It was December 16, 2019, around 9 o’clock at night. I’d put my child to bed. I’d washed my face. Before zoning out mindlessly with a book or Instagram, I remembered I needed to make a payment toward a credit card statement, as I do every month.

I logged in and typed in my dollar-amount contribution. I’ve opted out of auto-pay for this particular bill in hopes of paying off more and more each month, which has proven moderately successful over the course of the year. I logged out, did absolutely nothing of value, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I went to Starbucks, as I often do. Ordered my usual drink. Very much appreciated the first sip, as I also often do. Then, I got a text. From my bank. Alerting me that overdraw protection had kicked into gear.

The fuck? No, seriously. The fuck.

I logged into my bank account, totally pissed off and without a doubt expecting fraud. Surely, the only explanation. Fraud!

No. My dumb ass—and eager finger, apparently—had inadvertently added an extra zero to my credit card payment, submitting thousands instead of the intended hundreds, rendering me effectively broke.

I called the credit card people. “Sorry!” they said. “Too bad.”

It’s a humbling thing to be a grown woman, raising a child, with basically no spendable money at my immediate disposal. At least for a few days, until I got paid.

So, there you have it. I’m an idiot. I really am. Such a stupid mistake, and if you’re smirking, I beat you to it.

But to my sort of surprise and total delight, my mind, almost immediately after realizing what I’d done, said, “Ok. There’s good in this. Let’s find it.” And there was. A careless mistake will force me to be more mindful of spending habits in upcoming weeks as I build back my reserve, which kind of had to happen anyway. It will force me to be even more actively grateful for the things I spend money on.

And finally, it will force me to never again let a slip of a finger cast such a dire a spell on my financial health.