Financial Feminist: Overcome the Patriarchy's Bullsh*t to Master Your Money and Build a Life You Love

Dedication

For Mom and Dad.

None of this is possible without you.

Sorry about the curse words.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Emotions of Money

Chapter 2: Spending

Chapter 3: The Financial Game Plan

Chapter 4: Debt

Chapter 5: Investing

Chapter 6: Earning

Chapter 7: Living a Financial Feminist Lifestyle

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Glossary

Notes

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Introduction

I Was About to Become Unemployed, and I Had Never Felt Better.

IN LATE 2017, I decided to leave my first stable job out of college as a social media marketer for another position. I had ignored all the red flags during the interview process and took the job anyway. Big mistake.

After only a week, my boss called me into her office. I’d barely had a chance to memorize the code to the bathroom, let alone work out how the company operated—but as I sat in her office taking notes, she told me to my face how she was worried that she would regret hiring me.

I spent the next ten weeks crying almost every day, panicked at the thought of looming termination. On Christmas Day, I had to excuse myself from my family dinner to stare at my computer screen with complete dread, finishing up a project that I was told would determine my fate at the company. I felt completely powerless—she had made me feel scared and small.

If you picked up this book already knowing a bit of my story, the last words you’d use to describe me are scared and small. As the founder and CEO of the financial education company Her First $100K, I’ve spoken in front of thousands of people; currently host a chart-topping business podcast; and am regularly featured, in bright lipstick and a leather jacket, on platforms like the New York Times and the Today show. I don’t do scared or small. But during that time in a toxic job, I felt deeply ashamed and paralyzed, with my anxiety at an all-time high.

Then I checked my bank account.

For the past two years, I had diligently saved a portion of my paycheck for an emergency fund. I was slowly growing my first $100K, the personal origin story of the company I started on the side. This money’s job was to sit patiently and wait: for a flat tire, an unexpected medical bill—or a toxic job. I realized I didn’t have to spend another day at that job because I had options.

So, on a chilly day in January, I got to (politely) say fuck off to a bad situation. I walked out the door standing a little straighter, smiling for the first time in months. I was in control, as opposed to being controlled. It felt good.

This is the feeling I want for every woman.

I was lucky enough to have parents who gave me a financial education. I saw my dad routinely call our cable company to negotiate our bill. I saw my mom balance the checkbook on the thirteenth and twenty-first of every month (using software from the 1800s). They taught me how to be a smart saver, how to use a credit card responsibly, and how to use money as a tool to build a life you love. We worked together—my parents carefully saved and I had three jobs while in school—so that I could graduate debt-free from college. They didn’t grow up with much, so they were committed to providing both an emotionally and financially stable life for me.

And because I didn’t know any different, I thought this was the case for everyone. I thought everyone had this kind of stability and guidance. But as I grew older—graduated high school and went to college—I realized that financial education was a luxury only those with access to financial resources could pass on to their families. Having a financial education was a privilege. Being a cisgender, straight, able-bodied white woman with a middle-class upbringing was a privilege.

And with that privilege came responsibility.

I graduated from college in 2016, five months before Donald Trump was elected. As I came into womanhood—learning how to navigate my life and career in a society rooted in systemic oppression—I was deciding on the person I wanted to be and what I stood for. I began to unpack my own privilege and wanted to use that privilege to help others. It was the push twenty-two-year-old me needed to build something larger than herself. And so I founded Her First $100K to fight financial inequality by giving women actionable resources to better their money.

Nothing inspires me more than to see a woman standing in her own power. It’s my favorite fucking thing. But when I entered the workforce as an adult, I saw sexism everywhere, to the point where women were so beaten down that they doubted their own power. I watched friends get paid less than they were worth. I saw women of color continually get passed over for opportunities. I learned that women hold the majority of debt in America and that they invest less of their money for retirement than men, though we live seven years longer.

A financial foundation provides choices. Small yet impactful choices, like the ability to take a revitalizing vacation, purchase little luxuries without guilt, or donate to causes you believe in. And Big Life Stuff choices, like starting a business, having children, or retiring early. And most important, the choice to exit toxic situations, like leaving an emotionally abusive relationship or an anxiety-inducing job.

Back in 2017, when I felt powerless and scared in a toxic situation, my bank account was the answer. My financial foundation meant I had options.

We live in a patriarchal world—a system that aids and abets inequality. In this system that has gatekept financial information and tools from marginalized groups, it is an act of protest to be financially independent. It is an act of protest to overcome negative beliefs about money in order to save, pay off debt, invest, and find fulfilling work. It is an act of protest to prioritize rest instead of hustle, abundance rather than scarcity, and generosity in place of stockpiling. In a world that actively works to keep us playing small, it is an act of protest to be stable, content, and powerful.

It’s deeply important to acknowledge that there’s only so much of our financial experience we can control. Personal finance is about 20 percent personal choice and 80 percent circumstantial. Yet historically, money experts’ advice has suggested that if you’re broke, in debt, or financially struggling, it’s entirely your fault.

We cannot discuss personal finance, money, or economics without discussing systemic oppression. Outside forces—including but not limited to racism; ableism; homophobia; recession; natural disaster; and lack of access to health care, paid leave, or child support—are much to blame for why you might be struggling financially.

Financial feminism doesn’t hand-wave away these structural problems in pursuit of individual women’s success. This book does not solve inequality. It does not solve (or support) capitalism. It’s not I did it, so you can do it too! inspiration porn or a pedestal for hustle culture. Rather, it’s a survival guide. While we work to change the system that currently exists, we must navigate it to the best of our ability. We still have to pay our rent, buy groceries, and take care of ourselves.

A financial feminist is someone who embraces the power they already possess in order to help themselves—and those around them—to reach financial equality. Once you are taken care of—are stable, content, and thriving—you will not only have a full cup but also be able to fill others’ cups too.

I’ve seen how financial feminism changes women’s lives through my work with Her First $100K. Danielle, a woman who approached me outside of an art museum in Florence, rescued herself and her daughter from her abusive husband, started her own business, and was on her Eat Pray Love trip to Italy. Moji, who had always felt scared to negotiate her pay, now asks for her worth and asserts herself as a Black woman in the largely white industry that she works in. Lizz went from having to take a second antidepressant because of her demanding nine-to-five to owning her own tech company; she now makes $60,000 more than she made in her former job and feels more confident than ever.

This book is yours. I give you full permission to highlight, scribble in the margins, and dog-ear the hell out of it. Note passages that make you feel a certain way, homework that you want to come back to, and quotes that stand out to you. Throughout the pages, I will encourage reflection and to-dos, so make sure you have a Google Doc open or a notebook close by. We also have accompanying resources, tips, and guides at herfirst100k.com/book-resources—these are included with the purchase of your book, so please use them!

This book is intended to be read slowly over multiple sit-downs and will work best for you if you actually implement change. Do not try to read this all the way through in one sitting; you will get overwhelmed and never pick it up again. Give yourself grace and take breaks. In the same vein, please do not be a passive reader. Use the material to actually make changes in your life. It may be tempting to skip sections, especially if you’re financially struggling right now and you’re just trying to find a quick fix. But I intentionally wrote this book in the order it is written to help you to see a shift in your relationship with money in the long term, so please read it sequentially.

Woven throughout the book are interviews with experts and stories from the Her First $100K community. I did this for a few reasons: First, I wanted to showcase and amplify different perspectives, especially from marginalized groups. During moments of vulnerability (like learning about money!), it adds a layer of comfort and inspiration when someone shares an experience that might be similar to yours. And second, I’m not the be-all and end-all authority on everything, so I brought in some other experts to help.

Financial feminism is best summed up in one of my favorite quotes: When you have all you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence. The mission of financial feminism is to do everything in your power to create a sturdy, beautiful table for yourself, and then invite others to it, rather than gatekeeping that abundance. And when everyone at the table is nourished, we start to tear down the fences others have built. When we are taken care of, only then can we work to change the system that disenfranchises so many. This book is here to give you the tools to help you navigate your financial life, so that when you are financially stable and financially well, we can fight against the system together.

Welcome to my table, Financial Feminists. Let’s dig in.

Chapter 1

The Emotions of Money

I Couldn’t Get Her to Just Quit Her Fucking Job.

Kristine is my best friend and my absolute favorite person in the entire world. We’ve traveled to a half dozen countries together, we’ve been in a car with each other for at least five hundred hours (we once tried to calculate it), and we feel each other’s wins and losses like they’re our own. We met at my first job out of school—a job that I fled after a year and a half because of its insane toxicity and hellish culture.

This particular evening, she was calling to complain about yet another horror story, because while I had gotten out, she hadn’t. After seven years at the same company, she was still dealing with the same bullshit.

While I tried to stay present and listen, one thought kept going through my mind: I just need to convince her to leave. That will make her so much happier.

You probably know this scenario well. A friend calls, complaining about a problem, and you know that you could fix it. You could give them a detailed, step-by-step PowerPoint of what they should do now, because you want them to be okay and to feel less pain. But guess what? That’s not what your friend is coming to you for—at least not yet. They’re not coming for an action plan. They just need someone to rant to, someone who will listen, someone who can empathize and tell them, Man, that sucks, I’m sorry. Let’s work through it.

Right now Kristine is not calling me for a solution; she’s calling to emotionally process her shitty situation at work, because that’s the first, most necessary step.

The same thing happened when I started coaching women about money.

When I first began my work as a money educator, I immediately dove into my favorite thing: actionable advice. With good intentions, I thought that offering guidance around goal setting, budgeting, and investment strategies would be enough for success—and we’ll get to all those things later, I promise. But after our sessions, my clients quickly reverted to old habits: mindless spending, negative self-talk, and analysis paralysis. We hadn’t processed the root of their problems with money, because I just wanted to help them as quickly as possible. All the strategies I gave them to fix their financial issues ended up being temporary solutions to a much larger problem. It was then I realized: if we want to create lasting financial change, we have to do some emotional unpacking first. (Kristine and I have now learned to ask each other, Do you want advice right now, or do you just need to process some shit?)

It’s going to be tempting to skip this chapter. I completely understand that the last thing you want to delve into is yOuR EMOtiONs aROuND mOnEY, but it’s the most necessary part of the process of feeling financially confident. You can’t start to change your money narratives until you get honest about where they originated. I can’t teach you how to set financial goals if you haven’t understood how your money hang-ups will affect you. It’s like trying to compete on The Great British Bake Off without having a recipe in mind: you’re just going to burn some stuff and also have a soggy bottom, and then judge Paul Hollywood will turn his crystal-blue eyes on you with disdain. (No handshake for you!) As shame researcher, professor, and all-around queen of my life Dr. Brené Brown says (she’s going to be quoted so much in this chapter!), If you don’t name your emotions and feel them, they will eat you alive.

Money is psychological. I’ll repeat it: money is psychological. Our financial decisions are directly impacted by our mind-sets and how we’re feeling in a certain moment, and in turn these financial decisions directly impact our longer-term outcomes. We feel positive and negative emotions about every single aspect of money, whether it’s debt, investing, or our income. I’ve done a lot of work to understand how my emotions and financial decisions interact—and I still spent countless pandemic nights looking at T-shirts I wanted to buy but didn’t need (Madewell, there’s something in your water, I swear to fucking God), replacing five unburned candles with new ones for no rational reason, and browsing Zillow for houses I can’t afford in places I’ll never move to. And then I promptly felt like shit because that jasmine candle was obviously the reason I couldn’t afford my dream $4.3 million New Orleans shotgun-style house with the massive garden and wraparound porch. This shit never fully goes away—even I, a money expert, sometimes allow my emotional state to dictate my financial choices. I know I’m not alone. Think back on the last month and the kinds of money decisions you made—both the ones you’re proud of and the ones you’re not. How many were influenced, even subtly, by your mental or emotional state? I’m willing to bet almost all of them. Your thoughts, feelings, and mind-set dictate your daily relationship with money.

It goes beyond spending and day-to-day finances; our emotions are in play for larger financial decisions too, even in the way we view money or the people with it. No one is immune. When I was twenty-two, I felt like I needed to buy a house that I wasn’t emotionally or financially ready to own, because I felt the shame of being a renter and throwing away money. My clients have so many stories like this: feeling guilt for hiring a housekeeper (despite having a disability), not checking their student loan balance because they’re scared of what they’ll find, and the all-too-common one: losing out on millions of dollars because they fear the idea of investing or of negotiating for a higher salary. And for most of my clients—and most likely for you, if you’re reading this—avoiding money issues altogether might be a response to the emotions that come up. The prospect of studying, understanding, and executing financial tasks is intimidating and overwhelming, so we avoid them.

Women who have worked to learn more about investing, negotiating, paying off debt, saving money, and so on must often handle a double-edged sword, because the patriarchy punishes us for trying to improve our situations. Some examples include calling us ungrateful when we ask for the salary we deserve, actively gatekeeping information about the stock market, or shaming us for spending money on things that make our lives better.

Our feelings about money are intentionally weaponized. There are predatory companies taking advantage of our lack of education—store credit cards pretending to be reward cards, Get rich tomorrow off this hot stock! scams, multilevel marketing companies, and private student loans come to mind. These companies use our fears and insecurities to make money, in the same way that magazines, beauty companies, and the diet industry have historically done. Women consume their offerings in an attempt to feel less shame for not looking like we should.

A word from

Alexis Rockley

POSITIVE PSYCHOLOGY COACH AND AUTHOR OF Find Your F*ckyeah

Shame is a social, fear-based, universal emotion—something that all of us experience, and regularly.

We hate talking about our shame; it’s up there on the list of Topics That Make Strangers Uncomfortable at Boring Parties. I wish we would, though, because shame’s control over us gets stronger the less we talk about it.

According to experts such as the famous shame researcher Dr. Brené Brown and author and clinical psychologist Mary Lamia, shame is rooted in our fear of disconnection. It’s a very painful, predictive kind of negative emotion: If I do not meet society’s expectations, then I will become isolated from and rejected by others.

You’ll recognize it as that familiar I’m not enough or I’m too much feeling—an excruciating sense of unworthiness, the painful twinge of feeling unwanted or being unacceptable. Shame is that out-of-control feeling we experience whenever we’re worried that something undesirable about us has been—or is about to be—exposed.

And who wants to be exposed?! We humans are a famously social species who crave connection and support; of course, we want to avoid isolation at all costs! It’s what makes shame such a powerful source of motivation in our lives.

Shame, like all emotions, exists to motivate us.

As far as we can tell, shame, like its fellow negative emotions, serves a crucial evolutionary purpose: to keep us alive and in relationship with others. Shame is so uncomfortable that it interrupts our positive emotions and redirects our attention to the source of our shame. In other words, shame is just a signal; it’s our brain’s version of ringing an alarm, like, Hey! Pay attention! Make sure you don’t do anything that will get us shunned!

But if shame is just a message from our brain, why do so many studies find that shame is highly correlated with violence, aggression, bullying, depression, addiction, and eating disorders?

Because we haven’t been taught to experience our feelings like they’re messages from our brain.

We’re taught almost nothing about our negative emotions, except to be afraid of them, to shut them down, and we confuse them with who we are.

The result? Shame affects us in ways entirely opposite to what it evolved for. Instead of helping us stay connected to others, shame makes us shrink, self-isolate, and shut down. Rather than motivating us to reevaluate the social norms that people project onto us (and decide whether we even want to align with those expectations), shame makes us obsessed with those so-called norms, manifesting in all kinds of self-censorship.

In this way, shame’s first demand is conformity. Ashamed, we believe we must look, think, have, choose, and act identically to everyone else in power. Familiar with the pain of rejection, and desperate to avoid its sting again, we align ourselves with the status quo: no risk-taking, no standing out. It’s too dangerous. And if we can’t conform? Then we see no other option than to shrink, minimize, and downplay all the ways that we deviate from that norm.

Shame traps us with comparison bait, leading to that familiar I’m not _______________ enough spiral. It’s why an innocently mindless, twenty-minute social media scroll leads to rethinking every single one of our career choices, like: What, they’re in Tulum now? How is it possible they look this good on-camera at all times? Honestly, how the hell do they afford this many vacations a year? What do they have figured out that I don’t?

Shame’s comparison bait seems innocent enough—I’m just gathering inspiration! I just want to find out what so-and-so is up to!—but leaves us feeling like failures every time.

Shame’s second demand is perfection, rendering success totally unattainable. Acknowledging that we’re capable of outgrowing ignorance and learning from our mistakes shouldn’t ordinarily trigger a full-on identity crisis. But when we take shame’s humility bait (Who do I think I am to _______________?), we drag ourselves into a pit of self-loathing that’s hard to escape.

Humility bait is why people (and especially women) avoid saying anything that would imply we might want to be rich: Who am I to admit that money is a priority for me, instead of something more . . . noble? It’s the reason we’d rather share an embarrassing sex story with coworkers than discuss differences in our salaries: What if I make them uncomfortable? It’s impolite to talk about money . . .

Shame’s humility bait seems innocent enough—I’m just being realistic! I don’t want to impose by asking too many questions!—but it leaves us feeling (inaccurately) alone in our struggles and trapped in ignorance, afraid to admit what we don’t know.

Shame convinces us to judge ourselves through a lens of perfection and conformity because it talks to us in the first person—I, me, my, mine, myself—and speaks in our voice. But when you confuse shame’s emotional alarm (I feel disconnected from money, what do I want to do about that?) with who you are (I’ll never get my shit together, I’m just bad with money), you’ve been tricked into believing the discomfort you feel is evidence that you’re failing.

Let me be clear: The pain of rejection is real. The physical and emotional toll that widespread social rejection (marginalization) has on us is real. Shame is a powerful motivator, an evolutionary form of protection, and nothing to be embarrassed about feeling. (Ask me about the shame we feel about being ashamed; it’s a meta mess.)

But! And! You don’t have to subject yourself to shame’s private torture. You are not alone. Perfection does not exist, and conformity is not an admirable goal. You deserve to be seen, supported, and connected while you outgrow your lack of knowledge and learn from your mistakes. Each of us is trying to figure out how to be a person in this body, with this brain, with these resources, in this society, at this time in history, on this planet. We’re a mess, but we’re doing our best.

To reframe shame from a crushing emotional burden to a simple message from your brain, start here: Reach out and connect with someone else. Partner up with others who want to learn what you want to learn, who are willing to admit what they don’t know, who will celebrate one