How I’m Navigating Debt in a Broken Economy (With Accountability, Not Shame)

I’ve been thinking a lot about what accountability actually means in a season where the economy feels broken. Not broken in a dramatic, headline way, but in a quiet, everyday way. The kind where you work full time, do what you’re “supposed” to do, and still end up living paycheck to paycheck.

For me, accountability no longer means doing everything perfectly. It means showing up even when I don’t want to. It means being honest about what I can and can’t sustain, and then committing to the choices I make instead of constantly backtracking.

A simple example: if I say I’m done using DoorDash, then I’m done. Not “mostly done.” Not “unless I’m tired.” If I give myself that boundary, I stick to it. That’s accountability for me right now. Not punishment. Not restriction. Just consistency.

What makes this season especially hard is that so much of the advice around debt assumes the economy is fair. It assumes wages match the cost of living. It assumes rent isn’t increasing faster than paychecks. It assumes groceries are manageable and that finding a part-time job to supplement income is realistic. None of that feels true right now.

I work full time. And still, things feel tight. That disconnect messes with your head. It makes you question yourself instead of the system. It turns financial stress into personal shame, even when the math doesn’t add up.

For a long time, I carried the belief that I shouldn’t have gotten myself into this debt. That if I were smarter or more disciplined, I wouldn’t be here. I have degrees. I’ve done the work. And yet, there isn’t a savings cushion that reflects any of that. That narrative is hard to shake. It’s easy to turn debt into a moral failure instead of what it often is: a combination of timing, systems, and survival.

That’s where the shame creeps in. And shame is what makes people avoid their finances altogether.

I’ve learned that strict budgeting doesn’t work for me when I’m already overwhelmed. Neither does pretending I can’t enjoy my life at all until every balance is gone. When I try to force myself into rigid systems, I don’t become more disciplined. I shut down. I avoid looking. I backtrack. That’s not accountability, it’s burnout.

What’s been more helpful is narrowing my focus. Instead of trying to fix everything at once, I make decisions that keep me engaged. I prioritize what needs to be handled first when money is tight, and I give myself permission to let the rest wait. I’ve written more about how I decide what debt gets paid first when money is tight, because that shift alone has helped me stop spiraling.

I’m also learning how to track progress without turning it into another source of stress. I don’t need constant reminders of how far I still have to go. I need proof that my effort counts, even when it’s small. That’s why tracking things like selling items to pay down debt has worked for me. It makes progress feel tangible, not abstract, and it helps me stay consistent instead of giving up when things feel slow.

Accountability, in this season, looks like showing up imperfectly. It looks like choosing systems that don’t punish me for being human. It looks like making progress wherever I can, even if it doesn’t fit into a clean spreadsheet or a viral money framework.

I’m not pretending this is easy. And I’m not pretending I have it all figured out. But I am choosing to stop layering shame on top of an already difficult reality. The economy can be broken without me being broken too.

I still believe in accountability. I just believe it should support your life, not shrink it.

If you need a place to start, I put together the paycheck-to-debt decision planner I’ve been using to sort what gets paid first when money feels tight. You can check it out here.