There’s a difference between being poor and being broke. Poor is when you have little money, few prospects, and not much to call your own. Being broke, though—it’s having a steady income, more possessions than I know what to do with, and a mountain of debt looming over every choice I make. It’s knowing that I’m able to make money but feeling like all my energy goes into feeding this cycle of payments, with barely anything left to actually live.
I can’t enjoy anything that costs money because every dollar has a job, and that job is to claw me out of debt. I’ve had friends ask me to go to a movie, and I’ve started replying, “Sorry, I can’t enjoy that right now.” And that’s the truth—it’s not just about affording the ticket. Debt has stolen the freedom and joy I used to feel, so even the idea of spending on something small feels like a burden. The weight of it all is always there, whispering to me that I don’t deserve even the smallest pleasures because of the decisions I’m paying for.
It’s hard to understand this “I want/need that new phone” mentality, the way shopping seems to make some people feel good. I don’t need more things; I need less, way less. I crave simplicity, just having what I need, and the freedom to use my time on things that matter—like spending time with the people I love. Yet, some of them live far away, and here I am, unable to afford a trip to see them. If something happened to someone I love, I couldn’t even make it to their funeral. The idea of that—that my debt could rob me of those moments, too—is something I can barely stand to think about.
When I look around my house, I feel this constant pressure from the sheer volume of stuff taking up space. Stuff someone thought I needed, stuff I held on to just in case, and stuff that once meant something but has now become just…obstacles. It’s gotten to the point where I have to move things out of the way just to sit and have a simple bowl of oatmeal. My own home doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore; it feels like a storage unit where I happen to sleep.
I’m building up a real disgust for all of this clutter. Each item seems to represent a bad choice, each of them adding to this weight that keeps me pinned down. Sometimes, I just want to escape—to find a place where there’s nothing but what I truly need so I can finally feel that freedom again. I imagine it sometimes: a room with just the basics, a clear space where I don’t have to dodge or reorganize anything, where I can just live. That’s what I’m craving—to have space, both in my home and in my mind, so I can actually enjoy life again.
But the question looms: what’s it going to take to get back to that freedom? To strip away what I don’t need, to pay down this debt that hangs over me like a shadow, to create a life that feels light instead of overwhelming. Right now, I’m only in the phase of realizing how suffocating all this stuff and debt is. I don’t yet have the answer, but I know the desire is there, like a fire slowly building.
And I wonder what others see when they look at me. Do they see someone who’s visibly weighed down, whose frustration seeps into the way I move, speak, and react? Do they notice how I’ve started to withdraw, how I sometimes look at the world with a kind of envy—not for things, but for the freedom and lightness that I can barely remember anymore?
All I want is a simple life where I’m not buried by debt or surrounded by things that do nothing but take up space. I want to spend time with people, to enjoy simple pleasures, and to have a space that’s mine and free of distractions. I want my freedom back. And every day, I wonder how long it’ll take before I can finally breathe again.
Mark R Steinpreis (Author)
Photo by Елена Кузьмина
