From Overdraft to Overachiever (with a little help from the ATO).

A year ago, I was $8,000 in debt, living paycheque to paycheque, caught in a dopamine-depleted cycle of impulse purchases and weekly overdrafts. Each week, I’d repay what I owed from the week before, instantly putting my next week’s spending in the red before it had even begun.

Then I got a pretty deece tax refund through something called income averaging, a niche ATO rule that applies to certain creative professionals, and for once, I didn’t blow it (which I’ve definitely done in the past when lump sums have landed in my account). Instead, I paid off my debt, kickstarted my ﹡fuck-you﹡ emergency fund, and dipped a toe into investing. That refund became a turning point – not just financially, but mentally. I didn’t just get lucky. I got curious. And for the first time in my life, I became financially literate, learning one key truth along the way: you don’t need to be wealthy to build wealth.

So, what is income averaging? (And who is it for?)

Somewhat of a 🦄 unicorn 🦄, but very much real (I’m living proof), income averaging is a tax concession offered to certain creative professionals whose income fluctuates over time. Think: freelance writers, editors, musicians, performers, film crew (basically anyone who doesn’t earn a predictable salary year-to-year). 

The gist is this: say you earned $100K one year and $50K the next. In both cases, you were taxed as though those earnings were standard, but over a five-year period, when your income is averaged out, you may have paid more tax than necessary in the higher-earning years. Income averaging corrects that by smoothing out your tax rate across the five-year span, which can lead to a very decent refund. (Plot twist: mine was.)

I first heard about it through a friend (a film editor) who had just experienced the magical unicorn that is income averaging. Naturally, I was sceptical. Surely this messes with your usual refund? Surely it’s some kind of tax loophole or evasion trick? She assured me it wasn’t. I remained unconvinced, until eventually I bit the bullet, paid the (surprisingly reasonable) fee to a specialist service, and got the ball rolling. It took a few months, but when the email finally arrived, I had to re-read it several times to make sure there wasn’t a typo.

I’d received lump sums before, but something about this one felt different. My brain didn’t spiral into overdrive dreaming up what I could buy. Instead, I felt grounded. My mindset shifted from “extra cash” to “chance to get ahead.” Maybe that’s what we call growth? AM I GROWN?!

My first move was to wipe out the $8K credit card debt that had been haunting me for as long as I can remember. (Hot tip: minimum repayments keep you in purgatory forever and that’s NOT an accident). Finally seeing a balance of zero was liberating. It didn’t make me rich, but it made me feel free, and in a weird way, that felt like wealth.

That quiet, internal satisfaction sparked something deeper: a genuine curiosity about money. Not flashy “get rich” money, but the kind that builds stability, calm, and options. Financial literacy wasn’t something I ever thought I’d care about, but here we are. Because sure, money doesn’t buy happiness... but a lack of money will absolutely rent you a permanent state of stress.

So while I’m far from being what you’d call wealthy, I’ve become rich in other ways:

• No debt hanging over me

• A growing emergency fund

• A working understanding of investing

And the quiet confidence that my personal finances are no longer a total shambles for someone in their mid-30s.

So next time you go to buy those CK undies thinking it equates to wealth, remember: real wealth isn’t always loud. It’s quiet. Sometimes so quiet that only you can hear it, and honestly, that’s all that really matters.

Until next dispatch, 
LGM

﹡Fuck-you emergency fund:
noun

A stash of money set aside in case you lose your job, fall ill, or just can’t take life anymore and need to throw it all in the bin and say “fuck you” for the foreseeable three to six months. Financial planning, but make it emotional support.

Usage: “I’m not saving to buy a house, I’m building my fuck-you emergency fund because I’m on the precipice of a nervy b and she’s coming in hot.”