apartment for a couple more years.

Eventually, though, I became distracted. I started dating again, spent money, and made decisions that weren't always financially responsible.

When I moved out, I left an outstanding balance.

Some of those bills eventually ended up in a box in my mother's closet.

Opening that box brought on tremendous anxiety. I knew the obligations existed, but seeing everything together was overwhelming.

It took time before I was mentally ready to start addressing them and repairing my credit.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last relationship that would leave me financially vulnerable.

Years later, another partner moved out, leaving me unable to afford an apartment that had previously been manageable with two incomes.

This time, the rent was significantly higher.

I contacted the leasing office to discuss my options, but the possibility of legal action was hanging over me.

And at the same time, my wages were being garnished for a medical debt.

I was bringing home approximately $200 a week.

I was commuting hours to work, trying to survive on what little money remained, and dealing with tremendous emotional stress.

Eventually, I lost my housing stability.

In 2015, I became homeless.

I've discussed this experience before, but it's important to understand what that actually looked like.

I stayed with friends. I slept on couches. I bounced between people's homes.

Sometimes I went to daytime drop-in centers just to have somewhere to rest.

There were nights when I had nowhere to go.

On those nights, I'd sometimes take the little money I had and sit in a 24-hour restaurant like Denny's or IHOP because at least I had somewhere to be.

I was also dealing with serious mental health challenges.

Eventually, I went on short-term disability, which became long-term disability. I participated in treatment programs and worked on rebuilding myself emotionally.

I wasn't just trying to get my finances together.

I was trying to get me together.

And there's one experience from that period that I'll never forget.

I was outside a CVS in downtown Washington, DC, with another man who was experiencing homelessness.

He asked someone for a dollar, and the man gave it to him.

So I asked for a dollar, too.

The man looked at me and said, "You don't look homeless."

I said, "What the fuck does homeless look like?"

He couldn't answer me.

I still had nice clothes. I still took pride in my appearance. My circumstances had changed, but that didn't mean I suddenly fit somebody else's stereotype of homelessness.

I eventually stayed in shared housing, then rented a loft in someone's home.

During that period, I worked on my credit, paid down debts, and rebuilt my financial standing until I was able to rent my own place again around late 2016 or early 2017.

Those were difficult years.

But I persevered.

And I promised myself that I would do everything within my power never to experience homelessness again.

Here's where I have to hold myself accountable.

There have absolutely been times when I had the money to pay something and decided I'd deal with it later.

Maybe I wanted to have fun.

Maybe I felt like I'd been working hard and deserved to treat myself.

I've always had a bit of a YOLO mentality.

Tomorrow isn't promised, so enjoy today.

And I still believe in enjoying life.

I love nice things. I love traveling. I love a good restaurant. I love massages, shopping, and taking myself on dates.

Hell, there have been times when I wanted to eat at a restaurant in another state, so I bought a plane ticket and went!

I work hard, and I believe I deserve to enjoy the money I earn.

But I've learned that sometimes we have to recognize when temporary enjoyment could compromise our future.

Because sometimes there isn't a later.

Sometimes you think you have another week to pay something, and you don't.

Sometimes an unexpected expense comes along.

Sometimes delaying a responsibility creates consequences you weren't prepared for.

And when it comes to housing, those consequences can be devastating.

So if postponing a little fun means protecting the roof over my head, I'll postpone the fun.

The restaurant will still be there.

The vacation can happen another time.

My livelihood comes first.

I think people need to understand that financial hardship and financial irresponsibility aren't automatically the same thing.

I recently spoke with a friend who told me that one entire paycheck goes toward her mortgage.

She's employed. She's paying her bills. She's actively looking for better employment.

But her current income isn't providing the financial flexibility she needs.

Sometimes the math simply isn't mathing.

Inflation happens. Groceries become more expensive. Businesses close. Transportation costs increase. People lose jobs.

One day you're comfortably paying rent, and the next you're trying to figure out how to survive without your regular income.

When I lost my job in July 2026, my financial circumstances changed.

I had to make adjustments.

One involved my phone bill.

Instead of paying the entire balance at once, I arranged to make payments over time.

Eventually, I paid the balance in full.

Actually, I accidentally overpaid it and ended up with a credit!

But the point is that I adjusted how I handled the obligation instead of abandoning it.

I've also learned that making a payment doesn't necessarily mean you're making meaningful progress toward eliminating debt.

Years ago, I was paying around $25 a month on a credit card.

At the time, I thought, Well, at least I'm paying something.

But learning more about interest helped me understand how much of a payment could go toward interest instead of reducing the principal.

That changed how I evaluate repayment options.

Today, I pay closer attention to interest, balances, and settlement possibilities. Sometimes I'd rather pay a larger amount or negotiate a resolution than stretch payments out unnecessarily.

Because I like leverage.

I like having access to credit when I need it.

I like having financial options.

And I don't want to limit those options because I refused to address something responsibly.

There were times in my life when I avoided opening bills because I was anxious.

But I've also experienced situations where I knew exactly what I owed and simply didn't have the money available.

Those are different circumstances.

Sometimes there's nothing you can do about an obligation at that particular moment except plan for how you'll address it.

And I've learned not to let something I cannot immediately change consume my entire day.

I grew up in a household where worrying was common.

My mother worries. I've been a worrier myself.

Over the years, mindfulness and meditation have helped me approach difficult circumstances differently.

When I spend too much time worrying about the future, I experience anxiety.

When I dwell too much on the past, I can become depressed.

So I try to remain present.

One day at a time.

Sometimes one minute at a time.

Breathe.

Make a plan.

Handle what you can handle.

That doesn't mean pretending financial obligations don't exist.

Don't throw away the collection letters. Don't delete every email. Don't ignore important legal notices or deadlines.

If you genuinely don't have enough money, show yourself some grace.

But don't confuse grace with refusing to take accountability.

Sometimes financial responsibility means paying everything on time. Other times, it means making arrangements, prioritizing necessities, or asking for help.

And don't let pride stop you from asking.

Closed mouths don't get fed.

I've been fortunate to have people who helped me during difficult times. Family, friends, and others who offered financial assistance, temporary housing, advice, or encouragement.

I've also learned that not everybody will show up when you need them.

That's why I value interdependence without wanting to become completely dependent on someone else.

Healthy interdependence isn't exclusively financial. It's about relationships where people can count on one another, share knowledge, and provide support.

As my financial circumstances improved, I made it a priority to repay the people who had helped us.

I paid back approximately $8,500 in personal obligations.

That meant something to me because I believe in being a woman of my word.

If somebody helps me and I agree to repay them, I want to honor that commitment.

Today, my relationship with money looks very different.

My wife, Cam, and I are building Sovereign Sundays because we want the freedom to work for ourselves.

We want to travel, raise a family, create meaningful experiences, and help other people recognize what's possible beyond the lives they've always known.

And I love the freedom entrepreneurship gives us.

If we decide we want to travel to another country, we don't have to submit a vacation request.

Who's going to fire me, boo?

Cam?

Me?

LMAO!

Now, don't get me wrong. Running a business requires discipline, responsibility, and consistency.

We're not trying to escape work.

We're trying to create the freedom to decide how we work and live.

Cam and I are both planners, but we're also ambitious and spontaneous.

We love nice things. We like the highest tier. We want beautiful experiences, and sometimes we want to do the absolute fucking most!

But we're learning that self-control matters, too.

Recently, Cam suggested that we give ourselves permission to slow down.

We've spent so much time working, planning, building, and sometimes surviving that we're accustomed to constantly being in motion.

She suggested taking a couple of weeks to simply enjoy our lives without immediately acting on every new business idea.

And I appreciated that perspective.

I'm also approaching savings and investing differently.

I've learned how quickly an emergency fund can disappear when unexpected circumstances arise.

So being able to dedicate $10,000 toward investments and $20,000 toward savings is something I feel incredibly blessed to do.

To a millionaire, $30,000 might not seem like much.

But to somebody who remembers sleeping in shelters and trying to survive on limited income, having that kind of financial flexibility means something.

I want my money working for me.

I want investments that grow over time, savings that protect my household, and a business that supports the lifestyle we're creating.

I want to provide for my future child.

And the more abundant I become, the more opportunities I have to positively influence other people's lives.

Money isn't just about what I can buy.

It's about what I can build.

Years ago, someone taught me a principle involving three C's:

That stayed with me.

Everybody's journey is different.

Everybody wasn't born with a silver spoon.

Everybody doesn't have the same opportunities, support systems, or circumstances.

And just because somebody appears to be doing better financially doesn't mean you know what's happening behind closed doors.

I don't want to spend my life comparing what I have to what somebody else has.

The only person I'm interested in competing with is the person I was yesterday.

Can I make better decisions today?

Can I learn something?

Can I take responsibility for something I've been putting off?

Can I move closer to the life I want?

And when problems arise, I try to be solution-oriented.

Complaining might help you express frustration, but complaining alone doesn't change the problem.

At some point, we have to ask ourselves what we're going to do differently.

I've made mistakes.

I've repeated some lessons.

I've experienced consequences that were much heavier than I anticipated.

But I've also changed.

And I'm not going to spend the rest of my life defining myself by decisions I made ten or twenty years ago.

Money comes, and money goes.

Sometimes you have more than enough.

Sometimes you work your ass off for every dollar.

And sometimes, despite your best efforts, you don't have enough to cover the basics.

I've experienced all of those circumstances.

Through my spiritual journey, I've also developed a different relationship with money.

I believe money is energy.

I believe money circulates.

I believe in abundance.

I've learned to think about money as something that deserves attention and intentionality rather than something to fear.

But abundance without responsibility can leave you right back where you started.

And financial responsibility without allowing yourself to enjoy life can make you feel like you're simply working to survive.

For me, the goal is balance.

I want financial security, but I also want experiences.

I want investments and savings, but I also want to travel with my wife.

I want to build wealth, but I don't want to spend my entire life chasing money at the expense of my peace.

And I want to be in a position to help other people without compromising my own stability.

So if you're reading this with unpaid bills sitting on your kitchen counter, collection calls coming through your phone, or a bank balance that makes you nervous to open your banking app, hear me.

Give yourself some grace.

Life is hard sometimes.

You might be doing everything you can and still not have enough money.

But don't give up on yourself.

Today, I feel rich in ways that extend far beyond my bank account.

I have love, freedom, knowledge, opportunities, supportive relationships, a business I'm passionate about, and a future I'm excited to create.

And I've learned financial lessons that I wouldn't trade away, even though I wish some of them hadn't been so damn expensive.

Because the uncomfortable truth isn't simply that debt doesn't disappear when you stop opening the mail.

It's that our financial decisions have consequences, whether we're prepared to face them or not.

We can't control everything that happens to our money.

But we can become more intentional about what we do with what we have.

Because money can come back. But some of the things we risk chasing it are much harder to recover.