You really don't know what is going on behind closed doors.
It was payday yesterday; people will have seen me out and about spending my money in a supermarket on a few frivolous items - alcohol, children's clothes, £8 mascara etc.
Here is what they didn't see: I am buying the alcohol to bridge me over the gap of finishing my anti-anxiety medication and dealing with the sudden influx of my raw emotions again. I don't over-use, but it occasionally takes the edge off before I have panic attacks. But I can't afford the monthly prescriptions anymore, so I cut that out. Over the next few weeks, that will go, too - because money is too tight.
The children's clothes are necessary - the vests will help as an extra layer against the cold winter, new socks and pants were due anyway, but will be added on as part of a Christmas gift rather than being given now; all items were on a 20% off offer.
The mascara was genuinely the cheapest I could find; the £5 one had already been ransacked and my old one has lasted me way longer than it should have for health and safety reasons. I am at an age now where making an effort matters.
I am having traders around this afternoon, too - they are fixing my roof to hopefully prevent leaks this autumn as there are gaps appearing. But better fix it now before my walls rot or my electrics short-circuit and the few hundred £ turn into a few thousands instead. I saved up for this one as soon as I got told about the faults and was glad for a very dry summer to enable me to do so.
I had other company traders around for free to install meters for both energy and water - free of charge, but hopefully that will enable me to save a few £ down the line.
People didn't see me in tears on the phone this morning to a lovely lady from my water company, because a mix-up in bills had meant that my payment had looked to double this month from £50 to £100 (thankfully, it hasn't).
No one will know that I looked at my account this morning as soon as I got out of bed, checked all my direct debits had come out, added on everything else that will still come out and my heart sunk as I realised just how little I had left this month for food and petrol. I will make do and carry on, but it isn't fun.
No one will ever know I have switched to cold showers.
And I am on "good money", but below the £45k limit where ministers have said people will struggle this winter. My bills, like everyone else's, have exploded. I might have looked to be without a care to others yesterday. My children will never know the extent to how much I am struggling when we go food shopping again next week. But it is all there, bubbling away, under the well-masked surface.