Hello, world. I’m Annie.
I am the daughter of an ex-con and a stripper. I grew up in the Mountains of Eastern Kentucky helping my father bootleg to pay the bills.
I was destined to be a failure. I discovered that when I overheard a relative discussing the fact that it was a shame I was even born since I was a waste of humanity. I would never amount to anything.
Even my parents believed that. My father’s dream was for me to find a “good man” to take care of me. My personal dreams were met with a pat on the head and the verbal slap of discouragement.
I wanted to prove them wrong but the odds were stacked against me. My dad died when I was 18. By the time I sobered up from that I was 19 and pregnant. I don’t even remember having sex that night. I didn’t discover the truth of what happened for 12 years.
And that’s okay. That’s okay because what happened after that made me even stronger.
I tried to do it Dad’s way, the way society said I should do it. I tried to find a “good man” to take care of me.
That was a mistake.
I had three kids by the time I divorced but by that point I also had a goal. I was going to be the best damn single mother I could be. Someway, somehow, I would figure out a way to spend as much time with my children as I could while they were growing up and I wouldn’t spread my legs to do it.
And I won. It took a lot of hard work. At one time I worked four jobs just to make ends meet but I survived. This backwards hillbilly with barely a high-school education actually managed to build a writing business that allowed her to be a stay-at-home single mom for several years.
I proved them wrong. I didn’t have to spread my legs to raise my kids.
My youngest is grown now. After getting injured in the Navy she returned home to continue the search for her own path.
So here I am in a tiny house as I approach my fifties, splitting the bills with my daughter so that we can both live fairly comfortably. I was lost for a time once the kid turned 18. I’d given everything I had to give to be a mom to her. I didn’t know what to do.
But then it happened.
“You need to find you a good man to take care of you,” a well-meaning friend advised.
My old buddy anger raised his head. Every single female I know believes that the only way to be successful is to spread her legs and let some man take care of her. Every single male I encounter gives me reasons why I should do just that.
Fuck that shit.
I decided to prove them wrong.
I was pretty much broke by the time the kid turned 18. My royalties had dipped, life had happened, so I’d taken a part-time minimum wage job at a grocery store to make ends meet. I had an advantage though:
I’m REALLY good at making ends meet with very little money.
They don’t call me the Shoestring Girl for nothing. I’d taught myself how to squeeze pennies until they shit quarters so I could spend every single moment I could with my kid. I’d taught myself how to start and run businesses. I’d taught myself how to start a website and write and publish books.
I didn’t need a man to take care of me. I could take care of my own self.
I bring in about $600 a month from my public job and less than $100 a month typically from my book royalties. I don’t receive financial assistance so I make that stretch as far as I can.
Unfortunately, simple survival doesn’t prove a thing other than the fact that I’m stubborn. I wanted to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that a woman living in poverty could actually improve her life without the help of a man. I wanted to prove that women were strong enough not just to survive, but to thrive in this male-dominated world.
How could I do that? How could I prove what’s possible in a world that measures success by dollar signs when I didn’t have any?
I ran the numbers. I had 22 years before I reached the age of 70. If I applied the same determination I used to raise my kids to building my wealth, I could not only feather my own nest but I could prove without a shadow of a doubt that anyone, not just women, could start from the bottom and work their way up in the world regardless of their age or disadvantages.
And just like the world around me, I would measure that success in dollar signs.
I hit the books once again. I learned the three primary ways that people become wealthy in this world without winning the lottery or inheriting a fortune:
- Start a business.
- Invest in Real Estate.
- Invest in the Stock Market.
To my surprise I’d already checked the first box. I had my writing business already. I didn’t earn much from it but it’s a start.
Since my credit sucked and I had no capital I passed on the real estate option and focused on the stock market. I did some research, scraped together some cash, and started investing.
By the end of 2018 I had managed to invest over $2,000. Between that and my cash holdings I’ve got close to $4K as I write this.
That’s not bad for a backwards hillbilly living on minimum wage who has no idea what the hell she’s doing.
On this website you will find the story of how I ended up on this path. I’ve got about a decade’s worth of history here. You’ll read about frugality, minimalism, and some of the other stunts I’ve pulled over the years, like shaving my head for my cousin.
And moving forward, you will discover the journey I’m taking towards financial success.
If you learn anything from me, I hope that you learn that you are not defined by the limitations that society wants to place on you. You can do any damn thing you set your mind to if you are willing to actually work for it. I don’t care who you are or where you come from. Don’t you dare let them tell you that you can’t.
You go out and prove those bastards wrong.
If you want to tell me to go jump off a bridge here’s how you can do it. If you want to reach out and say hi or you have a suggestion that’s even better. I prefer that to the “go jump off a bridge” any day.
If you would like to help keep this website alive I have set up a donation link through PayPal.
Thank you so much for your support. You are awesome!