I pretended to be successful for 5 years while secretly broke - here are the 7 things I did to keep up appearances

There was a five-year period in my life when I looked far more successful than I actually was. From the outside, people assumed I was doing well: I had a decent job title, I lived in a good neighbourhood, and I carried myself like someone who had everything under control.

But behind the surface, I was broke.

Not “a bit tight this month” broke. Not “I should budget better” broke.
I mean truly, quietly, chronically broke — constantly doing financial gymnastics just to get through each week. I hid it because I was embarrassed, because I cared too much about what people thought, and because I didn’t want anyone to know I was struggling.

Looking back now, I can see how isolating and exhausting that period was. But it also taught me a lot about ego, shame, and the pressure to perform in a world obsessed with success.

Here are the seven things I did to keep up appearances — things I can finally admit now that I’m on the other side of it.

1. I perfected the art of looking “busy and important”

When you’re broke, the easiest thing to fake is being busy.

Whenever friends asked how work was going, I always replied with something vague but impressive:

• “It’s hectic but good.”
• “Lots of projects coming up.”
• “I’m in talks with some big people.”

It was just vague enough to suggest success and just specific enough to avoid follow-up questions.

I wasn’t lying — not technically. I was working hard. But I wasn’t earning enough to feel stable, safe, or proud. So instead of admitting that, I let people assume busyness was the same thing as prosperity.

The scariest part is how quickly others believe it — and how quickly you start believing the performance yourself.

2. I said “I’ve already eaten” every time someone invited me out

In my worst months, I didn’t avoid dinners with friends because I didn’t like them. I avoided them because I couldn’t afford them.

Restaurants. Drinks. Coffee. Even casual catch-ups — everything cost money I didn’t have.

So I started using my go-to line:

“I’ve eaten already but I’ll come for a bit.”

It worked. Nobody questioned it. Some even admired it — they thought I was disciplined or health-conscious.

In reality, it was financial survival.

And every time I turned down an invitation or made an excuse, the loneliness grew a little more. That’s what people don’t talk about: financial shame isolates you long before anyone else has a chance to.

3. I kept old luxury items long after I could afford nothing else

The clothing, accessories, and shoes I bought before things went downhill became my armour.

I wore them long after they stopped feeling like me because they sent the message I needed them to send:
I’m doing fine. I’m put together. Nothing to see here.

Nobody knew that inside those expensive shoes my feet were killing me because I couldn’t justify buying new ones. Nobody knew that the nice watch I wore had stopped ticking months earlier.

People see the surface.
People judge the surface.
So I maintained the surface.

It worked — until it didn’t.

4. I used confidence as camouflage

Confidence is the cheapest thing to fake — and the most convincing.

I acted like someone who didn’t have money problems. I had opinions. I gave advice. I made jokes about “being bad with money,” which sounds very different from “being broke and terrified.”

You can hide behind confidence for a long time. People respond to how you present yourself, not what your bank account looks like.

But that confidence was hollow. It was a shield. And every night when I went home, I felt the weight of maintaining it.

Performing success is draining in a way that real success never is.

5. I avoided talking about money at all costs

Nothing scared me more than financial conversations.

If someone brought up:

• salaries
• savings
• investments
• holidays
• property
• future plans

…I immediately changed the subject. I’d ask questions about their life. I’d compliment something. I’d steer the conversation away so quickly it felt like a magic trick.

The irony?
People assumed I avoided the topic because I was doing well and didn’t want to make others uncomfortable.

In reality, I avoided it because I was drowning and didn’t want anyone to see.

Avoidance is one of the biggest signs someone is struggling — but it’s also one of the easiest signs to misinterpret.

6. I relied on “future me” to solve everything

This was the most dangerous behaviour of all.

I lived in a constant state of financial optimism:

• “I’ll pay that off next month.”
• “I’ll start saving once things settle down.”
• “Something big is coming — I can feel it.”
• “Next year will be my year.”

“Future me” was always about to get it together.
“Future me” was always more stable, more organised, more successful.

But “future me” never arrived, because I wasn’t doing anything differently. I was simply postponing panic by outsourcing responsibility to a person who didn’t exist.

Hope is helpful.
Delusion is not.

It took me years to learn the difference.

7. I tried to look successful to avoid looking like a failure

This is the truth underneath everything.

I kept up appearances because I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I actually was.

I grew up believing success meant stability, confidence, and being in control. Broke people, I thought, were irresponsible or lazy or unlucky. I didn’t want to be seen as any of those things.

So instead of being honest, I performed the version of myself I wished I was.

If you love someone, you don’t want to worry them.
If you respect someone, you don’t want to disappoint them.
If you want to feel worthy, you don’t want people to see your weaknesses.

Pretending was easier than being vulnerable.

Until suddenly it wasn’t.

So what changed?

Here’s what finally shifted things for me — the moment that broke the façade:

I got tired.

Exhausted.

Not financially — emotionally.

The constant pretending, the constant excuses, the constant pressure to appear successful… it drained me far more than the money problems themselves.

I realised something simple but life-changing:

The performance was costing me more than the struggle ever did.

Being broke wasn’t the real problem.
Being ashamed of being broke was.

Once I accepted that, everything started to change:

• I made a realistic budget.
• I had honest conversations with people I trusted.
• I stopped trying to impress everyone.
• I focused on skills, not image.
• I built financial habits, not fantasies.
• I stopped carrying a persona I couldn’t afford.

And slowly — through work, discipline, luck, opportunity, and time — I rebuilt myself from the inside out.

Not the appearance of success.
Actual success.

What I learned from those five years

Pretending taught me something I never would have learned otherwise:

People care far less about your success than you think — and far more about your honesty.

Nobody hates you for struggling.
Nobody respects you more because you pretend to be perfect.

The truth is this:

• People trust authenticity.
• People relate to vulnerability.
• People admire resilience, not image.
• People connect with real stories, not curated ones.

Pretending protects your ego but starves your life.

And if you’ve been performing success like I did — quietly, privately, fearfully — I want you to know something:

You don’t have to.
You’re allowed to be where you are.
You’re allowed to be honest.
You’re allowed to rebuild without shame.

Success is meaningful when it’s real, earned, and grounded — not when it’s worn like a costume.

I wore that costume for five years.
Taking it off was the first step toward changing my life for real.