Growing up, I remember my mom coming home from her second nursing shift of the day, kicking off her white sneakers, and pulling out the ground beef she’d defrosted that morning. It was Hamburger Helper night again, and we’d eat it at our small kitchen table while she asked about our day.

Fast forward to now, and I make decent money. I can afford things my childhood self would have considered pure luxury. But here’s what’s strange: certain small indulgences still feel almost wrong, like I’m being wasteful or getting above my station.

If you grew up working-class or lower-middle-class, you probably know exactly what I mean. That weird guilt when you buy the name-brand cereal. The internal debate before ordering guacamole at Chipotle.

Today we’re talking about those “luxuries” that shouldn’t feel luxurious anymore but somehow still do. The things that make you pause and think, “Can I really justify this?” even when your bank account says yes.

1. Getting your car washed at an actual car wash

I still drive my 2014 Honda Civic that I bought used five years ago. Runs great, gets me where I need to go.

But taking it through the automatic car wash instead of washing it myself in the driveway? That still feels indulgent as hell.

Growing up, car washes were for special occasions. Maybe before a wedding or after a particularly brutal winter. Otherwise, you grabbed the dish soap and garden hose and did it yourself.

Now I can easily afford the $12 for the basic wash, but every single time I pull up to that machine, I hear this voice asking if I really need to spend money on something I could do myself.

2. Buying coffee that isn’t from a gas station

The $5 latte conversation has been beaten to death by personal finance gurus, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

I mean just getting regular coffee from somewhere that isn’t a gas station or made at home. A medium coffee from Dunkin or the local coffee shop. Not fancy, not complicated, just coffee someone else made.

There’s something about handing over $3 for what’s essentially hot bean water that triggers all my working-class programming. My brain immediately calculates how many cups I could make at home for that price.

3. Ordering appetizers at restaurants

You ever notice how appetizers weren’t really a thing growing up unless it was someone’s birthday?

The idea of ordering food before your food still makes me feel like I’m being excessive. We’re already getting entrees. Do we really need mozzarella sticks too?

I’ve been out with friends who order apps without a second thought, and meanwhile I’m doing mental math about whether the spinach artichoke dip is worth adding another $12 to the bill.

4. Using the good paper towels for regular spills

There were two types of paper towels in our house growing up. The cheap ones for everyday use, and the good ones (Bounty, usually) that mom kept for serious messes.

Now I buy decent paper towels all the time. But using them to wipe up a little water splash? Using two sheets when one might work?

Still feels wasteful.

5. Getting takeout when there’s food at home

This one hits different when you grew up with a mom who could stretch a paycheck to feed a family for two weeks.

The fridge has leftovers. There’s pasta in the pantry. Hell, I could make breakfast for dinner (and often do, no shame in that game).

But I’m tired and Chinese food sounds good.

The internal negotiation that happens is intense. Can I justify spending $25 on dinner when I have perfectly good food that just needs reheating? The answer is obviously yes, I can afford it. But the guilt lingers.

6. Paying for parking when you could circle for a free spot

Why does paying $10 for convenient parking feel like such a betrayal of everything I was taught?

My brain: “You could park six blocks away for free and walk.”
Also my brain: “You make enough money that your time is worth more than $10.”
Still my brain: “But it’s TEN DOLLARS just to leave your car somewhere.”

The mental gymnastics are exhausting, and half the time I still end up circling for fifteen minutes looking for street parking.

7. Throwing away food that’s probably still good

That yogurt that’s two days past its sell-by date? The leftovers that have been in the fridge for five days?

Logic says toss them. Food safety says toss them. But that working-class voice says “It’s probably fine, don’t be wasteful.”

I’ve gotten better about this one, but the guilt when I throw away half a container of something still hits. My mom would have found a way to use it. Made it into soup or something.

8. Buying name-brand groceries

Store brand was the default growing up. Name brand was for items where you could really taste the difference, and even then, it was a debate.

Now I’m at the grocery store holding Hellmann’s mayo in one hand and the store brand in the other, having an existential crisis over a dollar difference.

I can afford the Hellmann’s. I prefer the Hellmann’s. But that store brand is right there, doing the same job for less money.

9. Taking an Uber for a short distance

Anything under two miles feels like I should walk. Anything under five feels like I should take the bus.

But sometimes it’s raining, or I’m running late, or I just don’t want to deal with public transportation. So I open the app, see it’s $12 to go fifteen blocks, and spend the entire ride feeling guilty about my laziness and excess.

A friend recently called an Uber to go literally four blocks because she was wearing new shoes. I was both impressed and horrified.

10. Subscribing to multiple streaming services

Remember when Netflix was the only subscription and it felt like such a splurge?

Now I’ve got Netflix, Hulu, HBO Max, and I’m eyeing Apple TV+. Each one is “only” $10-15 a month. I can afford them all.

But there’s this voice asking if I really need access to that much content. We had basic cable growing up and made it work. Do I need every streaming platform known to man?

Rounding things off

These little luxuries aren’t really luxuries anymore, at least not by any reasonable financial measure. But that working-class programming runs deep.

It’s fascinating how our upbringing shapes our relationship with money long after our circumstances change. That guilt over small indulgences, that voice questioning every non-essential purchase, it’s all part of the package.

I’ve been working on quieting that voice, on accepting that it’s okay to buy convenience sometimes, to choose the option that makes life a little easier or more enjoyable.

But I’m not sure it ever fully goes away. And maybe that’s not entirely bad. That awareness of value, that appreciation for small comforts, that’s part of who we are.

Though I’m definitely keeping the good paper towels. Some battles aren’t worth fighting anymore.