My Story
Welcome to the part of the internet where the money advice is trauma-aware, the lemons are neurodivergent, and the founder is very much a human being, not an “I made six figures in six minutes” TikTok bro.
If you want the glossy version of my story, this isn’t it.
If you want the real, ND-friendly, no-sugar-coating version, come sit.
I’ll pour you some lemonade.
The Honest Version (but not the sad-girl version)
Since you don’t know me yet, let me give you the version that’s honest without being a sob story.
I’m a single mother of two.
One of my kids is autistic and couldn’t attend school for four years.
I spent eight years dealing with an ex who dragged me through court instead of paying child support.
I’ve lived in shelters.
I’ve lived in my car.
I’ve done peanut-butter-on-bread budgeting like it was an Olympic sport.
I survived a relationship that nearly cost me my home and my life.
I’m ADHD.
I’m autistic.
I battled CPTSD.
My brain ran on side quests and survival mode.
And I’m deaf. Sprinkle, sprinkle.
So if you don’t think I know ball… trust me. I know ball.
I’ve got multiple degrees.
Marketing, carpentry, healthcare.
Think of me as a Pokémon that keeps evolving out of necessity.
I got my financial license in 2021 because I wanted to know what the top 1% actually know about wealth building. I wanted the information nobody hands ND, disabled, or single-parent households.
The only reason I’m renewing it now?
Because so many people kept asking me money questions that I finally said
“Okay fine, let me make this official instead of trauma-coaching the group chat.”
Let me be fully transparent.
I’m not standing here pretending I’m a millionaire.
I’m not going to hit you with the fake
“I made $200K in 30 days from my couch” storyline.
What is true is this:
I’m no longer drowning.
I have more spoons than I used to.
Not because life magically got easier.
But because I stopped burning spoons on chaos, guilt, shame, and trying to operate like a neurotypical person.
Stress will always exist.
The trick is how you spend the spoon on it.
That shift alone changed everything for me.
The “I Changed My Life Out of Spite” Era
the season where my life finally belonged to me
This part of my story didn’t start with inspirational music.
It started with one blunt realisation:
No one was coming to save me.
Not the system.
Not the courts.
Not luck.
Not a miracle.
As awful as the circumstances were, I realized I was still responsible for what came next.
Nothing would change unless I put myself at the centre of my own life, maybe for the first time ever.
That’s when my "Self-First Era" began.
Not selfish in the toxic sense, but selfish in the necessary sense.
The oxygen-mask-first sense.
The “if I collapse, everything collapses” sense.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was quiet.
Calculated.
Rebuilding in the shadows.
Choosing myself one uncomfortable decision at a time.
And yes, it came with a healthy dose of spite and humour because survival is ridiculous sometimes.
Part of me wanted to prove the weird kid was actually the cool kid.
Part of me wanted my ex to watch me succeed, unfortunately for him.
Part of me needed to know I’d be front row at a BTS concert one day.
And part of me wanted my kids to see what survival looks like with eyeliner on.
More than anything, I was tired of being looked down on as the “poor single mother,”
the disabled one,
the ND one,
the deaf one,
the stereotype.
So I borrowed a new mindset:
“What would a bitch do?”
And I lived by it.
A bitch wouldn’t apologise for existing.
A bitch wouldn’t shrink herself.
A bitch wouldn’t tolerate disrespect dressed up as pity.
A bitch would stop putting herself second.
So I did.
People consistently underestimated my ability to build from nothing.
They thought I was fragile because I had been through hell.
They didn’t understand that surviving hell is a skill set.
The first real sign I wasn’t drowning was when I was desiring to book my first international trip and I realized I could handle it.
That I had rebuilt enough mental bandwidth, emotional safety, and executive function to make a plan that wasn’t about survival.
The trip wasn’t the win.
The capacity was the win.
My revenge plot isn’t about proving anyone wrong.
It’s about proving my younger self right.
Showing her she wasn’t delusional, she was early.
She predicted a future she wasn’t supported enough to reach yet.
This is the Self-First Era.
The era where my life finally belongs to me.
Not in a selfish way, but in a self-loyal way.
And that changed everything.
