I let myself get mentally sucked into a social media post the other day. So mad at myself for doing that. I know better. I wasn’t going to write about it, because, well, it gets me anxious and sad. And I don’t like to write about things that get me anxious and sad, however….I feel called to for some reason. So…I guess I will be anxious and sad, and then I will process it and move on.
There are millions of small business owners in America. Millions. Anyone can be one. Yes, anyone.
I grew up poor. When I say poor, I mean, P.O.O.R. I lived with several family members over the course of my childhood, attended over 14 different schools in my thirteen years of schooling, in different counties and states. I had a baby very, very young. I was not ever on welfare, though I don’t oppose to those getting help when NEEDED-then getting off it. My parents didn’t give me money or assistance (they didn’t have it to give). My college wasn’t paid for (it STILL isn’t..can you say still paying student loans?). I didn’t win the lotto. A rich uncle didn’t die and give me money, or a house.
I. Worked. Hard.
I worked my way up from $4/hr folding Levi jeans to a corporate executive in a fortune 500 company…while raising my two children and getting my college degree (since then I popped out a couple more kiddos and finally got that damn degree…. over a ten-year period).
In 2006 I decided to open a business. A children’s business that I believed in. I started in a portable at my church and over the course of almost six years have grown and expanded it to where we now host multiple locations and work with thousands of children with a pretty amazing staff.
I have spent all of my retirement, all of my savings and have been on the brink of bankruptcy… twice. Continue reading