Being $500,000 in consumer debt doesn’t just change your finances—it changes how you see yourself, how you sleep, and how you relate to the world. People look at a number like that and think, “How does that even happen?” but I promise you, it never feels like a single, giant leap. It’s a thousand small steps, a thousand moments of “I’ll pay it off later” and “Why wait, life is short.”
When I turned 18 and got my first credit cards and loan, it felt like I’d finally been handed the keys to adulthood. I grew up watching my parents pinch pennies and say no to everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. So when I finally had credit, I started saying yes. Yes to eating out, yes to the new laptop, yes to the little comforts that made me feel like I’d made it, even if it was all borrowed. I told myself I’d make more money and catch up. For a while, I did—the promotions kept coming, and so did the credit offers. The debt grew, but so did my salary, and as long as I made the minimums, nobody cared. In fact, banks seemed to love it.
But then life threw me a curveball I never saw coming. My best friend, who saved every dime, missed out on so much trying to be responsible—he died in a car accident at 22. Another close friend passed away young, too. After that, I stopped thinking so much about the future and started living for today. I splurged on travel, dinners, gadgets, gifts, whatever felt good in the moment. Why not enjoy it, I thought, when tomorrow isn’t guaranteed?
Debt, at first, is almost invisible. If you pay the minimum, everything keeps humming along. But the feeling is like living in a house where the foundation is slowly cracking. Even as I hit $200k in income, my debts ballooned way beyond that. The shame is real—you hide it from friends, from family, from everyone but the people sending you statements in the mail. I became a pro at juggling payments, refinancing with new loans, transferring balances, anything to buy another month.
You rationalize every step. I told myself that I was spending on memories, on family, on generosity, not just on myself. I said yes to the fancy engagement ring, to the upgraded flight, to spoiling my baby with the latest tech toys and gear. But the truth is, most of it blurs together. I had a shopping addiction, plain and simple. A thousand dollars on Uber Eats here, a few hundred on Amazon there, a new computer every year or two. Subscription services piled up—Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, you name it. My spending became background noise.
The weirdest part is how debt changes your mental baseline. After a while, you don’t really feel the weight anymore—it’s too big, too abstract. But it’s always there, an undercurrent of anxiety. The thought of missing a payment, of getting a call from collections, of watching your credit score nosedive, never really leaves you. It seeps into everything—work, relationships, even how you see yourself. I’m a Director of Engineering at a bank, and sometimes I can’t shake the sense that I’m living a double life: professional and competent on the outside, privately unraveling under the surface.
I’ve thought about bankruptcy, but my situation makes it tricky. My employer is one of my creditors, and I’ve heard stories about people getting fired for filing. There’s also my ego and my hope—if I stick to a plan, if I tighten the belt, maybe I can pay it all back. I took out a 401k loan at 9% interest just to consolidate the worst credit card debts, the ones charging 30% or more. My whole financial life now is about damage control. I pay the minimums, attack the highest interest debts first, and cut back everywhere I can. Selling my car and other things I don’t really need is part of the plan, but it’s a slow grind. I don’t really save anymore—every dollar extra goes to paying down debt.
Talking about all this is tough, and people aren’t always kind. Some think I’m stupid, others think I’m showing off, and some are just angry that someone who makes good money could be so reckless. But if you’re in a hole like this, I promise you, you’re not alone. Debt is a quiet epidemic. Everyone hides it, which makes it even easier to spiral.
I don’t regret the experiences I’ve had—some of the trips, the time with my family, the memories—but I do regret how little discipline I showed. If I die tomorrow, at least I lived. But if I live a long time, I want to make sure I don’t just exist to service old mistakes. The debt will be with me for years, and every day is a reminder of how easy it is to fall in, and how hard it is to climb out. Still, every payment is a step toward freedom. And when I finally get there, I’ll never go back. If you’re just starting down this path, turn around before it gets this bad. And if you’re already in deep, just know you can fight your way back, one small win at a time.