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I was five years old when my parents got divorced. Before my father left, he bought my mom a forest green Volvo with a beige interior. It was very square and very safe. My mom hated it. About a week later, she pulled into the driveway in a brand-new creamy Corvette with T-tops. It was beautiful, but I immediately noticed a problem: there was my mom, my one-and-a-half-year-old brother and me. Three of us, two seats. The math wasn’t mathing, but she was beaming.
She had already put her personalized license plate on it that read “WE LOVE” with a frame that just said “Being Italian” — in case you were wondering what we loved — and was wearing her yellow shirt that read “Sicilians Do It Better” in navy velvet iron-on letters. In that moment, it didn’t matter that my 40-year-old dad had left her for a 17-year-old girl. That car — and that energy — made her feel on top of the world, as if nothing could stand in her way.
My brother would crawl into the trunk space while I sat up front, the T-tops off, windows down, Donna Summer blasting as we flew down the freeway. And even though it would only be the three of us for a little while longer, we were the happiest we would be for a long time.
Throughout my childhood, the math not mathing was pretty much an ongoing theme. The only financial advice I got from my mom growing up was: “If you feel like you don’t have any money, the best thing to do is spend more.”
She said this while sitting at the table in our living room, bills spread out in front of her. Behind her were stacks of receipts, every single one taped to paper and filed away in hopes my dad would finally show up and pay child support.
She was overwhelmed, and it was definitely what she thought she should do at that moment.
That mindset led her to refinance our little house three times. We had plenty of nights without power or food. She filed for bankruptcy twice. But she also went on a lot of cruises with my stepdad and kept a trunk full of fake diamonds from the swap meet, things that truly made her happy. Money wooshed in and out, often with a bit of accompanying drama.
Related: How to Handle Your Cash Flow Fears
Watching those sudden windfalls and downfalls wasn’t just confusing — it made me genuinely terrified of money.
I started working at 13. If I wanted anything extra — or really anything at all — I had to earn it. I worked illegally at a few jobs, hustling outside of school: dry cleaners (so awful, so hot), bakeries (great, I love a bread slicer), movie rental places (fun, and watching guys rent porn from someone not even old enough to watch it — iconic), cashier at a vegetarian grocer (Patchouli for days) and eventually waiting tables in the back of the store (loved it; always said I’d still be a waitress if it paid more). No matter how difficult the job was or the hours, whatever it took, I did it.
Because of money and family chaos, college was not an option. So I kept working. I carried a constant fear that if I slipped up, even once, I’d lose everything. That fear only deepened when I became responsible not just for myself but for my own company, my employees, the overhead… and my mom.
I took every job. I worked through my wedding. I was working in the hospital, giving birth. When I was pregnant with my third, Holland, she was late, so we scheduled the induction for Friday so I could be back at work on Monday. No maternity leave. No vacation.
But the truth is: it was all self-inflicted.
Related: How to Rewire Your Money Habits for Explosive Business Growth
I worked like my life depended on it — because in many ways, it felt like it did. If I stopped, if I even slowed down, I feared I would lose everything. Just like I’d watched my mom do, time and again. Eventually, I took some time off — and the weirdest thing happened: nothing. Everything kept going.
And for the first time, I understood my mother’s point.
Don’t be afraid of money. It comes and it goes, and life keeps moving. When I stopped gripping so tightly, money flowed more easily. It was a lesson in trust, in my own capability and resilience.
Turns out, my mom wasn’t entirely wrong. Money does come and go. The trick is knowing when to let it go, without fear.
So buy those diamonds at the swap meet, sweetheart. Money doesn’t always have to stress you out. Trust yourself to know when to hold on and when to let go. No, really. Because in the end, it’s just energy. And when you stop fearing it, you free yourself to focus on what matters: living well, giving generously, and taking the kinds of risks that make growth — and real success — possible.
I was five years old when my parents got divorced. Before my father left, he bought my mom a forest green Volvo with a beige interior. It was very square and very safe. My mom hated it. About a week later, she pulled into the driveway in a brand-new creamy Corvette with T-tops. It was beautiful, but I immediately noticed a problem: there was my mom, my one-and-a-half-year-old brother and me. Three of us, two seats. The math wasn’t mathing, but she was beaming.
She had already put her personalized license plate on it that read “WE LOVE” with a frame that just said “Being Italian” — in case you were wondering what we loved — and was wearing her yellow shirt that read “Sicilians Do It Better” in navy velvet iron-on letters. In that moment, it didn’t matter that my 40-year-old dad had left her for a 17-year-old girl. That car — and that energy — made her feel on top of the world, as if nothing could stand in her way.
My brother would crawl into the trunk space while I sat up front, the T-tops off, windows down, Donna Summer blasting as we flew down the freeway. And even though it would only be the three of us for a little while longer, we were the happiest we would be for a long time.
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