I'm Not a Financial Adviser. I'm Just Someone Who's Been There.

Let’s get this out of the way before I pass out from imposter syndrome: I’m not a financial adviser. I don’t have a degree in economics. I’m not sitting on a pile of money sipping oat milk lattes in some oceanfront house.

What I am is a person who’s had to figure money out the hard way.

I’ve known what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck—even while working 3 jobs. I’ve had to make $20 stretch for groceries, juggle bills, and choose between filling a prescription or filling the fridge. I live with a disability, and navigating the financial world with that reality? That’s a full-time job on its own.

I didn't grow up with wealth. I didn't stumble into a six-figure business overnight. And I definitely didn’t wake up one day with perfect credit and a color-coded budget binder.

But here’s what I did do: I learned. I researched. I started investing early on (before I could afford it). I made mistakes. I cried over them. I got back up and figured out how to do better next time. I looked at the systems around me—systems that weren’t built for folks like me—and I decided to find my own way through.

And eventually, I built a business. Not because everything suddenly got easier, or I suddenly was making big money but because I got smarter. More resilient. More real about money and what it actually takes to survive—and thrive—when life doesn’t come with a safety net.

So no, I’m not a financial expert in the traditional sense. I’m not here to tell you to stop buying lattes or that if you just budget better, everything will magically fall into place.

What I can offer is something different: lived experience. Compassion. Tools that I’ve used myself. A space where you’re not shamed for not knowing. A voice that says, “I see you. I’ve been there. And here’s what helped me, maybe it’ll help you too.”

Because money isn’t just numbers. It’s emotional. It’s tied to our histories, our traumas, our identities. And when we’re navigating poverty, disability, or systemic barriers, those conversations need to be handled with care, with empathy —and with honesty.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’re behind, like you’ll never get out from under it, like you just weren’t born knowing how to do this—welcome. You’re not alone. And you’re not broken. You’re just figuring it out, like the rest of us.

And that’s more than enough. I’m so happy you found me.