The Nightmare Before Christmas: How I Lost Myself—and My Wallet—Buying Gifts My Kids Didn’t Need

Christmas used to feel magical. Now it feels like an interrogation. Mis hijas, my three girls, are growing up fast, and I rarely get to see them. Between school, their dads, their abuelitas, and my relentless work schedule, our time together is measured in minutes, not hours. I know I’m a single mom, and I try to do my best, but some days it feels like no matter what I do, I’m failing. The holidays amplify that guilt. The pressure to be the perfect mom, the mom who buys the perfect gifts, the mom who makes Christmas unforgettable—it’s unbearable. Last year, I thought I could fix it all. I thought I could make up for the time I didn’t spend with them by giving them everything I couldn’t afford.

I spent over $7,000 on them last Christmas. Seven thousand dollars. And most of it went on credit cards. My credit score was already poor, so the interest rates were cruel—18% or more, every month ticking down like a hammer. I thought if I just made them happy, if I just splurged a little, everything would be fine. But mis hijas, as much as I love them, they didn’t care about the gadgets or the designer shoes. They were eight, ten, and twelve. They wanted simple things. Una pelota, some art supplies, maybe a peluche (a stuffed animal) they could hug when I wasn’t around. Instead, they got Apple pros, toys that made my bank account scream, and expensive trinkets that would sit forgotten in a corner a week later.

I remember the day I swiped my first card like it was a movie scene. My hand shook, not from excitement, but from sheer terror. I knew the numbers weren’t in my favor. The minimum payments would be more than my rent in a month. The thought of the interest accumulating made my stomach churn. But guilt is a powerful thing. It whispers in your ear: “Ellos se lo merecen. You have to do it. Eres mala mamá si no lo haces” (They deserve this. You have to do it. You’re a bad mom if you don’t.) And so, I gave in. Every purchase felt like salvation. Until it wasn’t.

By the end of December, I was drowning. I had two more bills than money, three credit cards maxed out, and a bank account that seemed to mock me every time I logged in. The joy of Christmas melted into anxiety. Nights were spent staring at the ceiling, calculating payments, wondering if I could borrow from friends, or maybe sell something—anything—to stay afloat. The irony is almost poetic. I bought them happiness, and in return, I got a debt nightmare that would haunt me for nearly a year.

This year, almost twelve months later, I can barely buy them a ball. Forget the Apple products. Forget the extravagant gifts. I sit at the kitchen table, staring at a stack of bills, and the old familiar guilt creeps in. I am a bad mom. I want to scream it. “¡Yo soy el regalo, chicas!” (I am the gift, girls!) I am the gift. But even that feels hollow when I can’t pay for groceries, when the credit card debt from last year looms over me like a dark cloud.

Let me warn every parent who’s thinking about overspending this season. The system is cruel, and sometimes, as much as you love your kids, you will shock yourself with your own financial failure. Kids don’t need the latest tech. They aren’t professionals earning six figures—they don’t care if the toy is top-of-the-line or budget-friendly. What they care about is atención (attention). Presencia (presence). Laughs and hugs. That’s free. That’s priceless. That’s what lasts.

Let me break it down for you, because I wish someone had done this for me before I spiraled.

1. Credit cards are monsters in disguise. They look friendly, small, and helpful, but they are waiting to devour you slowly. That 18% APR isn’t a number. It’s a predator. When you buy $1,000 in toys today, next month you may owe $1,180. And if you can’t pay the full balance, it compounds. Like a snowball rolling down a hill. By March, you could owe $1,400. By June, $1,700. By next December, the numbers will haunt you.

2. Don’t try to borrow your way out. I thought I could juggle friends’ loans, payday loans, and minimum payments. That only made things worse. I ended up with multiple creditors calling, politely at first, then less so. Your friends will stop answering your calls. Your bank account will mock you. And your sanity? That’s optional.

3. Plan your spending before it controls you. I didn’t. I was reactive. I was trying to fix guilt with plastic and digital numbers. Set a budget, stick to it, and buy what you can afford. Forget impressing anyone. Forget keeping up with Instagram moms or Pinterest-perfect holidays. Kids don’t care. Remember: “Un abrazo vale más que un iPhone” (A hug is worth more than an iPhone).

4. Negotiate with creditors. I didn’t know this at the time. Some companies will reduce your balance, offer lower interest rates, or let you defer payments. You have to ask. Most people don’t. It could cut your debt by half—or at least give you breathing room.

5. Mindset matters. If you believe there’s no way out, then there isn’t. But if you take it one step at a time, if you get organized and fight the panic, you can claw your way out. I’m still fighting. Some days I feel hopeless. Some nights, I can’t sleep. But I remind myself: I’m still here. I’m still their mom. I’m still trying.

Last Christmas, I thought I was giving them joy. This year, I’m giving them me. Maybe a ball. Maybe some homemade cookies. Maybe a hug and a story. Because that’s what matters. That’s what sticks. That’s what isn’t buried under a mountain of debt.

I can still laugh at it, though sometimes it’s bitter laughter. I almost considered selling a kidney to pay for groceries once. Just kidding. Sort of. I thought about joining some sketchy side hustle, but then reality hit: “El crimen no paga, cariño” (Crime doesn’t pay, honey), and even if it did, I would be caught. Instead, I work extra hours, cut corners, and make lists—shopping lists, debt repayment lists, survival lists. Every day is about balance. Every month is a negotiation with reality.

I want to scream to every parent reading this: stop. Stop thinking you can buy love. Stop thinking your kids will remember the gadget instead of the laughter. Stop trusting credit cards to fill the void that only you can fill. Kids will forget the toy. They won’t forget your warmth. They won’t forget the time you spent with them. They won’t forget that you tried.

And maybe next Christmas, when I’m still juggling bills, still paying off that credit card nightmare, I’ll tell them again: “¡Yo soy el regalo, mis amores!” (I am the gift, my loves!) I am love. I am presence. And if I survive this financial mess, maybe, just maybe, we’ll have a Christmas that isn’t haunted by debt.

So here’s my warning to you, reader: kids don’t need Apple Pros, fancy shoes, or hundreds of dollars of toys. Buy them a ball, a book, or something that sparks imagination. Love them. Be present. Laugh with them. Everything else can wait. Trust me. I learned this the hard way. I’m still learning. And the Nightmare Before Christmas? It will haunt me for a few more years, but at least now, I know who the real gift is.