Poor

We grew up a little bit poor.

Not poor on a global scale, but poor-ish on a local scale.

Not so poor that we ever went hungry. But poor enough that I knew not to mention it when my shoes were worn out.

I don't recall ever feeling like we were going without anything during my childhood but looking back I can see how bare bones everything was. I can see all the corners that were cut to make ends meet.

And on the other hand, I can also see now that there was never a day Mum went without cigarettes or alcohol.

I think of all the effort I've put into learning how to budget and save and reach a secure financial position, and I actually marvel at how she managed to balance it.

She never wrote out a budget anywhere, she never scrutinised her bank statements, she never put money aside for bills before they arrived. And yet somehow, the bills got paid, we got fed and clothed, we were housed, and she always had a smoke in one hand a drink in the other.

How she did it, I honestly don't know.

I'm grateful for growing up just a little bit poor. It taught me life skills about repairing things before buying something new. That second-hand doesn't mean second-best. How to cook meals that will fill you up without breaking the bank. How to make use of everything you've got. That sometimes the most valuable gifts are not expensive, but handmade.