🖤🖤🖤

 

I suck when it comes to numbers, First name / friend.

 

Which no one knew.

 

Not my parents.

 

Not my teachers.

 

I even fooled myself!

 

Because from the age of 5, I’d often wake up and do an hour of practice sums before school.

 

It was better to will the limitation out of me.

 

And if I was going to get something wrong, I’d rather it wasn’t in front of everyone.

 

Especially because I wasn’t allowed to get less than 97% on any test.

 

Not my parents rule, btw.

 

That was The Standard I chose for myself.

 

Seems… realistic 🙄🤔

 

And you wonder Why Perfect Women Shrink!

 

Anyway.

 

I managed to trick everyone into thinking I was Universally Smart until around college.

 

When I was got a full scholarship to play field hockey at Syracuse University while working the nightshift at Crepe A Croissant (story for another time), I managed to transfer my “art history” credits from The Glasgow School of Art across the Atlantic.

 

Seriously. Those credits were a JOKE.

 

And they didn’t save me from having to do the basic Statistics class my freshman year at ‘Cuse.

 

BASIC MY ASS.

 

And fuck, I sucked.

 

Like so bad.

 

Because if 17 of the carrots are orange, 3 are purple, 12 are yellow, and one third are considered multi-coloured, I don’t know the probability of sticking my hand in the burlap sack and pulling out a blue fucking carrot!?

 

Also, please don’t reply and tell me the right answer.

 

Because -

 

1) I made this up

 

Aut also -

 

2) no one likes a Smarty Pants Good Will Hunter.

 

Although YES that’s my favorite movie, and please let me know if it’s yours too because we need to talk, First name / friend.

 

Back to Stats class: I was in trouble.

 

I didn’t have unlimited time on my hands to outwork my limitations because the practice schedule for a Division 1 field hockey programs that’s #2 in the nation is Literally Insane.

 

So STRUGGLING over those standard fucking deviation curves and mastering Blue Carrot Probability threw in my face that numbers really weren’t My Thing.

 

So 10-ish years later when I started Brave Thing, I decided to do what all sensible business owners do when it comes to “looking at the numbers.”

 

Find some sand.

 

Dig a hole.

 

Bury my fucking head in the hole.

 

Smooth out the sand with my wee yellow plastic spade.

 

Decorate the Head Grave with shells, ocean-softened glass, and the corpse of a deceased crab.

 

Oh. And commit to WORKING BRILLIANTLY AND HARD so I’d never have to “worry” about money.

 

You know the story.

 

I’ll just make enough to transcend taxes, spreadsheets, and anxiety.

 

So, SPOILER, this did not work.

 

For a few reasons.

 

Because the motivational quotes that you Google only to realize they’re attributed to Rumi, Dr. Seusse, Aristotle, and Brene Brown are, in fact, correct.

 

What you resist does persist!

 

You cannot run away from your problems!

 

And everywhere you go, there you fucking are!

 

Worse than all of that?

 

I felt Big Shame.

 

Feeling dumb with numbers didn’t fit my self-image of being Really Smart and Capable.

 

It felt like I’d lied to myself all these years.

 

The reason why lying ends up destroying people is not the lie itself.

 

It’s all the work you have to do to protect the lie.

 

The stories you have to remember.

 

The piles of dirt you have to keep moving around so no one finds the bodies.

 

AND it makes you wobbly.

 

That's the only way I can describe it.

 

When you KNOW you're lying and avoiding something it makes you wobble a lot.

 

And having to manage that wobble is exhausting.

 

Truth, in contrast, takes no effort at all.

 

Want to know the annoying thing about owning a business called Brave Thing, First name / friend?

 

See the minute (sometimes it takes me 437 days to arrive at That Minute) I realize I’m incongruent with that name?

 

That's when my business calls me the fuck out.

 

And I realize I have to stop doing the scared thing and do the brave thing instead.

 

As our wise friend Rumi says, “Don't turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That's where the light enters you.”

 

So, in the last couple years, I've hung out with the blood bandages so I can do the work I love at Brave Thing, make my work accessible to as many women as possible whether you’ve got $1 or $13,332 to invest, not burn out (more on that soon!), invest back into the business to it feels solid and stable, and also pay myself good money.

 

And yes, some of those bloody bandages includes getting a credit card and building credit for the first time at the ripe old age of… 30 I think I was??

 

And contributing to a Retirement Fund for the first time in my life.

 

And realizing that 25% of the money that comes in goes immediately towards taxes and THAT IS NOT YOUR MONEY and it's better to over-save than… manage the emotional explosion of having to find $11k that doesn't exist because you just… didn't know it would be that much.

 

I’ll cover a bit more detail on how I removed my head from the sand in Brave Thing - Financial Dirt ’23 (join the waitlist here - announcing the date for the session next week), as well as a money book I swear by for all people, whether you’re a biz owner or not.

 

I want to be clear. Financial Dirt is not a MONEY CLASS. 

 

I have no business teaching that! It’s more… this is what’s been possible for me when I've built the self-image to do brave things.

 

And just so we’re clear, I’d say my nose and mouth are no longer filled with the crushed up exoskeletons of sea creatures and coral, but my hair and eyes are still FULL OF GRIT when it comes to numbers.

 

And I still hear the story of “you’re not good at maths” in my head constantly!

 

But this “limitation” is no longer something I ruthlessly judge myself for.

 

Because here’s the thing.

 

There’s shit that comes naturally to me in business.

 

I’m a storyteller. I consider myself creative. I know I got The Juice. I have a self-image that COMMANDS success.

 

And I believe in my work.

 

I believed in my work before 100s of women signed up and paid me for it because it fundamentally changed my existence on Planet Earth.

 

Believing in myself and finding a way to stay even when I was yelling into the void and there was no echo was/is easier for me in my business because I’d done SO much self-image and inner work before I started Brave Thing.

 

Most women haven’t, and it shows.

 

That’s why we should work together, btw! Let me know if you want to chat!

 

But numbers was one of those skills I’ve had to War For.

 

I’m still no where close to brilliant at it.

 

BUT I just try to do the brave thing and expose myself to learning about numbers in a tolerable way, consistently,

 

Which is really the only way we become shiny and new at anything.

 

So Fuck pretending to be Universally Smart.

 

It's truly not necessary.

 

Doing the brave thing on the other hand?

 

Got to do that!

 

 

 

 

If you’d like a peak behind the scenes of how I build this imperfect, Brave, and beautiful Thing, you want to be there.

 

If you want to know where I made brilliant business-changing moves, while simultaneously throwing gobs of money down the actual toilet, you want to be there.

 

And if you want to understand some of the inner mucking about I do consistently to create the self-image needed to build a business I am equal parts frustrated, proud and joy-filled about, sign up for the waitlist here.

 

Financial Dirt will be donation-based.

 

My goal is raise enough money to cover an annual membership for a girl at my jiu-jitsu gym.

 

Oh, and tell your friends. 

 

If you forward this shit to a woman in your life who doesn't know Brave Thing exists but would probs get a lot of out it, I'd really appreciate it.