Chapter One The Ice Cream Cone That Changed My Life Some couples fight about money, but my ex-husband and I had an even bigger problem: we didn't talk about it at all. He would give me his paycheck and I would pay the bills, and while that might sound like we were Adults of the Year, what we really were was clueless. Plans? What were those? We were winging it daily, neither one of us caring enough about our finances to even have a conversation. The day I got pregnant, however, we were finally forced to take a harder look at things. How were we going to afford a baby? I told myself we would make it work; we would find ways to be thrifty. I painted the nursery walls myself, a light green color, with paint I found in the clearance section at Home Depot. I watched DIY videos on YouTube and tutorials on Pinterest. I made bookshelves from old rain gutters and made all of the artwork for the baby's bedroom out of construction paper and Crayola markers. I was determined to create special memories with the little money we had. It would be fine; we would just wing it like we always did. But then I actually had the baby. If you've ever looked into the eyes of a newborn, you know it upends everything you thought about what matters. For the first time, "day by day" was not good enough. "Seat of my pants" was not good enough. My son, James, made me long for an all-new sense of stability, a life that was beautiful, intentional, safe, and designed. Enter the moment I decided I needed a budget. A real one. Not the flimsy, just-for-decoration kind, but the kind that would actually help us strategically move forward as a family. This sounded like a reasonable idea-you know, financial goals and all-until I realized my husband and I were on totally different teams. We had finally started talking about money, but every time we did, it would result in a fight. We never had any clear purpose or bigger ambitions. There I was, cycling through various types of budgeting methods, looking for one that would actually make us better with our money-from percentage based to monthly based and beyond-but by the end of each month, we would pay our bills on time but have nothing left over. It was a constant, never-ending struggle. Soon, our debt became unmanageable. We had one or two credit cards totaling $6,000, and I had ballooning student loans, and medical bills from a severe motorcycle accident. But I still managed to make what little progress I could, taking advantage of balance transfers, filing for financial hardship with the hospital, and getting on an income-based repayment plan for my student loans. Eventually-with enough focus and discipline-I was able to pay it all off and was so incredibly proud. I hadn't achieved everything I wanted, but I was getting by. I was making it work. But then the divorce happened. As a kid, I lived through my parents' separation, and it was one of the most defining moments of my youth. I remember the suffering it caused my mom. I watched as fear took over her life. The hurt I felt had ripple effects straight through to adulthood. So when I found myself in the position of initiating my own divorce, all I felt was heart-clenching failure. To complicate matters, the logistics of it all were herculean: it was near impossible to find a place of my own with an annual income of only $30,000 from my job as an assistant in the finance industry. With a little luck, I did finally find an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment. For several months, it was mostly empty. I left my marriage with only a few bags of belongings, so we didn't have any furniture. I managed to buy a TV from Walmart with one of my paychecks, and we watched that TV nightly, eating our dinner on the living room floor. Divorce is complicated and difficult for many obvious reasons, but for me, the loneliness hit hard. When I was married, there was togetherness. Finances together, struggles together, stories together, dinners together. But then it was just me. It felt lonely, scary, and dark. More than the loneliness, however, was the guilt. Even though I knew that this decision was best for our family, I also knew I had stripped away everything my son had known: a backyard, his own bedroom, his toys, the swing set. I was in a constant panic about how he was handling the new changes, and because of that panic, the problem compounded: I kept trying to live a life that wasn't mine. I wanted to pretend like everything was normal. I wanted to pretend like I still had it together, that nothing had changed. I wanted to give my son the life he deserved. And so out of a complex emotional cocktail of shame, guilt, and fear, one morning I woke up, took the day off work, and ordered brand-new furniture on my credit card. A lot of furniture. I was desperate to prove I was a good mom. So desperate, in fact, that I also decided to order some fresh new decor while I was at it (no more construction paper and Crayola for us)-not to mention a new microwave, pots and pans, ALL new kitchen gadgets, and a brand-new bed. Do you know how expensive beds are? I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I immediately maxed out my limit. That's when I made the grand decision to start accepting credit card offers I received in the mail. I thought to myself, "I can pay this off over the next year, it's not a big deal." In my mind, it was about building a home my son loved and felt comfortable in, a safe and happy place. But, in reality, I was spending money I didn't have in order to feel like I was living up to my own standards of what I thought a good mom was. The total damage from my "good mom binge" came to over $20,000 worth of crippling, high-interest debt. Coupled with the shiny new Jeep Patriot I brilliantly drove right off the lot right before my divorce, I soon found myself suddenly owing seventy-eight thousand United States dollars. There I was, still living day by day, still making frivolous financial decisions I rationalized as helpful ones. Of course, I never thought I'd have my big moment of truth in a McDonald's drive-through. We were at the park. My son wanted ice cream. We got in the car and drove to the closest McDonald's. I pulled up to the window and ordered one. I will never forget the price: $1.09. As I went to pay, I reached inside my wallet and pulled out my debit card, but then hesitated: I didn't even know if I had $1.09 in my checking account. So I took out my credit card instead. I financed a $1.09 ice cream cone for my son. And suddenly, for the first time, I saw everything with intense, painful clarity. As I looked back at him, happily licking away, I got mad. Sometimes, the truth will anger you, but it'll always be what saves you. In that moment I knew I was going to have to fight harder for a life he could be proud of that didn't involve shame, poverty, and the endless financial stress spiral I was putting us through. I wanted him to be able to experience life without the constant emotional struggle, to be able to actually live-or at least order an ice cream cone without being traumatized. I didn't want to model unhealthy behaviors. I didn't want him to feel the side effects of my less-than-stellar choices. I was also tired of being endlessly preoccupied with money, never knowing how much I had in my checking account, constantly stressing, stressing, stressing, and never being present with him because my mind was always somewhere else. This was one of those moments when you realize you no longer have a choice. Being financially successful went from being a "nice to have" to an urgent necessity. And the very first thing I knew I'd have to do? Get serious about understanding money. I needed to get serious about making it, strategizing it, planning it, and using it. And I needed a real budget that worked. It's not that I hadn't tried to make one work in the past; I had tried. But none of them seemed set up for living in the real world. And perhaps that's because I didn't know then what I know now: that budgeting isn't hard because of the budget, but because of the rules. Change the rules, change the outcome. I had a lot to learn. In the meantime, however, I knew I needed to try something-anything. So I began to experiment. I scrapped what I thought I "should" do, and instead focused on what actually felt useful and helpful . . . for me. For example, instead of throwing every dollar toward my debt and eating nothing but rice and beans for three years-common wisdom in the budgeting world-I confronted my emotional spending head-on. I realized low self-esteem caused me to overspend, so instead of going to the mall when I felt low, I put on a pair of sneakers and went for a run. Little by little, I took note of where I was making progress and what didn't seem to work in the context of my life. And little by little, my new personal budgeting method-one that plucked the most useful ideas from traditional approaches and combined them into a new hybrid method that was aligned with my goals instead of everybody else's-was born. And by the end of my experiment, I didn't just have a budget: I had freedom and fulfillment. I had hope again. Here's the thing about budgeting that most people don't realize: It's not about money. It's about you. Budgeting is personal development in disguise. If you know what you want from your money, progress can happen-no matter how much (or how little) of it you have. The thing is, most of us don't understand what we really want from our money. When I was in that McDonald's parking lot all those years ago, I didn't know what I wanted. I was copying and pasting other people's goals into my life, assuming theirs were as good as any. It took years of experimentation, self-exploration, and asking myself hard questions to finally figure out that I could want other things. That I did want other things. And I needed to learn to use money as a tool to pursue my dreams instead of react to my fears. Budgeting forces you to understand yourself in all-new ways because it asks you to decide what you want to actually accomplish with your money beyond simply "paying the bills." I had to define what success felt and looked like in my own life, and learn how to address the underlying issues of what was really causing my out-of-control spending. It wasn't because I desperately needed a new mirror from Target. Every single day I looked at my son, and every single day my purpose became clearer. I started budgeting my money differently, doing it every time I got paid, and designed a physical budgeting calendar that allowed me to see my finances from a new perspective. Eventually I started using a zero-based budget-we'll talk more about that soon-which gave me the control I needed to allocate every dollar toward things that mattered to me and my life. Nothing was arbitrary. Every dollar was spoken for. And it worked. Press fast-foward on this story, and my life now is nothing like what it once was. I wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me that day in the McDonald's drive-through that in the future I'd be the Budget Mom, a world-renowned personal finance expert, blogger, and author who has millions of followers from all around the world. Or that I am finally in a place where I don't have to think about money. I spend time with my son every day. I'm able to send him to sports camps and social events when they come up. Last year, I took a gorgeous vacation with my mom. And most recently? I paid for our brand-new home in cash. This is the "happily ever after" part of what I call Budget by Paycheck, the name of the system I ultimately designed to help other women who have lost their way with their finances. My business and website are not only a business and blog: they're a community of women from around the world. And we're not just "budgeting"-we're building. We're using our desires to design our money and take back control of our lives. It might be difficult for you to envision a life you might never have experienced, one without the question of "Will I have enough?" constantly hanging over your head. One where you don't have to be afraid of emergencies. One where you can say with pride, "I know what I'm doing." But trust me, if it was possible for a girl who was once so broke she had to decide whether to pay the rent or put food on the table, it's possible for you, too. Inside these pages, I'm going to teach you how to view money as an engine instead of an enemy. The reason so many other financial programs get it wrong is that they focus on the numbers and miss what actually matters: you, your life, your family, and what makes you actually feel joyful, happy, confident, and free. Not just financially free, but truly free to live well. Life > money. Having options is better than any dollar amount in your bank account. Spending time with your kids. Giving back to your family. Making unforgettable memories. Living without financial anxiety. Trusting in yourself. And being able to be present for the million moments that make up your day. Budgeting isn't about restricting your spending; it's about expanding your options. It's about your quality of life. It's about peace, pleasure, and triumph. It's about feeling fulfilled, and creating big, beautiful memories-no matter how small your budget. It's about being confident. It's about being strong. It's about being true to you. And it's about loving yourself in ways you never have before. Chapter Two Money Anxiety Isn't about Money Iwas eleven years old the day my mom decided to divorce my father. I knew it was going to be bad. Crash. Clang. Thud. Thwack. My mom quickly grabbed a few belongings, including her favorite Japanese doll, and told us to get in the car. We rushed over to my grandma's house, where we barricaded ourselves in the bathroom-a measure that seemed necessary at the time. Huddled together in the shower, I watched my mother's face freeze, the phone held to her ear, as my father took an ax to all of the furniture in our house and threatened her life on the other end of the line. Excerpted from My Money My Way: Taking Back Control of Your Financial Life by Kumiko Love All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
