Living in a Sinkhole Household

Photo by Maxim Tolchinskiy on Unsplash

The term "sinkhole household" perfectly captures the feeling. It’s not a regular house or a home. It's a place that pulls you in, drains you, and makes every effort to climb out feel futile. Money disappears. Energy disappears. Peace of mind? Extremely elusive. No matter how much effort I put in, it feels like I'm just preventing myself from sinking further, not actually getting anywhere.

I used to think I could fix it. That if I worked harder, saved smarter, set better boundaries, things would shift. But sinkholes don’t work like that. They don’t stabilize just because you wish they would. Sometimes, they just keep widening, swallowing everything in their path—including me.

Where Does the Energy Go?

I’ve started looking at where the biggest leaks are. Is it the financial weight, the emotional toll, the sheer exhaustion of keeping things together? The answer is all of it. There isn’t just one broken pipe to fix—it’s an entire system that was never built to hold water in the first place.

But if I can’t fix it all at once, maybe I can at least stop it from taking everything from me. Maybe I can carve out small spaces where I get to exist outside of the chaos. Maybe I can stop believing it’s my job to hold up a structure that was flawed from the start.

Looking for Escape Routes

I used to think escaping meant running away entirely. And maybe, eventually, that is the goal. But for now, tiny escapes will have to do so I can hold out until the real big one.

1. Creating and Protecting a Micro-Sanctuary (I have a wobbly one.)

I can’t control the entire house, but I can control one space. Even if it’s just my tiny room with my tiny studio. A spot, a personal place where the energy is mine, untouched by the sinkhole’s pull.

2. Setting Tiny, Almost Invisible Boundaries

Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Some conversations will never lead anywhere. I’m starting to see that not every problem in this house is mine to fix. Maybe my first real boundary is recognizing that. Still working on it because Pinoy culture is heavy on "utang na loob" even when it gets twisted or unreasonable.

3. Finding an Anchor in the Chaos

When everything feels unstable, I need something that stays constant. Anything that reminds me I have control over some part of my life, even when the rest feels like it’s slipping away. This is where my art comes in, and reading books that show me the possibility of another life.

4. The Paradox of My Rescue Cats

Logic says that taking in rescue cats should make things worse. They’re another expense, another responsibility, another thing to worry about when I’m already stretched thin. And yet, in this sinkhole household, they’ve become my soft place to land.

There’s something grounding about caring for them. Something about knowing that in a house where so much energy gets lost, at least this part of my effort turns into something good. They remind me that not everything I give disappears into a black hole. Some things, some beings, give back.

5. Planning an Exit, Even If It’s Just in My Head

Maybe I can’t leave tomorrow. But I can start thinking about what leaving would look like. What I need to make it happen. Where I would go, what I would need, how I would sustain myself. Knowing there’s an exit, even if I haven’t taken it yet, makes it feel less like I’m trapped.

Holding on in the Meantime

Living in a sinkhole household means constantly feeling like you’re being pulled under.

I’m still here. Still fighting for myself in small ways. Still finding pieces of hope in the places the sinkhole hasn’t touched yet. And maybe, one day, I won’t just be surviving here—I’ll be somewhere else entirely. Somewhere without so much ache and restraint. Somewhere I can finally exhale.

But for now, I survive one day at a time. One step at a time. And if nothing else, at least I have soft paws and warm purrs to remind me that there is still good.