The car broke down today. Again.
It’s my husband’s car, and this would be the third time this year. We’ve brought it to different workshops, different mechanics, each one poking around and shrugging like it’s just one of those ghosts in the machine. But today, the mechanics finally identified the issues: spark plugs, cooling gasket, weak battery, frayed cables, a clogged pipe, and a radiator that desperately needs cleaning.
RM2,000. That’s the estimate. We have savings, sure, but can we replenish that money in time? That question alone pulled me into a mental spiral I’ve come to know too well. A slow, heavy dread that swirls up in the pit of your stomach. But I caught myself. I reminded myself I had two choices: let that worry snowball and bury me, or breathe, look at the situation for what it is, and figure out what I can do.
We still need to fix the car and to keep living. And worrying, as familiar as it is, won’t do the fixing for me. What weighs heavier than the cost, though, is the guilt. There’s this stubborn voice inside whispering that I’m not doing enough. It keeps insisting I should be contributing more consistently. My husband works full-time, and I write, and I have small online hustles. Sometimes they bring in decent money but sometimes they don’t. But I squirrel away every ringgit I earn. And over the years, those small savings have paid for medical bills, groceries, furniture, school supplies, and, of course, rainy days that came without warning.
When I zoom out, I see that I’ve contributed steadily throughout the years. And yet, the guilt persists. Because we live in a world that ties a person’s worth to the size of their paycheck. Is that the only currency that matters? But what about everything else?
What about the sleepless nights, the emotional labor, the struggles of parenting and managing a household, especially when they are rarely acknowledged? What about the unpaid hours spent raising children into kind, curious humans? What about those people who hold things together behind the scenes? However, I’ve learned, slowly, not to compare. I tried not to look at working mothers and feel small. I make an intentional effort not to pit stay-at-home and working women against each other. We each make trade-offs and we all carry invisible costs. I’ve stopped wasting energy trying to measure myself against others. I’d rather pour that energy into things that feed my soul, like writing and making art.
Still, the financial anxiety is real. We’ve been living frugally for years. And yet, one broken part in a car can shake the balance. It’s a common story. Everywhere I look, people are stretched thin, in Malaysia or elsewhere around the world. Even in countries like the U.S., I read about 80-year-olds still working because they can’t afford not to. That article haunted me.
It reminded me how fragile things can be, how illness, aging, or a single emergency can drain years of careful saving. And it made me think, what kind of life do I want to build? What kind of resilience do I want to have? I don’t want to live in fear. So I’m choosing to stay patient, calm, and clear. I’m choosing to meet this setback with grace, even when it feels unfair. I tell myself this: take a deep breath. Don’t panic. Worry adds nothing. It just takes and drains. And right now, I need all my strength to stay grounded and keep creating and contributing, not just financially, but emotionally and meaningfully.
If you’re reading this in the middle of your own breakdown, whether mechanical or emotional, I want you to know: you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed and cry. It’s okay to spiral too. I did that often but when the tears dry, try again. If you’re like me, you have people who are depending on you for survival, and no matter how unfair it might sound, we have to keep going even when we feel like falling apart.
Sometimes, a broken car teaches you more than a working one ever could. It reminds you of what you’re capable of. And if you’re still standing after everything life has asked of you, then maybe you’re not broken at all. You’re probably just in the middle of building something unshakable.
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