I grew up hearing the word “crisis”
When I was a little girl, I used to hear my parents argue about money. Sometimes from behind a door. There wasn't enough. It was never enough. It was so hard to earn. I remember the word “crisis” from back then: in my house it was always one crisis after another.
My mom sewed clothes for other people, and she worked magic so we wouldn't feel the lack. On weekdays we ate crispy ham tacos with cream and lettuce, and I loved them. I never knew they were ham because there wasn't enough for chicken. On Sundays we'd buy carnitas, and Mom would split the meat in every taco in half: two for my sister, two for her, two for me, three for my brother. The last one was for the family pet.
I learned that money came in bumps and starts, that it was unstable, and that if I wanted something, I had to earn it. On Sundays I sold used clothes at a street market to pay for my nights out. In college I waited tables at events and wrote book summaries for hire, late into the night. Years later I left a stable job and, for 20 years, built sales teams of thousands of people in my network-marketing business.
Making a mistake doesn't take away your value.
And then, from one moment to the next, my income was cut in half. The company had problems, people left, and I was left in debt, back in my dad's apartment in Mexico City, judging myself for not being “a real leader.” It was the worst time of my life. The one thing I didn't stop doing was going for a run in the mornings.
The day after I turned 32, I was home alone. I punched my pillows, I yelled at God, and at the same time I begged for help. I cried until I fell asleep. I woke up around nine at night, in peace. I put on Peaceful Warrior, and that night I wrote on a sheet of paper: “From today, I'm moving forward.” The next day a friend invited me to a course, and there I learned what I repeat to everyone now: no matter the mistakes you've made, your value as a human being doesn't change.
I got back up and dedicated myself to financial education. I gave away ten free sessions, and in each one I asked the person to write down everything they had earned in their lifetime. Then I asked: where did it go? Ninety-five percent no longer had it. That's where my book came from, Estoy quebrado y no lo sabía (in Spanish: “I'm broke and I didn't know it”).
But I noticed something that didn't add up. Some people understood and applied quickly. Others understood everything, repeated the classes… and stayed stuck. I studied neuroscience to understand why, and it became clear: the block wasn't in the information. It was in the subconscious. Money problems never had to do with money.
That's how 21 Letters to Money was born: a letter by hand each day, with a blue pen, music, a candle, and a mantra. It's a gentle way to reach what we cover up, without confronting you. I ran the first edition with 15 students from my free morning mentoring group. Esther, who is 63, let go of the belief that she wasn't enough because she hadn't finished her studies. A student who works in finance was finally able to forgive himself for a financial decision that went wrong and cost his mother her home. (Individual experiences. Results vary and are not typical.)
The only one who believed in me when I started was my mom. She passed away a year ago, and today this program is also for her.
I'm not telling you this so you'll see me as someone who has “arrived.” I'm telling you because I know what it is to hit bottom and start over from where you stand, with what you have. And because I know there's a gentler way out than the one we were taught.
Cris