As told to The Growing Home by Sofia R. and edited lightly for flow and clarity.
I grew up in a brick apartment building outside Joliet, Illinois, where the heat clicked loud in winter and every grocery trip had a plan. My mother kept a running list on the side of the fridge. My father saved screws in old peanut butter jars. I did not have the language for class back then. I just knew we were a family that reused gift bags, split paper towels in half and treated a broken lamp like a small project instead of trash.
When I was younger, I thought those habits meant we were always one step behind. I wanted the smooth life I saw in Target aisles and in the kitchens of kids whose parents ordered takeout on school nights. I wanted to stop hearing, “Use what we have first.” I wanted to buy things the first time I wanted them, with no waiting, no comparing, no mental math.
Then I grew up, moved to Chicago and learned how fast money can disappear when nobody is watching. It happened in tiny ways. A latte near the Loop, a quick pharmacy run that turned into forty dollars, a pair of boots I bought because everyone in my office seemed sharper than I felt. The thing is, money stress rarely arrives like a movie scene. It builds in quiet layers and then one day you open your banking app on the Blue Line and your chest gets tight.
I will be honest, I spent a few years trying to outrun the habits I grew up with. But boy, was I wrong. The older I get, the more I see that my parents handed me a set of money habits that still work in real life, whether you live in a Chicago walk-up, a ranch house in Columbus, or a tiny apartment in Seattle with rent that makes your eyes water.
These habits help me save, yes. They also help me feel steady. They cut down on panic, impulse and that worn-out feeling you get when your money seems to vanish without giving much back. If you grew up stretching every dollar too, you may recognize yourself here. If you did not, you can still borrow what fits your life and leave the rest.
1. I checked what we already had first
I remember when my mother would stand in front of the pantry before every grocery trip and take inventory like she was managing a small store. One can of black beans, half a bag of rice, three onions, plenty of pasta. Back then, I thought it was tedious. Now I see it was the first lesson in saving money without feeling deprived.
When you check what you already have, you make better decisions because you are starting with reality. You are less likely to buy duplicates. You are less likely to come home with five exciting ingredients and nothing that becomes dinner. For me, this one habit creates instant calm, because it turns vague scarcity into clear information.
Years ago, I ignored this rule in my apartment in Albany Park. I stopped at Aldi after work and bought chickpeas, canned tomatoes and olive oil because I was sure I was out. I came home and found two cans of chickpeas, three cans of tomatoes and a full bottle of oil already on the shelf. That little mistake cost maybe fifteen dollars. It also made me feel scattered.
So now I pause before I shop. I open the fridge, freezer and bathroom cabinet. I ask one simple question, what is already here that can do the job? You would be surprised how often the answer is enough. That is where practical living begins.
I think this habit also changes your mindset. You start seeing your home as a place with resources, not a place full of gaps. That shift matters. It helps you trust yourself and trust is a big part of spending wisely.
2. I learned to wait before I bought
There was a time when I believed speed made life easier. If I needed throw pillows, I bought them that night. If I saw a skin care product at Target that promised glow and firmness and a better week, I tossed it into my cart. The rush felt good for about ten minutes.
Waiting gave me back my judgment. I call it my buy later rule. Sometimes it is twenty-four hours. Sometimes it is one weekend. For bigger things, like a rug or a tablet, I wait a full month and keep a note in my phone with the item name, price and why I want it.
My friend Sarah from accounting taught me something similar by accident. We were walking through West Loop after work and I was staring at a window display like it contained answers. She laughed and said, “If you still want it on Tuesday, maybe it means something.” I still use that line.
The emotional wave of wanting rises fast and falls fast. When you wait, you give yourself time to see whether the purchase solves a real problem or just fills a mood. I have watched this happen over and over. On Friday night I feel certain I need a new coffee maker. By Sunday afternoon I have cleaned the old one and moved on with my life.
Waiting also protects your budget from your tired self, your stressed self and your lonely self. I know those versions of me well. They are persuasive. They are also expensive.
3. I kept a real number in my head
It took me a long time to realize that I was making money plans based on fantasy math. I would say, “I barely spent anything this week,” and then my debit card history would tell a very different story. Ten dollars here, eighteen there, a delivery fee, a quick refill at CVS, lunch because I forgot mine. The number in my head was always smaller than the number on the screen.
Researchers Johanna Peetz and Roger Buehler found that people future spending “tended to underestimate their future spending.” That line hit me hard because it described my twenties with painful accuracy. Good intentions made me feel frugal, even when my actual behavior did not.
So I started keeping a real spending number. Mine was simple. I looked at what I actually spent in a normal week, then used that figure as my baseline instead of the imaginary version of myself who packed lunch every day and never bought shampoo. Once I had a number grounded in real life, I could plan with less shame and more precision.
I remember sitting in a Starbucks on North Michigan Avenue with my notebook open, finally adding up a month of random spending. I wanted to close the notebook halfway through. But after the sting passed, I felt relief. A real number gives you something solid to work with.
If you want one habit that changes your money story fast, this is mine. Track a normal week. Then track another. Your mind will offer a flattering estimate. Your receipts will offer the truth. The truth is much more useful.
4. I used cash where I was weakest
I admit I still have spending weak spots. Mine used to be home goods and little “treat” purchases, candles, notebooks, makeup, fancy pantry items I convinced myself would turn me into a woman with a calmer life. My card made all of it feel soft around the edges. Swipe, tap, done.
Cash changed the texture of those decisions. When I pulled forty dollars from the ATM and put it in an envelope labeled “extras,” I could feel the limit in my hand. That physical limit gave my brain a boundary. It slowed me down in a way my debit card never did.
Years ago, I took cash with me to the Green City Market in Lincoln Park because I had been overspending on weekend produce and pretty jars of jam. The first week, I walked around twice before buying anything. I asked myself what I would actually cook. I went home with tomatoes, herbs, bread and money left in my coat pocket.
This is the cash envelope trick in the most ordinary form. You do not need a color-coded system and a social media-worthy binder. You need one or two categories where you tend to drift. Cash works best where your emotions are strongest.
For some people, that category is eating out. For others, it is beauty products, sports gear, or those impossible last-minute runs into Walgreens. You know where your money leaks. Start there and let the limit be visible.
I still use my card for bills, gas and online purchases. I use cash for the areas where I need a little friction. That small bit of friction has saved me more than any budgeting app ever did.
5. I bought used without feeling small
I used to connect “new” with success. If something came from Goodwill or Facebook Marketplace, I felt a flicker of embarrassment. That feeling came from pride and from the stories we absorb about what polished adulthood should look like.
Then I furnished my first real apartment on a tiny budget and used items became my rescue plan. A friend sent me a Facebook Marketplace listing for a solid wood dining table in Logan Square. It had one scratch across the top and legs that could survive a tornado. I bought it for sixty dollars, carried Thai takeout home and ate on that table feeling richer than I had in months.
Buying used taught me secondhand pride. You learn to spot quality. You stop paying full price for the privilege of peeling off a tag. You also realize how many barely used things are floating around because someone else got bored, moved, redecorated, or wanted a faster upgrade.
I once wore a camel coat from Buffalo Exchange to work and two women asked where I got it. They pictured a boutique. I smiled and told them the truth. That moment mattered more than I expected, because it broke the old story in my head.
You can build a warm, functional, even beautiful life with used things. A home full of thoughtful choices feels better than a home full of rushed purchases. I believe that more deeply every year.
6. I repaired things that still had life
My father treated broken objects like they were talking to him. A chair wobbling, a lamp flickering, a zipper snagging, he would pull the item closer and say, “Let’s see.” I learned from him that many things are one screw, one patch, or one quiet afternoon away from working again.
As an adult, I drifted away from that instinct for a while. Convenience was loud. Replacement felt easier. Then my favorite winter coat lost a button and tore at the pocket seam during one brutal Chicago January. I almost replaced it on impulse, even though the coat itself was still good.
Instead, I stopped at Joann, bought matching thread and fixed it at my kitchen table with a YouTube tutorial playing nearby. The repair took maybe twenty minutes. More than the money saved, I remember the feeling afterward. I felt capable.
That is what a repair mindset gives you. It stretches the life of your belongings and it stretches your confidence too. You become someone who pauses before replacing. That pause is where better money choices happen.
Some repairs are worth paying for. I have taken boots to a cobbler, had a small vacuum fixed and asked the paint desk at Home Depot to help me match an old wall color instead of repainting a whole room. Every time, I felt like I was working with my life instead of constantly starting over.
If you did not grow up around handy people, you can still learn this habit. Start small. Sew the button. Glue the mug handle if it is safe. Tighten the cabinet pull. You do not need to become a repair expert. You only need to notice what still has life.
7. I chose lasting over flashy
I have bought the cute cheap version more times than I want to admit. Cheap flats that pinched after two blocks, a blender that groaned through frozen fruit, a side table that wobbled before the month was over. Each one looked like savings at first. Each one asked for more money later.
Eventually I learned to ask a different question, how long will this serve me well? That question shifted me toward cost per use. A sturdy pair of boots you wear three winters has a different value than a trendy pair that gives out by February.
Professor Thomas Gilovich put it beautifully when he said adaptation is an enemy of happiness. His work with Travis J. Carter also found that people often get more lasting satisfaction from experiences than possessions. That helped me stop chasing the thrill of shiny upgrades.
I felt this in a very ordinary way with kitchenware. I skipped three rounds of flimsy nonstick pans and finally bought one solid skillet that could handle weeknight pasta, eggs on Sunday and the occasional nervous dinner for friends. Every time I use it, I feel grateful instead of annoyed. That emotional steadiness matters.
These days, flashy has less pull on me. I would rather own fewer things that hold up and spend the difference on a train ride to Milwaukee, a museum afternoon, or dinner with someone I love. Those memories stay bright longer than most objects ever do.
8. I borrowed, shared and swapped
For a while, I acted like adulthood meant owning every single thing myself. Drill, folding chairs, cake stand, extra suitcase, ladder, air mattress, all of it. That mindset is expensive and it keeps you isolated.
My block in Chicago changed that for me. A neighbor lent me a ladder when I needed to change a smoke detector battery. I loaned her a bundt pan two weeks later. Another neighbor passed along moving boxes. Little by little, I saw how much money people save when they trust one another enough to share.
This is where the shared economy becomes deeply human. You do not need a trendy app to practice it. You can use your local Buy Nothing group, call your sister, text your friend David, or check the Chicago Public Library for tools, passes and media before buying something new.
I once borrowed a carpet cleaner from a friend in Oak Park and saved myself the cost of renting one on a Saturday morning. I have swapped serving platters before Thanksgiving, traded seedlings with a neighbor and borrowed a black dress for a wedding when I had no room in my budget for one. Every exchange made me feel more connected to my life.
You may have to get over a little pride here. I did. But once you do, you realize that sharing is one of the oldest forms of wealth. It lowers costs and it makes daily life warmer.
9. I spent on people more than status
I used to think money spent on myself was the clearest reward for working hard. New shoes, upgraded headphones, a nicer bag for the office, those purchases felt like proof that I was moving forward. Sometimes they were useful. Often they faded into the background faster than I expected.
Then I started paying attention to what stayed with me. A plate of pancakes with my cousin in Andersonville after a hard week. Bringing soup to a friend when her son had the flu. Picking up my mother’s grocery tab at Jewel-Osco one December when I finally had a little room to do it. Those moments stayed vivid in a way products rarely did.
Psychologist Elizabeth Dunn and her colleagues wrote that spending on others may have a more positive impact on happiness than spending on yourself. I believe that because I have felt it in my own body. Small generosity has a way of loosening money fear without making you careless.
This does not mean you should become reckless, or perform generosity for show. I am talking about thoughtful spending that strengthens real relationships. A birthday lunch for your friend. Gas money for your brother. An extra sandwich for the person helping you move. Those choices build a life that feels supported.
My favorite example is tiny. One summer, I bought two iced coffees at Dunkin’ before meeting my friend David by the lake. We sat on a bench near Lake Michigan and talked about layoffs, aging parents and whether adulthood ever stops surprising you. The coffees were cheap. The hour felt priceless.
That is why I hold on to people over status as a money rule. Status spending asks you to be seen. People-centered spending lets you feel connected. I know which one leaves me fuller.
10. I saved in small moves I could repeat
For years, saving money felt dramatic in my mind. I pictured huge acts of discipline, canceled plans and a perfect month where I spent almost nothing. That fantasy usually collapsed by day six. Real life kept happening and I would give up.
Everything changed when I made saving smaller and more regular. Twenty dollars every Friday. Ten dollars after a no-spend weekend. Rounding up grocery money and moving the leftovers. I built tiny automatic savings from the scraps of ordinary life.
Researcher Leona Tam, working with Utpal Dholakia, found that people saved more when they focused on “making routines and habits now to repeat over time.” In one study, the people nudged into that repeatable mindset saved about $223 in two weeks, compared with roughly $130 to $140 in the other groups. That difference makes sense to me because habits beat heroic moods every time.
I started with an automatic transfer so small it felt almost silly. Fifteen dollars moved from checking to savings every payday. Then I added a second tiny rule, any cash back rewards went straight into savings too. I stopped waiting to feel impressive. I focused on feeling consistent.
You can do this in a way that fits your life. Maybe your number is five dollars. Maybe it is fifty. The amount matters less than the rhythm, especially at the beginning. Repetition teaches your nervous system that saving is part of who you are, not a punishment you visit on yourself once in a while.
When I look back, that may be the deepest gift of growing up the way I did. I learned that stability is built in humble passes through ordinary days. One checked pantry. One delayed purchase. One repaired coat. One dinner with someone you love. Those habits still carry me and they still make my life feel bigger than the budget line on a screen.