I used to think emergency funds were for people who already had money — the ultra-prepared, binder-carrying types who probably also had earthquake kits and meal plans for the next six months. I, on the other hand, was flying by the seat of my pants. The only emergency I was prepared for was which friend I could Venmo request $40 from when rent hit early.

But that all changed one day at the pharmacy.

I was buying allergy meds and a mascara I convinced myself was a need, not a want. The total came to $37.84. I inserted my debit card, fully expecting it to go through, because in my mind I still had at least a hundred bucks. But my bank account had other ideas and declined the transaction twice, loudly, while the cashier gave me that tight-lipped “take your time” smile. I left the store empty-handed, with the kind of shame you can feel in your ears.

Reflecting

That night, I sat on my bed and opened my banking app for real. And for the first time, I didn’t just look at the numbers. I looked at the way I was living — from crisis to crisis, with no safety net, and no plan. I didn’t need to be rich. I needed a buffer. I needed peace of mind. I needed an emergency fund.

Not for something big. Not for the end of the world. Just enough to handle a flat tire or a missed paycheck without completely unraveling.

So I started one.

Step 1

It wasn’t glamorous. I didn’t have a windfall or a big “reset” moment. I just opened a separate savings account, named it something dramatic like “Do Not Touch or Cry Later,” and committed to dropping in what I could. Sometimes $20. Sometimes $5. A few times, literal coins I found at the bottom of my gym bag. It felt silly. Insignificant, even. But it was mine.

Then, a few months in, it happened: I blew out a tire on the FDR in the pouring rain. My first instinct was panic — old Stacy would’ve cried or called three people asking to borrow cash. But then I remembered: I had the money. I could actually cover this without upending my whole life. I paid. I kept it moving. And I swear, I felt ten feet tall walking into the auto shop.

That moment wasn’t about the tire. It was about trust — the kind I was finally building with myself. The kind that says, “No matter what happens, I got you.”

An emergency fund is more than a savings account. It’s an act of self-respect. It’s a refusal to let life knock you out every time it gets unpredictable — and it always gets unpredictable.

I get it

So if you’re reading this and thinking, “That sounds nice, but I can barely cover next week,” I hear you. And I want you to know: starting small isn’t just okay, it’s powerful. You don’t need $1,000 tomorrow. You need the first $10 today. Because once you build the habit, the dollars follow.

Create a separate space for it. Automate a small transfer if you can. Cut one Uber ride or skip one brunch and stash it away. Watch how that quiet, boring little account becomes your emotional support system. Not because of the money, but because of the confidence it builds.

You don’t need to be rich to feel safe. You just need a plan. And the first part of that plan? Deciding that you’re worth protecting.