• I knew I didn't want my four kids to graduate from college with student loan debt.
• I started saving for college when my oldest was in the first grade, and it's not enough.
• With three more kids heading to college, I'm overwhelmed financially.

I was with my four kids on the playground one day, talking with the other moms. We were chatting about school, work, and tiptoeing around the subject of finances.

One of the moms mentioned saving for college, and it felt like cold water was poured on me. I had a vague idea about tax-advantaged college savings plans; our diligent financial advisor had surely discussed them in one of our meetings. But the numbers — the 529s, 401ks, and 403bs — all swam together in my head.

However, I was confronted by the fact that someone else with small children was already planning for college. I felt like we had just started saving for retirement, and now I had to start thinking about another future — four of them.

Did I have to start worrying about this already? If I wanted to be anywhere close to ready when they graduated from high school, I did.

That was years ago, and now that college is here, I'm worried we'll never have enough.

We knew college was going to be difficult for my large family

My parents remortgaged their house to pay for my college. While I hope it doesn't come to that, my family is in a difficult situation. My husband and I make too much money for grants. I am a freelance writer, picking up as many gigs as I can, and my husband is a small-business owner.

After the pandemic and online school, all of my kids' grades plummeted while their anxiety skyrocketed, so scholarships are not an option for them.

I also knew that I wanted my kids to leave college without any student loan debt that they'd be paying off for the next 20 years.

That meant college tuition fell on my husband and me. In two years, we'll have two college tuitions to pay. In the next seven years, we will be paying for all four of my kids to go to college.

We started saving years ago, and it's not enough

Shortly after that mom's group, I called my advisor, and we started college savings plans for each kid. We have been saving since my college freshman was in first grade.

We automatically withdraw $100 a month for each kid, which is $400 a month out of the budget. That's no chump change, but it's not even close to enough.

We saved $1,200 a year per kid for nearly 12 years. That's not even enough for one year of tuition, books, and room and board.

My oldest son started school in September. We saved $14,400 for him and used our state's 529 plan, so it was invested and grew to a little over $20,000. He attends an in-state public school, and those savings still weren't enough.

He works in the summer and on breaks to help with costs. For the remaining amount, my husband and I squeeze it out of our budget. We're on a payment plan, so it's broken up — $3,300 a month rather than $13,200 all at once at the beginning of the semester.

Getting a good education is still worth it

Education is a core value in my family. Going to college will afford my kids so many opportunities. Thankfully, my son is thriving at school. Despite the expense, despite my feelings of overwhelm, I still think it's worth going. He's happy, and he's learning a lot — both in his classes and about himself.

The finances aren't his concern right now. My husband's business is doing great, and I'm taking on more writing gigs and a couple of side hustles. There will be vacations closer to home, and the new bathroom that I've wanted for a while won't happen.

We will get through these next 10 years; we will just keep our heads down and pay the bills as they come in.

When the overwhelm starts to kick in again, I check my son's texts. The smiling photos with his college roommates and the video of his rugby club remind me all this is worth it.

A study asked participants to identify the stronger of two knots by sight alone. They failed spectacularly.

• My husband and I bought a storage unit business because we couldn't afford my daughter's college.
• The business is nothing like I expected, and the customers are real characters who are difficult.
• Although it can be a hard business to run, it pays for itself and for our daughter's tuition.

The good news is that I have a new pizza oven. The bad news is that it's bigger than my kitchen and weighs a ton.

It belonged to a restaurant owner who closed up shop, moved his equipment into a space at my storage-unit business, and then relocated to Eastern Europe. Before he left, he canceled his credit card payment.

A friend advised me to auction the pizza oven off. But my business is in a rural area, and no one here wants my oversize oven. In fact, I contacted every restaurant within a 40-mile radius offering this behemoth for free. I even called the local senior center and some churches just in case they wanted to add pizza production to their service offerings. No takers.

This is just one of the problems I now face as the unlikely owner of a storage-unit business.

We bought the business to make money for college tuition

When our daughter, Lauren, was born, my husband and I started a savings account to finance her college education. It's a great idea on paper, but by the time she was in middle school, we realized our efforts had been mostly thwarted by life's unexpected financial emergencies. Our savings would barely cover one year of college and then would be gone.

At a family meeting, we decided that instead of taking on student loans, we'd rather go into debt buying a business that would generate cash flow.

We found a fixer-upper mini storage business for sale and used Lauren's college savings as seed money to make the down payment. We paid $325,000, and it was a huge risk.

Owning a storage unit business is nothing like I expected

Before we bought the business, I assumed people would store their stuff, pay their rental fees, and eventually move on. I visualized a cycle of mostly passive income with the occasional hiccup that comes with any entrepreneurial project. I doubted that I'd get to know my customers because we wouldn't have much interaction.

Reality has been different. My phone number is posted on the side of a building. When people call about renting a unit, I'm the one who answers. I've learned that moving in or out of a storage facility often coincides with a life-changing event. People tell me their stories. They start new businesses and need space to store supplies. Spouses die, and survivors want to hold on to precious keepsakes. Moms get fed up with overflowing closets and want an orderly household. Renters get evicted and need to store furniture until they figure out a housing solution.

One man called in a panic. His U-Haul was full, and he wanted to unload it immediately. An hour later, after he dumped his mess and locked the door, he told me he was a landlord and that his tenant hadn't paid rent in a year. Courts had just given him possession of his property, but he was still required to store his tenant's possessions for a certain period of time. A month later, when his bill was due, he told me he wouldn't pay.

"Contact my tenant," he said. The tenant told me she didn't want the stuff either. Since my husband was out of town, Lauren and I shoveled out the unit — half-eaten pop tarts, soiled diapers, and wet laundry, along with every conceivable household item. We donated what was salvageable and took the rest to the landfill.

I also talk with customers when they can't pay their bills. One customer calls monthly to ask for extensions, and during our conversations, we've gotten to know each other. I learned he was feeding a colony of feral cats, and the expense of all that food was bankrupting him. Another customer called after he moved across the country. He said it didn't make sense to come back to California just to retrieve "that old junk." But then he told me that his mom's ashes were in his unit and started to cry.

Sometimes, I talk people out of renting units. One potential customer had just split up with her boyfriend, and as I explained the cost of renting storage space, I sensed her reluctance. She was worried about money. "Are you sure you want this space?" I asked. "What if you had a garage sale instead?"

"That's a great idea," she said. And just like that, I lost a customer.

Though it's difficult, the business works for us

Owning a mini storage business has been more interesting and challenging than I thought it would be.

So far, the income the business generates covers all its expenses and just enough to pay for college. It's enabled my family to pay for our daughter's college expenses without going into debt, and I've learned interesting lessons about business and humanity.

And if I ever need a fallback plan, it's given me a perfect leg up to start a pizzeria.

• Sheri Atwood became a millionaire in her 20s, and again in her 40s.
• After reassessing what she was spending on, she decided to prioritize her daughter's education.
• She gave her daughter an allowance to teach her about money and had her pay for her own things.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Sheri Atwood, the founder and CEO of SupportPay. It has been edited for length and clarity.

The first time I became a millionaire, I was 24. I was a vice president in corporate cyber security, making $450,000 a year — more money than I ever could have imagined growing up poor.

Despite my wealth, I wasn't happy. I was married and had a 4,000-square-foot house near the California vineyards. When I was poor, I always thought money and material wealth would make me happy, but I was absolutely miserable.

Soon after my daughter Janicya was born, I got divorced. I was a single mom, like my own mother had been, but I was in a very different financial situation. I wanted to be smart with my money, investing to create a solid financial foundation for my daughter.

I spent $43,000 a year on private school

With that in mind, I started to reassess what I was spending my money on. My big house was stressing me out, and I realized I'd rather live in a townhouse with less maintenance. I didn't buy new clothes or cars. Even now, I drive a Lexus, but it's 17 years old.

Instead, I spent on my daughter's education. I only escaped poverty because of my master's degree and knew I would never regret investing in Janicya. I put her in an expensive and wonderful private school, paying $43,000 a year in elementary school tuition and even more than that as she got older. Because that was my choice alone, my ex didn't contribute to tuition.

Teaching my daughter financial literacy was critical

When Janicya was 7, she had emergency brain surgery. My job required tons of travel, so I quit my corporate role to start my own company. It was self-funded, and although I was financially stable, I wasn't a millionaire anymore. I reached that status again about four years ago, in my early 40s.

I was always of two minds about my daughter and money. I wanted her to understand the value of money, and I also wanted to give her access to everything I never had.

Teaching Janicya financial literacy was a way to do both. I never learned about credit, or interest, or how to leverage other people's money (via loans and investment) to build your wealth. My mom declared bankruptcy, and my sister had multiple bankruptcies. I wanted Janicya to have access to the same financial knowledge as her private school peers who had generational wealth.

I gave her allowance to teach her the value of money

I also wanted Janicya to learn day-to-day money skills. I gave her an allowance that's meant to pay for incidentals, like Starbucks or fancy new cups. I taught her we can't always keep up with others — especially those at her private school. When she wanted an expensive purse, I showed her I didn't even have one.

Sometimes, however, I bent the rules. As a single mom running a business, it was sometimes easier to give her money to go out with her friends because I just needed some downtime. Once, she had a chance to travel to Puerto Rico with a friend's family. I paid for that because it was an opportunity I would have loved as a teen.

Today, my daughter works hard and tells me when to scale back

Still, I tried to make Janicya understand the value of money. When she was 16, she got a job scooping ice cream. Today, she's 20 and a junior in college. My ex and I pay her tuition, but she pays all her other expenses. She's working two jobs while in school, which makes me proud.

Right now, she wants a new car. She's currently driving a 20-year-old Lexus with 180,000 miles — it used to be her grandmother's. I told her I'll match what she saves for a new vehicle. I'll do the same one day when she's ready to buy her first home.

Although I'm a millionaire again, I continue to live like I'll never make another dollar. After growing up poor, I'm terrified of having no money. I like to save and invest, and I never overextend myself with loans and credit cards.

But I've also learned from Janicya. She tells me I work too much. I know from experience that money isn't everything, so I'm trying to spend more time with her — and maybe even take a vacation.

• The College Board found that student-loan borrowing is decreasing while grant aid is increasing.
• It comes as colleges are facing enrollment declines and questions over the value of a degree.
• Education experts told BI these shifts could force colleges to change the way they charge students.

You may not have noticed that the cost of college is quietly going down.

That's because sticker prices at public colleges haven't kept up with inflation, and schools are offering more grant aid, bringing the average real cost down. Student loan borrowing has also decreased, showing how new students are less reliant on loans.

"It's really something that's never happened before, so that's pretty remarkable," Jennifer Ma, a researcher at The College Board, which reported these findings, told Business Insider.

Still, steep college costs remain a barrier for many seeking a higher education. Students are increasingly sensitive to taking out loans, and with many questioning the value of higher education, it's forcing colleges to consider whether they can still afford to raise tuition, even with a looming enrollment cliff and volatile state funding. It could shift the way tuition prices are set in years to come.

"For colleges, I think they're really up against those tough public perceptions right now of cost is up, and value is down," Michelle Dimino, the director of the centrist think-tank Third Way Education, told BI. "And so they're going to still be in a bind for a while figuring out, 'How do we mitigate that?'"

Student loan aversion and enrollment declines

Over 40 million Americans have student debt, and while President Joe Biden has taken steps to improve some programs to make the loans easier to pay off, high interest rates can leave many struggling to pay off their balances for decades. This is a big reason many younger Americans are leaning toward financing options that do not include student loans, like grants, or forgoing college altogether.

A 22-year-old previously told BI that avoiding debt was a key factor in her decision to skip college.

"I have no student loans, like so many of my friends are in $100,000 in debt and student loans just to get a job that pays $60,000 a year," she said.

The reluctance to accumulate debt could factor into the College Board's finding that student-loan borrowing has decreased.

"Students are feeling more nervous and more skeptical about taking out loans to go to college," Dimino said, adding that as a result, colleges should be prepared to respond to students' price sensitives, especially with looming enrollment challenges.

The enrollment cliff is something colleges cannot control. The number of high school graduates is expected to decline in the coming years because of birth rate declines, meaning fewer students could seek to enroll in a postsecondary institution. Data from the Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education found that the number of high school graduates should peak in 2025 at 3.9 million, with a projected decline to 3.5 million by 2037.

Kimberly Dancy, associate director of research and policy at the Institute for Higher Education Policy, told BI that the declines in student borrowing could already be a sign of lower enrollment. She added that the students who are enrolling today might have less financial need than "students who were enrolling 10 to 15 years ago might've seen" due to the availability of aid like grants and scholarships.

Specifically, per the College Board, the maximum Pell Grant award for low-income students increased to $7,395 in 2023-24 from $6,895 in 2022-23 before adjusting for inflation due to a spending bill Biden signed into law. On top of that, institutional grants — or grants provided by colleges — to undergraduates increased by 30% between 2013-14 and 2023-24. Additionally, institutional grant aid for all students rose by $19.6 billion over the same timeframe, accounting for 52% of all grant aid in the 2023-24 school year.

With federal aid being volatile, institutions focusing more on grant aid could be a sign that colleges are responding to affordability concerns and contributing to net college price declines.

"Institutions will really have to grapple with if they do see a decline in state appropriations, maybe they can't raise tuition in the way they did in the past," Dimino said.

What's at stake for colleges

Over the course of the pandemic, colleges got government funds to help keep them afloat. Those funds have now run out, meaning colleges are subject to the volatility of the state budget funding cycle — and higher education is usually on the funding chopping block.

Jennifer Delaney, a professor in the School of Education at Berkeley, told BI that a main factor as to why higher education often doesn't get the funding it needs is because "institutions have figured out that students and families are more reliable at paying their bills than the state is." However, that type of thinking can make it difficult for colleges to best serve their students when they do not have reliable funding.

"The mission for colleges is advancing the human condition and advancing knowledge, and these are very long timeframe missions and goals, yet they're working within either annual or biannual budgeting cycles," Delaney said.

The conversation on the value of higher education could also be weighing on state's decisions to boost funding for colleges, leading some officials to think that "maybe it's not as worthwhile to invest in the sector," Delaney added.

Since state funding shifts, there are steps colleges can take to make higher education more affordable for its students. Dancy said the availability of institutional aid is a good first step, "using grants in ways that help them both attract students, to encourage them to enroll in their institutions and also as a tool for retention and to support degree completion for those students over the course of their education," she said.

To be sure, Dancy said that even with the increases in grant aid, there is still the issue of unmet need, which she defined as "a really substantial gap between what many students can afford and what they are asked to pay to enroll in higher education."

That's where the federal government can play a role. The left-leaning think tank Center for American Progress released recommendations for the government to boost college affordability, including strengthening the Pell Grant, implementing proposals to make college free for two years, and fully funding community colleges.

However, it's unclear where federal investment for higher education will sit under President-elect Donald Trump, placing the focus on colleges to consider ways to make a four-year degree affordable.

"Earning a college credential is still a worthwhile investment for many students," Dancy said. "And so addressing affordability concerns on the front end is a really critical way to ensure that that opportunity is available to more students."