So Much

By Dagne Goodwin, The Real Frugalist

Sometimes people ask me why I share so much. Why I write about saving bread bags, hanging laundry out to dry, or trying to stretch soup for one more day. Why I talk about chickens and gardens and used cabinets and cracked tile. Why I tell stories about our patched-together life when some would rather paint a prettier picture.

The truth is, I share because I know what it’s like to be broke. Not “we should cut back” broke—but “I hope I can find enough change in the couch for milk” broke.

For a long time, life was hard. Not poetic, Instagrammable hard—but gritty, day-to-day, cry-alone-in-the-bathroom hard. I remember the panic of concert season at school—scrambling to find my daughter a white shirt and black pants. You’d think it would be simple, but it felt like moving mountains. We didn’t have the extra money. Not for clothes. Not for anything.

We saved every penny we could for years to buy the house we live in now. Every bit of change, every side gig, every tiny windfall went into that dream. That journey was long. And hard. And slow. But we persevered.

And when we finally got this house—this beautiful, scruffy, fixer-upper—it wasn’t the end of the struggle. It was just the start of a new kind of work: the kind that starts with cordwood piles, plastic on the windows, and long winters where you hope the furnace holds on until spring. It’s planting a garden to put food on the table. Raising chickens because eggs are precious. Stretching meals and reusing everything because there isn’t a backup plan. It’s knocking down your own walls. Painting every surface with your own tired hands. It’s home improvement by YouTube and trial-and-error, because hiring someone wasn’t in the budget.

But it’s also love. It’s pride. It’s grit and grace and gratitude rolled into one.

This home has become ours one project, one repair, one sacrifice at a time. There’s not a corner of it that hasn’t seen our effort. It’s full of patched drywall and worn floors and a whole lot of stubbornness.

And I share it all because someone out there is still in the hard part of the story. Someone is digging in couch cushions for quarters. Someone is thinking they’ll never get ahead. And if that’s you, I want you to know: I’ve been there. We got through it. You can, too.

We’re thankful for what we have, yes—but we’re even more thankful for what we’ve built. Not because it was easy, but because it wasn’t. Because so many doubted us—but we didn’t. We learned what we didn’t know. We figured it out when we had to. We got stronger. We became capable.

So I’ll keep sharing. Not because our life is perfect, but because it’s real. Because we earned every bit of this life. And maybe you’re earning yours right now, too. Keep going.

You’re not alone.