The carrier will tell you your loan balance any time you ask. It won't tell you the thing that actually matters, which is whether the payback you decided on eleven months ago has been happening.
One page, one row per loan. Date, amount, what it paid for, the payment you committed to, and the date you expect it clear. That's the whole system, and it works on paper taped inside a cabinet door as well as it works in a spreadsheet.
It matters because a policy loan sends no bill. Every other debt in your life arrives with a due date and a consequence attached. This one sends an annual statement with a number on it and no instruction. With no ledger, the balance drifts up over years and nobody ever makes a decision about it, because there was never a moment that forced one.
Add one column for the running total against your net cash value. A single loan is easy to hold in your head. Four loans across six years, with interest capitalizing on the ones you got behind on, is not, and the number that keeps a policy safe is the gap between the total balance and what the policy can support.
Write down the reason too, in five words. Roof. Truck. Business inventory. Six years from now, a $12,000 line on a statement with no explanation is just a number you'll argue with your spouse about. A five-word note makes it a decision you can evaluate.
Check it at the anniversary, when the statement shows up anyway. Fifteen minutes: reconcile the carrier's number against yours, mark which loans are on schedule, and pick one that's behind to attack this year.
The households that run this strategy for twenty years without trouble are almost always the ones keeping some version of this list. It isn't sophisticated, and it's what makes a drifting balance visible in year three instead of year ten.