For months this has been on my to-do list to write. And I kept putting it off. Other things took precedence. Then things slowed down, simmered and came to a cool pace. But I still felt like I couldn’t write this.
Last year, 2017, was the worst year of my life — the dissolution of my 9-year relationship, physical health issues and scares, a mental health breakdown and business transitions. I was abusing alcohol to numb the pain until I finally went back on medication to manage my anxiety and depression.
I think I haven’t written this post, even though it’s already three-quarters into this year, because quite frankly, many of the issues from last year are still here.
It’s like I had the most intense emotional hangover and financial repercussions that lingered into this year. In May, after Lola Retreat, I had a mental health relapse. I made a poor decision and went off my medication because I thought I was better.
That’s the trick with antidepressants. Sometimes they work and they make you feel better and when you feel better, you think you can stop because you’re doing just fine!
I learned quickly that I made a mistake. I had fits of hysteria, hurricanes of anxiety and depression so deep I could hardly get out of bed. I cancelled some things I was supposed to go to. I had to ask for some deadline extensions.
After already feeling at my lowest, the next month in June, I dealt with yet another heartache after trying to love again too soon. That certainly didn’t help things and made me question my reality and my trust in myself in ways I’ve never experienced.
Once I got back on medication, I started to feel better. Recently, I was describing how antidepressants make me feel to a friend.
Let’s take a scale from 0-100. When you are at your lowest, you are at a zero. When you’re in fits of hysteria, mania, and inconsolable, you are at 100. Being on antidepressants helps me stay in a more moderate range of 30-75. I still feel. I am not a zombie. But I’m no longer drowning in depression or despondent with tears.
It’s truly scary to deal with mental health issues. Then, having personal and professional woes on top of that can make it worse.
Throughout last year’s mess and this year’s as well, I’ve learned a lot about money.
I’ve learned that money is everything and nothing.
After my relationship ended, money didn’t matter to me. No amount of money (or couples counseling — we tried) was going to save our relationship. No amount of money was going to get me out of this pain and heartache.
Suddenly, money seemed so unimportant. A privileged position, I know, and one that I’m grateful to be in. If I were still in debt, it would have made things significantly worse.
Though money seemed like it meant nothing to me anymore, it actually was everything in getting me through last year.
Last year, I got on a health ministry insurance plan — all my self-employed friends raved about how much cheaper it was! And it was. But there’s a clause that I didn’t really consider — that they don’t pay for mental health care.
So when I was having a mental health crisis my insurance with Liberty HealthShare would pay for absolutely nothing.
Because I needed help, I paid out-of-pocket for therapy at $50 per session. My psychiatrist was a whopping $250 per session without insurance. I was paying roughly $500 per month just on my mental health. It was outrageous but I could do it.
My insurance also didn’t end up covering all my medical bills. What would have sent me into a tizzy before didn’t phase me. I just threw money at it. Throwing money at problems feels so damn good when everything else seems to be crumbling.
Though I could afford to pay out-of-pocket for all of this stuff that I needed to get on day-to-day, my income actually had gone down.
Last year, my income went down 20 percent. It has gone down this year as well. When I started my business, I was on a trajectory to earn more, more and more money. From the low-income trap I was in to nearly six figures, things were looking real good.
And then life hit, and I simply was not able to produce or pitch as much. This year was much of the same.
I realized if I am not well, I don’t have a business. Though I don’t love that my income has gone down, I am not wearing it as a badge of shame like I might have done in the past.
I know why my income went down. I know I can make it go up again. But I need to get better first and I need to remember whether I’m making $20k or $100k that I’m still a valuable human being.
I still matter.
All of this reminded me that I’m running my own race, and to stay in my lane. There are so many other people in my industry making crazy amounts of money.
It’s easy to get envious or think you’re doing something wrong, but then I remember I am on my own path. I am straddling both freelance writing and events. I am managing this website and Lola Retreat’s website.
This is my own unique path and cannot be compared.
I have gone back to basics and simply been happy that I can pay for my rent, food, insurance and taxes. Though, sadly, I have not saved a ton for the past year and a half — and even dipped into some reserves — I have not gone into debt.
In some ways, it makes me feel like a fraud. A personal finance writer who isn’t saving like crazy and making bank. But I’ve never claimed to be an expert or perfect. I am simply human.
Throughout this time, I’ve learned what’s really important. Things that used to stress me out don’t bother me anymore. I realized that your relationships, your health, your mental wellbeing are fucking priceless.
I’ve learned that money is sometimes so meaningless and empty compared to life’s vastness, but I’ve realized that it can get you through the hardest times.
You can afford to get help. You can throw money at problems you don’t want to deal with or simply don’t have time to deal with.
It gives you choice. It gives you freedom.
It can even help you maintain the status quo. For example, I was able to stay in the apartment that my ex and I shared. I could afford the rent on my own. I could still feed my cats. My lifestyle didn’t change much because I had the money to maintain.
When everything is changing, sometimes being able to maintain some sense of normalcy can provide great comfort.
So even though my life has changed so much and I’ve been through the emotional wringer, my relationship and understanding of money has changed.
Money can be nothing. And it can be everything. It can be a tool. Or it can be an open door.
