When the rent went up $200, the house of cards collapsed. I had no savings. I had no backup. I had a closet full of shoes I couldn't walk in and a fridge full of condiments.

I’m still an amateur at life. I still buy the fancy cheese sometimes when I definitely shouldn't. But I’m no longer pretending.

Today, I am rebuilding. Slowly. Honestly. And for the first time, I’m not an amateur at being broke. I’m a professional at being real.

Stop trying to be Carrie. Start trying to be solvent. The city lights will still be there when you come up for air.

If you are out there, wearing the costume of "I’ve got it together" while drowning in overdraft fees, I see you.

So, I broke the amateur. I killed "Carrie."

I realized I had romanticized the struggle. I wanted to be the character who is "broke but chic." But in reality, broke is just broke. It’s anxiety at 3 AM. It’s turning down happy hour because you can’t afford the tip. It’s the loneliness of realizing that the lifestyle you built was a sandcastle at high tide.