I’ve written about it a lot over the years, and by “it” I refer to my six-figure credit card debt and how it affected me mentally, physically, and spiritually. I speak of it routinely, as I have addressed audiences across the United States and around the world. Although my debt has been paid off for many years now (my gratitude knows no limits), I can recall and re-live the stress in a heartbeat—and I do, every time I talk about it. It’s real. It’s palpable.
For many years, I assumed I was the only one who'd ever experienced this—that I was an anomaly and a true nutcase. Why else would I continue down such a destructive path, piling on more and more debt while finding new and improved ways to hide this from my husband? Why would I find the pain of the debt and the lengths to which I had to go to keep all my destructive plates spinning so much more desirable than the far less bad pain of facing what I was doing, coming clean, and owning up?
