October 26, 2025
37 Reads
Growing up, the end of the month always felt like holding your breath. Not just because the fridge was nearly empty or because ketchup packets were suddenly considered a food group—but because of that heavy, unspoken fear that things would never really get better. It was like living under a ceiling you couldn’t see but could always feel pressing down. Our lives seemed to orbit around a single number on a paystub—and somehow, that number was always just a little too small.
If you’ve ever lived that, you know—it’s about more than the money. It’s about the story you start to believe about yourself. The one that whispers what you’re worth, what you can hope for, and where your limits are.
This isn’t just a story about earning more. It’s about the raw, often uncomfortable process of finding the courage to tear up that old script—the one that told me who I was allowed to be—and write a brand new one. One built on intention, not survival.
And here’s the truth I learned along the way: a different future isn’t some distant fantasy. It’s right there, waiting for you. It doesn’t start with luck or a lottery win—it starts with a decision. One small, powerful decision to believe that your story can change.
For years, I was convinced my biggest problem was the number glaring back at me from my bank account—a big, ugly negative. Turns out, that wasn’t the real issue at all. The deeper problem was the deficit in my belief system. I was stuck in a “poverty mindset,” though at the time, I didn’t even know such a thing existed—let alone that I was living it.
What does that actually look like? It’s that low, constant buzz of worry humming in the background of your mind. It’s making choices based on fear instead of possibility. It’s scrolling through job listings and instantly thinking of every reason you’re not qualified, instead of focusing on the one reason you might be. It’s assuming that good things—the lucky breaks, the promotions, the big wins—happen to other people. And it’s living in pure survival mode, where all your mental energy goes toward getting through the week, with no space left to dream about the future.
That kind of scarcity thinking feels protective, but it’s really a cage. It keeps your eyes locked on what’s missing, blinding you to what’s already within your reach. For me, breaking out of that mindset wasn’t a single epiphany—it was a slow, deliberate process. A daily act of retraining my brain to believe something new.
I started something I called an “Opportunity Log.” It might sound a little cheesy—or like something out of a self-help book—but honestly, it changed everything for me. Every night, before I could spiral into worry mode, I made myself write down three small, actionable opportunities I’d noticed that day. They didn’t have to be big or life-altering—most weren’t. Sometimes it was as simple as “asked a question in a meeting,” or “found a free online course I could try.”
It seems simple, but this habit did two really powerful things. First, it retrained my brain to look for possibility instead of panic—to scan the day for solutions rather than setbacks. Second, it helped me focus on what I could control, instead of everything I couldn’t. I couldn’t change the economy. I couldn’t control my boss’s moods. But I could control how I used my time and how willing I was to keep learning.
Bit by bit, it shifted my identity—from someone life was happening to, into someone shaping my own story. If you’re stuck in that scarcity loop, this is where it starts: noticing your limiting beliefs and gently proving them wrong, one tiny opportunity at a time.
There’s a trap a lot of us stumble into when we’re just trying to keep our heads above water—I call it the “more hours” trap. For years, I was deep in it. I juggled two, sometimes three, low-wage jobs at once. I was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and sheer panic—constantly busy, but somehow never getting ahead. Every hour felt like another drop of my life traded away for a paycheck that disappeared the moment it hit my account. It was survival on a hamster wheel, and honestly, I was bone-tired.
The truth hit me one day like a gut punch: the escape wasn’t in working harder—it was in working smarter. That meant stepping back long enough to ask, “What if I stopped selling my hours and started increasing their value?”
That’s when I realized something that changed my trajectory completely—my time might be limited, but my skills weren’t. Skills can be multiplied, refined, leveraged. When you develop a high-value skill—something the market truly needs—you can create more value in one focused hour than most can in a whole day. And that’s what allows you to step off the hamster wheel for good.
The goal wasn’t to be the hardest worker in the room anymore—it was to stop being so easily replaceable.
I didn’t have the money for a fancy degree or a coding bootcamp. My “university” was the public library and the internet—free, open 24/7, and honestly, more empowering than any classroom I could’ve afforded. Here’s exactly what I did:
It wasn’t quick, and it definitely wasn’t glamorous. It took me about 18 months of grinding—10 to 15 hours a week—usually late at night when the world was quiet or on weekends when everyone else was out. Slowly, painfully, I got better. That tiny hiking blog I started just to practice? It brought me my first freelance client. Then that client led to another, and another.
Within two years, I’d doubled my hourly rate and, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t just surviving—I was free. I quit the survival jobs. I started waking up excited instead of exhausted. It didn’t happen overnight, but it happened.
Let’s be honest—just hearing the word budget can make your eyes glaze over. For most of my life, I treated it like a bad word, something designed to tell me no over and over again. Budgets, I thought, were for people who liked spreadsheets and suffering.
But here’s what finally clicked for me: a real budget isn’t about restriction—it’s about intention. It’s not a punishment; it’s a plan. It’s the moment you stop wondering where your money went and start telling it where to go. Financial freedom doesn’t come from winning the lottery or discovering some secret hack—it comes from mastering the boring, unsexy basics, one conscious dollar at a time.
And because I was completely overwhelmed by all the complex apps and color-coded spreadsheets, I came up with something absurdly simple—a three-category system that, no exaggeration, changed everything.
I took every dollar I earned and divided it into just three buckets. That’s it.
This little system stripped away all the guilt and confusion. I didn’t have to make fifty tiny decisions every day. I knew the essentials were covered, and I knew exactly what I could spend or save without spiraling into panic.
If you’re just getting started, frameworks like the 50/30/20 rule are a great place to begin. They keep things simple and sustainable—which, trust me, is the only kind of system that actually sticks.
The phrase “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” used to make my blood boil. Honestly, it felt like a rigged game—a secret club with an invitation I was never going to get. But over time, I realized something important: your network isn’t about cozying up to rich or powerful people. It’s about surrounding yourself with people who are rich in mindset—in curiosity, ambition, and generosity.
You can’t rewrite your story in isolation. No one breaks the cycle alone. The people around you shape how you think, what you believe is possible, and how far you’re willing to reach. If everyone in your orbit is stuck in survival mode—constantly reacting, constantly afraid—it’s nearly impossible to sustain a growth mindset for long.
So, I had to make a conscious choice: to build a new environment, one conversation, one connection at a time.
At first, I honestly felt like I had nothing to bring to the table. I was embarrassed about where I was financially and convinced that anyone “successful” would see right through me and move on. So, instead of asking for favors or trying to network in the traditional sense (which, let’s be real, always felt awkward and transactional), I came up with a different approach—one that focused entirely on curiosity and contribution, not desperation.
I started small: commenting thoughtfully on people’s work, sharing their projects, asking real questions instead of pitching myself. Over time, those tiny, authentic interactions grew into genuine relationships.
Because here’s the truth—your network isn’t built through handshakes and LinkedIn messages. It’s built through trust. It’s your lifeline, the community that gives you knowledge, encouragement, and perspective when you can’t see your own way forward. Build it slowly. Build it sincerely. One real connection at a time.
Breaking the cycle of poverty wasn’t some cinematic turning point. There was no windfall, no overnight transformation—just a long stretch of small, deliberate, sometimes painfully unglamorous choices made one after another.
It began in my head, honestly. I had to rewrite how I thought about money, about possibility, about myself. That mental shift gave me the courage to build new skills. Those skills gave me leverage—to earn more, to make better decisions. And once I learned to handle my money with clarity instead of fear, things started to shift. Slowly at first, then steadily, then all at once, my life looked completely different.
The truth is, the way out isn’t paved with miracles—it’s paved with consistency. It’s the courage to notice one new opportunity, watch one tutorial instead of a distraction, save one extra dollar, send one brave email. You don’t need to fix everything this week. You just need to begin.
So, let me ask you—what’s the very first, tiniest change you’re ready to make today?
