Surviving the Cost of Living: 8 Things You lose

I’m married. We both work. We plan. We budget. We’ve cut out the “extras.” And still… we’re just barely making it.

This cost-of-living crisis is not just stealing our money — it’s stealing moments, peace, and connection.

People think if you’ve got a partner, it’s easier. But the truth is, even with two incomes and shared responsibilities, we’re constantly just surviving. And somewhere in between the shift work, the childcare juggling, and the late-night bill sorting… we’ve lost a few things no one warns you about.

Here are the 8 things I didn’t expect to lose — but have — while trying to keep up with the cost of living.

1. Time With My Kids — The Kind That Matters Most

Yes, they’re fed. Yes, they’re safe. But I don’t get to be with them like I used to. Not really.

We both work full-time now, and I’ve picked up extra shifts on weekends. That means I miss out on Saturday sport, slow school mornings, and the chats over dinner where their real thoughts come out.

My husband and I try to “tag team,” but it's not the same. Our kids are getting the logistical version of us — not the emotionally present, playful parents we dreamed of being.

And that stings. Because they’re only this little once.

2. Mental Bandwidth — The Capacity to Think Beyond Survival

I used to have space in my mind to daydream. To plan holidays. To look forward to things.

Now my brain is in constant overdrive:

• How much is left in the account?

• Did we pay daycare?

• How are we going to cover rego this month?

Even in the quiet moments, I’m not resting — I’m calculating. I’m troubleshooting. And sometimes, I cry in the shower just to release the pressure valve.

This invisible load? It’s exhausting.

3. The Freedom to Say “Yes” Without Guilt

My daughter wanted to do gymnastics. The term fees alone were $180. Then came the shoes, the uniform, the comp fees. And suddenly I’m choosing between her joy and our groceries.

Even fun stuff like Friday takeout or a family movie night gets weighed up like a major financial decision. Every “yes” means saying “no” to something else we might urgently need.

That’s not how family life should feel.

4. Sleep — Not Just the Hours, But the Quality

I go to bed late because I’m doing laundry or trying to finish admin tasks after the kids are asleep. My husband and I lie in bed next to each other, silent, phones in hand, too drained to talk.

And when I do fall asleep, I wake up around 3 a.m., panicked — running mental lists of bills and what we can postpone this week.

It’s like my brain doesn’t trust me to rest anymore.

5. My Patience — With My Kids and With My Partner

I don’t want to yell. I don’t want to snap. But when you’re working nonstop and still falling short, even small things feel heavy.

I catch myself getting frustrated with the kids for just being kids — because we’re late, because we’re tired, because I’m stretched so thin I can’t see straight.

And my husband? Sometimes I’m short with him too, not because of him, but because we both feel like we’re treading water — and it’s easier to snap than cry.

6. The Motherhood I Imagined

I had this beautiful picture in my head:

• Lazy Sunday mornings as a family.

• Homemade snacks in lunchboxes.

• Enough time and space to be present.

  
  

Now it feels like we’re running a military operation. Lunches are thrown together. School notes get lost. We forget it’s library day or show-and-tell.

This version of motherhood is functional — but it’s not the one I dreamt of. And that loss feels personal.

7. My Connection to the World Outside Our Home

We’ve slowly disconnected from our social circle. Not on purpose — it’s just… life is busy, and expensive, and unpredictable. When you’re tired and broke, it’s easier to say no.

We don’t host dinners. We don’t go away on weekends. I miss my friends. I miss us — the version of us that laughed more and stressed less.

Now, it’s like our world has shrunk to work, home, kids, repeat . And it’s lonely, even in a full house.

8. The Right to Just Breathe Without Earning It

It’s not just the money. It’s the feeling that we have to hustle just to have a normal life.

Every moment has a cost. Every breath feels borrowed.

We both work, but we still can’t afford peace of mind. And that’s the hardest part — knowing you’re doing everything right and still falling behind.

Sometimes, I just want to stop — to sit on the floor with my kids and not be thinking about money.

Final Thoughts:

This isn’t a complaint. It’s a confession. Of love, of exhaustion, of truth.

If you’re a parent (married or not) feeling this quiet grief behind your busy days — I see you.

We are not lazy. We are not ungrateful. We are just parents in a time where surviving costs more than it should. And every sacrifice we make is out of love — even the ones that break our hearts a little.

You’re not alone. And your tired version is still worthy of rest, joy, and gentleness.

Love Cass