More Than a Carport

By M.E. Avila

Today, at 46 years old, I made what I jokingly called a “grownup” purchase. I hired a contractor to build a carport. Earlier this year, I started remodeling my kitchen and installed AC units to make my home more comfortable. To someone else, these may look like ordinary home improvements. To me, they are evidence that my life has changed.

For much of my adult life, I lived in survival mode. Domestic violence, financial abuse, instability, raising children, and simply trying to keep everything together taught me a different kind of financial literacy. I knew how to bounce bills. I knew the cutoff dates and how many days I could push a payment without the lights or water being disconnected. I knew what could wait, what couldn't, and how to stretch money that was already gone before it arrived.

Even school became part of the hustle. I registered for classes and used grants, scholarships, and student loans to help keep bills paid and meet my children's needs. I hated school. A doctorate was nowhere in my plans. I wasn't thinking about becoming a scholar; I was thinking about groceries, utilities, and getting my children through another month. Somewhere along the way, though, survival carried me into spaces I never imagined for myself. What began partly as a way to keep us afloat eventually became an education I claimed as my own.

That is why spending money on my home today feels both empowering and terrifying. I am no longer in complete chaos mode, but my mind still knows how to live there. Every large purchase wakes up the part of me that asks, What if something happens? What if you need that money? I am learning that leaving survival mode doesn't mean your survival instincts immediately leave with it.

At 46, I am learning a new kind of financial freedom. I can make my home comfortable because comfort matters. I can improve something before it breaks. I can spend money based on what I want my life to look like instead of only responding to the next crisis. There is grief in realizing how long it took to get here, but there is also enormous pride in knowing what it took to arrive.

So when that carport goes up, I won't just see a roof over my car. I will see the distance between the woman who knew every utility cutoff date and the woman who can now call a contractor and say, “This is what I want to build.”

For most of my life, I learned how to survive chaos. At 46, I am learning how to live without it. And that may be the scariest, most empowering form of freedom I have ever known.