Beat debt fast has literally been my life’s main quest since like early 2024 and I’m still not done but damn I’m way closer than I ever thought possible. I’m typing this right now at my rickety IKEA desk in my one-bedroom in Columbus, Ohio, it’s February and the radiator is making that weird ticking noise again, there’s half a cold brew sweating on a coaster that says “Live Laugh Loan” (ironic gift from my sister), and I just paid an extra $312 toward the last big card this morning. Felt good. Felt terrifying. Anyway.
I had $28,400 in credit card + medical + that one dumb personal loan debt at the worst point. Felt like I was never gonna breathe right again. Collection calls at 8:17 a.m. on Saturdays. Me pretending to be “out of the country.” Classic. These are the hacks that actually moved the needle for this very imperfect human.
Why “Just Stop Spending” Advice Made Me Want to Throw My Phone
Everyone and their financially-perfect aunt says cut coffee and subscriptions. Sure. I already wasn’t buying $7 lattes—I was buying $1.29 McD’s coffees and still bleeding money. The problem was deeper: surprise car repair ($1,100 alternator in 2023—killed me), vet bill when my cat ate string ($847), and honestly just swiping for groceries when I was too tired to meal plan. Lifestyle creep snuck up when I got a $4k raise and thought “I deserve nice towels now.” Spoiler: the towels did not pay themselves off.
Hack #1: Angry Debt Snowball (Because Normal One Was Too Calm)
I started with Beat Debt Fast Dave Ramsey style—smallest debt first for quick wins. It worked… for like two debts. Then I got bored. So I turned it petty.
I renamed every debt after something that pissed me off:
- $6,200 Chase card = “That Time My Boss Promised a Bonus and Then Didn’t”
- $9,100 hospital bill = “Why Does One CT Scan Cost More Than My Rent”
- $4,900 CareCredit = “Teeth Are a Scam”
Every time I sent extra money I’d write “TAKE THAT [NAME]” in the memo line on the payment app. Immature? 100%. Did it make me maniacally happy to watch those balances drop? Also 100%. I cleared three cards in under seven months because the rage was stronger than willpower.
Hack #2: The Almost-No-Spend Month That Broke Me (But Taught Me)
Tried “No Spend November.” Allowed rent, utilities, gas, cheap groceries. No eating out, no Amazon, no “quick Target run.” I made it 22 days. Cracked on day 23 and ordered $38 worth of wings because I was losing my mind in this small apartment during a snowstorm.
But that almost-month showed me I was spending ~$240/month on random DoorDash and “I’ll cook tomorrow” excuses. Now I make big pots of chili or spaghetti on Sunday nights (yes I put way too much garlic, fight me), portion it out, freeze most. Saves real money. That $200+ goes straight to debt now. Not perfect but better.
Hack #3: Side Hustles I Didn’t Hate (Much)
Did Uber Eats Friday/Saturday nights + some weekday dinner rushes. My 2015 Civic smells permanently like tacos and regret. Pulled $500–$950 extra most months when I timed it for peak hours. Learned quick: only take $8+ orders, avoid 20-minute waits for $3.50 payouts.
Also did TaskRabbit a few times—mostly moving furniture for people who just bought houses in the suburbs. Sweaty, awkward, but $120–$200 a pop. Tax write-offs on mileage helped too (I actually tracked it this year—miracle).
Hack #4: The Tiny Emergency Fund That Kept Me Sane
Dave says $1,000 emergency fund first. I tried. Kept getting hit with crap (flat tire, $380; grandma’s birthday gift I couldn’t skip, $150). So I did $400 in Ally labeled “ONLY IF I’M BLEEDING.” It wasn’t textbook. It stopped me charging emergencies though.
The Parts Where I Still Mess Up Big Time
Last week I bought $62 of limited-edition Hot Pockets because nostalgia hit hard on TikTok. Beat Debt Fast Cash. Still dumb. Also I sometimes “forget” to transfer the extra $100 I swore I’d send to debt. Human. Flawed. Whatever.
If you’re reading this at 3 a.m. with that pit in your stomach from another statement… same. Beat debt fast isn’t glamorous. It’s crying in the car after a long shift, it’s eating the same lunch five days straight, it’s arguing with yourself not to buy the $9 candle “for self-care.”
