Budgets fail when they become accounting. The version that survives spends first and tracks second: decide how much goes to housing, food, and the rest, move that money into separate accounts or envelopes, and live inside the lines. What remains after the envelopes are full is yours without a second thought.
The secret is that the method does not require precision. An envelope for groceries that runs out twice in a row is information, not failure — it tells you the number was wrong, and you adjust it. Guilt is the enemy of budgeting; information is the point.
Once a month, spend twenty minutes comparing what you planned with what happened, and move the numbers for the next month. The system is boring on purpose. Boring is what survives. The dramatic systems are the ones people abandon by spring.