The first time I realize I’m about to pay two rents, it’s not during the apartment viewing—it’s later, at my kitchen table, when I’m trying to make a “simple” calendar work like a magic trick.
On one side: my current place in Cologne, familiar and slightly too small, where the radiators knock like they’re impatient. On the other: the new flat, bright, better layout, and available now in the way landlords say “available now” like they’re doing you a favor.
The overlap looks harmless at first. A couple of weeks here, a couple of weeks there. Then my brain does the math it always does in these moments: If I’m paying two rents, I’m basically paying twice for the privilege of owning the same socks.
And here’s the part I don’t love admitting: I almost solve it with vibes.
I start bargaining with reality. Maybe I can move in one day. Maybe the old landlord will be flexible. Maybe the universe will reward my optimism with a perfectly timed handover and a moving elevator that actually works.
But rent isn’t a mood. It’s a due date.
The tension: “This is normal… right?”
When I talk to friends, everyone has a story. Someone paid overlap for “just a month” and then it became two. Someone tried to avoid overlap and ended up sleeping on a mattress in a half-empty flat because the keys didn’t line up.
What finally snaps me out of magical thinking is remembering that housing costs are already heavy for a lot of people. In Germany, 12.0% of the population lived in households “overburdened” by housing costs in 2024 (spending more than 40% of disposable income on housing), and 52.8% were tenants (Destatis, last updated May 5, 2025). Different country, different rules—but the pressure is familiar.
In the U.S., it’s even more stark: in 2023, 49.5% of renter households were “cost burdened” (spending more than 30% of income on housing), and 26.5% were “severely cost burdened” (Congressional Research Service, 2024). That’s not trivia. That’s a reminder that rent is often the biggest lever in the whole budget.
So I stop asking, “Can I avoid overlap?” and start asking a better question:
“If overlap happens, how do I make it boring?”
What I do: the overlap budget plan (the one I wish I’d used earlier)
I open my tracker (this is the part where Monee quietly becomes my adult supervision) and pull up the last few months. Not to shame myself—just to see patterns. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s clarity.
Then I build a tiny plan with three buckets and one rule.
Bucket 1: The “Two Rents” runway (fixed overlap)
This is just the unavoidable part: the days or weeks when both leases are active.
Rule: I budget overlap rent as a separate mini-project, not as “this month’s rent but bigger.”
Because when I lump it into “normal spending,” I start making weird decisions—like pretending groceries are optional but a new lamp is destiny.
Bucket 2: The move itself (one-time costs)
This is the stuff that sneaks up wearing disguises:
- boxes and supplies
- van or movers
- cleaning, paint, small repairs
- new keys, name on the mailbox, random hardware runs
It’s never one expense. It’s a swarm.
So I treat it like a launch: a start date, an end date, and a defined list. If something isn’t on the list, it has to fight for its place.
Bucket 3: The “settling in” trap (soft costs)
This one is the sneakiest because it feels like self-care:
- takeout because the kitchen is chaos
- “temporary” purchases that become permanent
- extra transport because everything is in the wrong place at once
I give myself a cap here on purpose. Not zero. Just not unlimited.
The one rule: overlap = pause upgrades
During overlap, I temporarily pause anything that looks like an upgrade disguised as a necessity.
I can buy what makes the move possible. I don’t buy what makes the move aesthetic.
Future Me can have cute curtains. Present Me needs cash flow.
What happens: the move gets calmer (and cheaper in the ways that matter)
Once I separate overlap from my normal monthly budget, something shifts. The anxiety drops because the plan is specific. I’m not “behind” or “bad with money.” I’m simply running a short-term overlap project.
And I’m less likely to panic-spend.
A quote I keep coming back to—because it’s basically the grown-up version of what my bank account has been trying to tell me—comes from U.S. Census Bureau demographer Molly Cromwell: “We’ve heard for a while now that incomes were not keeping up with the increased cost of housing.” (U.S. Census Bureau, Dec 8, 2022)
My overlap isn’t a personal failure. It’s a predictable friction point in a world where housing is expensive and timing is rarely perfect.
What I’d do differently next time
I’d start the overlap plan earlier—when I’m still excited and rational, not when I’m surrounded by boxes and making emotional decisions about whether I “deserve” a new rug.
I’d also assume overlap will be longer than the optimistic version in my head. Not because I’m pessimistic—because key handovers, repairs, and scheduling are all allergic to optimism.
Practical takeaways (the “make it boring” checklist)
- Treat overlap as a short project budget, not a “weird month.”
- Split costs into three buckets: fixed overlap, moving swarm, settling-in trap.
- Set a specific cap for “settling in” spending so convenience doesn’t quietly balloon.
- During overlap, pause upgrades—buy function first, vibes later.
- Use tracking (Monee or anything similar) to spot your stress-spend pattern before it happens.
If you’re in this situation, you generally have three clean options: shorten the overlap (tighter scheduling, faster move), fund the overlap (bigger runway, fewer surprises), or accept the overlap intentionally (pay for calm and time). The win is picking one on purpose—before your calendar picks for you.
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