Some messages change a life. Mine came through WhatsApp, on an ordinary Tuesday, sent by a former accountant I hadn’t spoken to in months. Two letters from the tax authorities. One number: $170,000.
I read it three times. Then I typed the only thing that came to mind: “That’s impossible.”
I knew there was a balance due. A story of mishandled filings, a case the accountant had supposedly “forgotten.” In my head, we were talking about $35,000. Something manageable. Something you power through by gritting your teeth for a year or two. Not a six-figure abyss.
But if I’m being honest with myself — and that’s the whole point of this journal — the taxes are just the latest layer of a much older problem. Before that message, I already owed money to people I love. People who trusted me.
A few years ago, I jumped into e-commerce. Dropshipping, to be exact. At first, everything moved fast. Too fast, maybe. You feel invincible when orders roll in and numbers climb. You don’t think about what happens when the machine breaks down. And when it does, you don’t step back — you double down. You borrow to cover losses. You take a risk to mop up the last one. And before you know it, you’re digging.
Three people lent me money to help me stay afloat. My aunt, who entrusted me with a lifetime of savings. I had started paying her back, then I had to stop. She doesn’t say anything, but her silence weighs more than any reproach. My wife’s uncle, who still doesn’t know I can’t repay him — every family dinner is a balancing act. And the father of a friend, the only one I’ve been able to tell the truth to, who waits patiently hoping things will work out.
The worst part of debt is never the numbers on a screen. It’s the looks. The conversations you avoid. The lies of omission you start to think are normal.
So today, I’m trying something different. I’m putting it all on the table — publicly, anonymously. Every dollar I owe. Every creditor. Every story behind every debt. Not for pity. Not for charity. But because silence has never paid anyone back.
This blog is my counter. My witness. And maybe, if you’re reading this, the beginning of a conversation I should have had a long time ago.
Goal: zero.
Day 1.