Long before podcasts or blogs, there were my parents—especially my mom.
We didn’t get allowances growing up. We earned salaries. Your pay was based on how many jobs you had and your age. As the youngest of three, my first job was to make sure—once a week—that all the toilets were flushed. Honest work.
As my family loves to remind me, I may have had it easiest. And as the youngest, the joke ultimately landed on them: when my siblings went off to college, I successfully renegotiated my salary for picking up their slack.
My parents were small business owners. Over the years, they ran heating and air conditioning companies, home construction businesses, and what I like to call eBay’s first daylily business (it probably wasn’t—but it felt like it).
What did that mean for us as kids? We saw how hard our family worked to earn and save. We were included in the work and the conversations. We knew how much money was made on the days we spent digging, packing, and shipping lilies or selling at markets. Sometimes my mom would translate the numbers into something tangible:
“That’s six months of ballet.”
“That’s indoor soccer.”
“That’s a tuition payment for Catholic school.”
“That’s Kennywood tickets.” (Pittsburgh shoutout.)
Money wasn’t abstract. It was always connected to our values and how we lived our lives.
The Roth IRA Moment
In high school, my mom sat me down and taught me about the power of a Roth IRA.
She unknowingly created the version of me who would later be at a college party, holding a red Solo cup, enthusiastically explaining to friends: “If you just invested $50 a month in a Roth IRA, here’s how much it would be when you’re 65!! And no taxes!!!” (To be clear, I was a college student, not an expert. Roth IRAs come with rules, and the details matter.)
I didn’t understand everything—but I understood enough to know that finances and taxes were games designed to be intentionally confusing. And once I realized that, I felt compelled to pull back the curtain and explain it to all of my friends.
Especially for my friends who were pursuing work they cared deeply about—often with more debt and lower earning potential (myself included). I wanted them to have tools. Options. A sense that the system didn’t get to decide everything for them.
Why This Matters
My family didn’t make me perfect with money, and they didn’t erase fear or confusion. But they gave me language, perspective, and eventually confidence. They taught me that money isn’t just math—it’s power, psychology, history, and access.
And that’s why I was so excited to work on Fiercely Funded. Because no one voice has all the answers. But the right voices, at the right moments, can make a real difference.