Most of the life I remember is 'upper' lower class, so I guess that would be working class? The hardest times probably happened when I was still an infant, before I could recollect too much.
I lived in an apartment until I was about 11, my mom and I slept on the same bed, grandma slept on an inflatable mattress in the living room, and we rented out the extra room and garage to others. As a result, the space was a little cramped, but we were able to enjoy basic luxuries, and i don't remember ever going hungry.
Eventually, my mom was finally able to move us into a home, but I didn't want to leave.
The aging apartment building itself was falling into disrepair, with our bathroom ceiling being completely exposed as a result of leaking pipes from upstairs needing to be replaced. Not to mention the fact that our final neighbors upstairs were a couple of disrespectful dopeheads with a kid of their own, and my mom would have frequent altercations/incidents with them -- they'd be loud all night, so she'd knock on the ceiling, they'd get louder, and the cops would get involved. Finally, it all culminated one night with those same neighbors calling the cops on me under the guise that I was a neglected child.
My grandma had left the country, and my mom would go to work, leaving me home alone most nights. I was hella shook when I saw the blue and red lights outside followed by their knocks on the door. I didn't know what to expect when they started questioning me.
So it was really time for us to get up out of that building, but I didn't know nothing else man. I was too sentimental about that place.
Thankfully my mom didn't pay me no mind, cause we moved into a beautiful place after, and I think that officially solidified us as lower middle class.
I came to eventually find out that the dopehead couple also moved out of the apartment soon after, making all the trouble they gave us and the landlord seem even more pointless. Turns out the guy died from an OD. I wonder how their kid turned out.