There’s something heavy about being broke. But what’s worse is the part no one talks about: having to ask for money when your pride is already on the floor. Especially when the people you're asking are your parents.
It’s not just a question—it's a risk.
Because when I ask, I’m not just asking for cash. I’m bracing myself for the looks, the tone, the tired sighs. The “we have too many things to pay” lecture. The “you don’t know how hard it is” guilt-trip.
Sometimes they give. Sometimes they don’t. But either way, the message is the same: I’m a problem.
And I hate that. I hate that needing help feels like a crime.
It makes me want to disappear. To swallow my needs. To pretend I don’t want anything—even when I do.
What hurts more is that I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried.
All the “make money online” talk, the “freelance this,” “start that”—I’ve done it. I’ve stayed up, applied, created, pitched, waited. And waited.
But it’s like screaming into a void. There’s no miracle. No freedom. Just disappointment dressed up as opportunity.
People think young people are lazy or ungrateful. But truth is, some of us are just stuck. Trying to be strong in a world that keeps saying “not enough.”
So yeah, I’m tired. Tired of the guilt. Tired of the hustle with no reward. Tired of the silence after trying so hard.
But I write this because maybe someone else is tired too. And if you are—I see you. You’re not a burden. You’re not dramatic. You’re just surviving. And that, on its own, takes a strength no one claps for.
This is my pause.
Not to quit.
Just to breathe. 😮💨
