Slower, Wealthier, Happier

I was 27 years old when I decided I wanted to be wealthy.

Not just comfortable. Not just surviving.
Wealthy.

And at the time, the only real pathway I saw into that kind of wealth—the kind that changes lives, shifts generations, gives options—was real estate.

It was 2005. The market was ripe. And I had just crossed paths with a group of young, brilliant, Black real estate investors who were making it happen in real time. They weren’t just talking about the dream—they were living it. What came to them so easily felt like a distant fantasy for me, but one thing I knew for sure: I wanted in.

So I jumped.
I bought my first home.

To this day, that home still sits at the top of my list.
A two-bedroom, one-bath gem—about 1,200 square feet.
Living room, dining room, the cutest kitchen nook, a laundry room, a sunroom that caught all the right light, a big porch, and a backyard with fruit trees. I even had a two-car garage I never used because the door was always broken (a whole hot mess, but still).

It was a dream. And I bought it at the perfect time.
Rates were low. Inventory was good. And I was that girl.
Young, brilliant, degrees on degrees.
I was a school principal. I was traveling the world. Driving a luxury car. Living what looked like “the life.”

And I was just getting started.

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Until It All Came Crashing Down

By the time 2007 rolled around, I had acquired five properties.
One home for myself. Another for a family member.
A big five-bedroom where my sister’s family lived.
A few investment properties, some purchased solo and some with friends.
I was living the investor dream… or so I thought.

Then came the 2007 crash.
The market tanked.
People lost jobs.
Rent checks stopped coming in.

One by one, the tenants who had once paid like clockwork could no longer pay at all. And if they couldn’t pay me, I couldn’t pay the mortgages.

At one point, I was shelling out $17,000 a month just to cover everything—mortgages, insurance, upkeep, all of it.

And I bombed.
Hard.

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The Truth? I Didn’t Know What I Didn’t Know

There were so many things I didn’t understand about real estate investing.
Things like property taxes. Liquidity. Risk management.
I had no contingency fund. No advisors who could speak my language or understand my vision.

People tried to help, sure—but I was sent to the wrong people.
Old white men who couldn’t relate to what this young Black girl was building. They didn’t know how to talk to me. Didn’t know how to teach me. They talked at me in a language I couldn’t absorb.

And while I was trying to figure it out, the losses stacked up.
Some properties I was able to sell.
One of them—my beloved first home—I bought for $125,000 and sold for over $400,000 (a huge win).
But I couldn’t offload everything fast enough.

A couple of those properties?
Foreclosure.

And that’s when the shame took root.

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I Went Silent

Two years earlier, I had been the golden girl.
Now, I didn’t even want to talk about real estate.

I couldn’t.

The shame was too loud.

It told me I should’ve known better.
It told me I had no business trying to build wealth that young.
It told me I had no right to believe I could do better than what I’d seen growing up.

The shame said:
“Who do you think you are?”
“You thought you could pull your people up with you? Look at you now.”
“You failed. You blew it. Sit down.”

And for a long time—I did.

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The Shame Almost Kept Me From Building Again

It took me years to even consider real estate again.

Not months.
Years.

Every time someone mentioned investing, I’d roll my eyes.
Every time someone said, “You should come to this real estate seminar,” I’d shut it down.
Because I wasn’t just mad—I was ashamed.

I didn’t want anyone to see the mess.
Didn’t want to explain the losses.
Didn’t want to admit that I had tried… and failed.

So I stayed stuck.
Not because I didn’t have the vision.
But because I let shame become the authority in my life.

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But Today? Today Is Different.

Today, I teach wealth-building classes.
I teach women how to diversify their portfolios.
I’m the one breaking it all down, sharing everything I wish someone had told me back then.

Today, I’m helping my family build a compound.
We’re doing big things—smart things.
Strategic, sustainable, soft, and wealthy things.

Because I stopped letting shame keep me small.
I forgave myself.
I told the truth.
I learned the lessons.
And I got back up.

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The Turning Point: Shame

Shame is sticky. It doesn’t just live in your mind—it settles in your body.
It tells you to play small. To stay silent.
It whispers that you’re not qualified.

But shame is a liar.

And if you’re not careful, it’ll convince you that your past mistakes are your future story.

I had to choose something different.
I had to rewrite the narrative.
Not just for me—but for every woman who’s ever believed that one loss meant the end of her legacy.

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Let’s Talk About It

Where is shame still sitting in your financial story?
What’s one area where you need to forgive yourself for not knowing better?

Let this be the day you stop hiding.
Let this be the moment you choose curiosity over criticism.
Let this be the turning point.

And if you’re ready to be in a room where we tell the truth, build wisely, and create legacy on purpose—come join us inside Wealthy Women Conversations on Facebook.
Your next chapter is waiting.

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#SlowerWealthierHappier
#SoftLivingIsSuccess
#BlackWomenDeserveEase
#ThisLifeFeelsLikeMe
#ShameIsNotTheStory