When I was a little girl, I used to go to bed praying that one day, I’d live in a house. I dreamed of having stairs. To me, stairs meant you were rich. It meant a life beyond the two-bedroom apartments I had always known. Rich people lived in houses, and houses had stairs.
For as long as I can remember, my parents fought about money—mainly about how there was never any of it. Although both my parents were smart and well-educated, life threw them into circumstances they hadn’t planned for, and as a result, I was raised in poverty.
I was always aware of how little we had, and as a kid, I carried a deep shame about it—especially since I often found myself in good school districts, surrounded by kids who seemed to have everything.
I hated the small humiliations that reminded me of our finances. The field trips I couldn’t go on because my father couldn’t afford the $25 fee, the time my class went ice skating and we couldn’t afford to rent skates, so I had to borrow a pair from a boy in my class. Or how I’d go to the mall with my friends and always leave empty-handed. (I later learned a fun hack called shoplifting, though that’s a story for another time.)
But most of all, I was humiliated by our home—a small, barren, yet always messy apartment. It was a place I never wanted anyone to see.
That was until I realized that the only thing more humiliating than a small home is having no home at all.
One summer, we were homeless and lived in a shelter. I’ve only ever told my therapist that. But I guess now I’m telling you. It remains one of the most traumatic periods of my life. I try not to think about that time; it brings up too many emotions I’m not ready to deal with yet.
Sometimes, I wonder where I’d be now if we had more money back then. As a kid, I was obsessed with soccer and was desperate to take lessons, but we couldn’t afford the classes, so I never got the chance. I was also dyslexic, which made reading and certain subjects harder for me. I often think about how much a tutor or a private school specializing in learning differences could have helped.
Funny enough, all of my ex-boyfriends went to private school (maybe I have a type lol). But I used to dream of going too—mainly for the outfits, though. I thought they were so cute, and wearing the same thing every day seemed easier.
But beyond that, I think about the doors it could have opened for me—maybe my teachers would have paid more attention to me, maybe I would have gotten better grades, made better connections, and who knows where I’d be now?
I hope that doesn’t make me sound ungrateful—because I’m not. I love my life. Even if I make my living as a whore, I’m pretty content with it. I have more money now than I ever have, and it’s given me everything I want—independence, time, the ability to support my mom, and the freedom to never have to worry.
Will I ever reach a point where it feels like “enough”? Probably not. I will always want more. Although I have enough money now to know that it doesn’t fix everything, it sure does fix a lot. And after growing up so poor, my biggest fear is losing it and going back to that life.
Money shapes every decision I make—including romantically. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t think I can even find a man attractive if he isn’t well off. Maybe that sounds shallow and fucked up. I care about a lot of other things in a partner, but money will always be at the top of my list.
I don’t think most men like it when I say that to them. But since they haven’t walked in my shoes or lived my life, I don’t really care what they think. That sounds a bit harsh, so if it helps, making me laugh is probably number two on the list.
Growing up poor fucking sucked—I won’t sugarcoat it. But it was the greatest blessing of my life because it gave me grit (or stubbornness, as my mom would call it). I guess, in a way, my childhood was my greatest teacher—brutal and unforgiving, yet effective. It taught me that life is unpredictable and when you’re constantly left to your own devices, you learn to adapt and push forward, or you simply don’t survive.
Thank you for reading!
Anna:)