From the Penthouse to Poverty: The Lesson that Changed Everything
Homelessness was one of the most enlightening experiences of my life.
I grew up a sheltered small-town girl. I was the youngest in a blended family of eight. I was raised on a farm where productivity and checks on a task list were the keys to freedom and money.
In my house, achievement meant everything. I was taught that hard work and accomplishment was what separated the “admirable” from the “scourge of society.”
I got my first job at 14. I graduated high school early while working three jobs, and declared my goal in life to make a six-figure salary by the time I turned 40.
That may not seem like a huge goal in today’s world, but for an 18-year-old girl in 1993 in a rural Iowa town of 12,000 people, it was a reach.
Even as a divorced single mother in my mid-20s, I always worked at least one full-time job and one other part-time job while attending school part-time. It took me ten years to get a four-year degree because I could only work on it a little at a time.
In my childhood home, asking for help was either a sign of laziness, weakness or an admission of failure.
