I grew up lower-middle-class and finally left that life behind — here are the 7 hardest habits to break

Growing up, I never realized how deeply poverty mentality had rooted itself in my brain. Even after years of building a stable freelance writing career and moving from suburban Sacramento to Los Angeles, I still catch myself hoarding ketchup packets and feeling physically uncomfortable in nice restaurants.

The thing is, leaving a lower-middle-class background isn't just about making more money. It's about rewiring decades of learned behaviors that once kept you safe but now hold you back.

My grandmother raised four kids on a teacher's salary, and she taught me well. Too well, maybe. Those survival skills that helped our family scrape by? They're surprisingly hard to shake, even when you don't need them anymore.

Here are the habits I've struggled most to break, even years after my bank account stopped living paycheck to paycheck.

1. Hoarding free stuff you'll never use

Remember those hotel soaps and shampoos? I had drawers full of them. Conference swag bags? Couldn't pass them up. Free samples at Costco? You bet I'd circle back for seconds.

This isn't just about being frugal. It's about a deep-seated fear that you might need something someday and won't be able to afford it. Growing up, "free" meant opportunity. It meant one less thing to worry about buying.

Behavioral psychology shows us that scarcity mindset actually changes how our brains process decisions. When you've lived through lean times, your brain gets rewired to grab resources when they're available, even when logic tells you that you already have seventeen tiny bottles of lotion at home.

The breakthrough came when I calculated how much mental energy I was spending managing all this "free" stuff. Organizing it, moving it, feeling guilty about throwing it away. That energy could've been spent on actual work that pays actual money.

2. Feeling guilty about spending money on yourself

Every purchase that wasn't absolutely essential came with a side of guilt. A nice meal out? Should've cooked at home. New clothes that weren't on sale? Wasteful. A book when the library exists? Practically criminal.

This guilt runs deeper than just being careful with money. It's tied to this belief that you don't deserve nice things, that comfort is for other people. People who were born into it.

What finally helped was reframing spending as investing. That ergonomic chair isn't an indulgence; it's protecting my back for a career that requires sitting. Quality ingredients aren't wasteful; they're fueling my body and mind for better work.

Still, I won't lie. Sometimes I still hear my grandmother's voice when I buy the organic produce instead of conventional. Old habits die hard.

3. Apologizing for taking up space

This one's subtle but pervasive. Apologizing when someone else bumps into you. Prefacing requests with "Sorry to bother you." Making yourself smaller in meetings, on public transport, in life.

When you grow up knowing you're not quite enough—not quite wealthy enough, not quite polished enough—you internalize this idea that you should be grateful for whatever space you're given.

The professional world especially rewards those who take up space confidently. But when you've been conditioned to be grateful just to be in the room, advocating for yourself feels like asking for too much.

I've had to consciously practice not apologizing for existing. It sounds dramatic, but count how many times you say "sorry" in a day when you've done nothing wrong. It's probably more than you think.

4. Keeping broken things "just in case"

Growing up, you fixed things until they absolutely couldn't be fixed anymore. Then you figured out creative ways to keep using them anyway. Throwing away something that was even 10% functional felt like burning money.

But here's what I learned: broken things take up mental space. Every time you see that pile of "might fix someday" items, your brain processes it as unfinished business. It's exhausting.

The shift happened when I realized my time had become more valuable than the potential future use of a broken blender. Could I fix it? Probably. Is my time better spent writing an article that pays my bills? Definitely.

5. Saying yes to every opportunity to make money

When money was tight growing up, you never knew when the next opportunity would come. So you said yes to everything. Every shift, every gig, every chance to earn.

This mentality followed me into freelancing. Client wants a rush job over the weekend? Yes. Project way outside my expertise? I'll figure it out. Rates below my usual? Money is money.

But constantly operating in survival mode is unsustainable. You burn out. Your work quality suffers. You never develop expertise because you're too busy scrambling.

Learning to say no to bad opportunities was terrifying at first. What if nothing better comes along? What if this is my last chance?

Turns out, saying no to the wrong things leaves room for the right ones. Who knew?

6. Buying the cheapest version of everything

For years, my decision-making process was simple: find the cheapest option that might work. 

What I didn't understand was the concept of cost-per-use. Those $20 shoes I replaced four times a year? They actually cost more than the $100 pair that would last two years.

This habit is particularly hard to break because it feels responsible. You're being frugal! You're not wasting money!

Except you are. You're wasting money on replacements. You're wasting time shopping again. You're wasting energy dealing with things that don't work properly.

The mental shift from "cheapest now" to "best value over time" took years. I still have to fight the impulse to automatically sort by "price: low to high."

7. Never asking for help

Asking for help meant admitting you couldn't handle something yourself. And when you couldn't afford to pay for help, self-sufficiency wasn't just a virtue—it was a necessity.

This translated into trying to figure everything out alone. Struggling through problems that someone could've solved for me in five minutes. Refusing to delegate even when I could afford to.

Independence felt like strength, but it was actually fear. Fear of being seen as weak, incompetent, or worse—needy.

The irony? Successful people ask for help all the time. They hire coaches, consultants, assistants. They understand that their time and energy are finite resources.

Learning to ask for and accept help has been one of the hardest shifts. It requires vulnerability. It requires admitting you're not superhuman. It requires trust that others won't judge you for needing support.

Wrapping up

Breaking these habits isn't about forgetting where you came from or being ashamed of your background. The resourcefulness, creativity, and resilience that come from growing up with less are superpowers in their own right.

It's about recognizing when those old survival mechanisms no longer serve you. When the habits that once protected you start holding you back.

Some days I nail it. Other days I still take home every sugar packet from the coffee shop.

Progress, not perfection, right?

The truth is, you can take the person out of the lower-middle-class, but it takes conscious, deliberate work to take the lower-middle-class mindset out of the person. And that's okay.

These habits kept us safe once. We can thank them for their service while learning to let them go.