Hey love,
I know the subject line of this blog is stupid:
When are you not in diapers?
But if you look at it as a woman, the answer is:
for a much shorter time than men.
They’re only not in diapers at the beginning of life — and maybe at the very end.
I actually wrote three completely unhinged, brutally strong blogs recently.
And I didn’t post any of them.
I’ll be honest: I was grieving.
My beloved grandmother died.
Those blogs had everything in them.
Anger. Rage. Emotions. Real life.
I was almost relieved that I didn’t have to show up on video, because everything was pre-recorded on my teaching club.
So a calm, functional financial educator showed up inside the club.
That’s one of the perks of online and digital businesses — which, by the way, I teach.
What surprised me was how angry I could be at death itself.
She was 93. She had lived everything.
Or maybe… she hadn’t.
I might be doing better now, but for the rest of my life I’ll carry the image of a hardworking woman who never became anything — and that thought will probably drive me insane one day.
She didn’t know systems.
She didn’t know investing.
She knew the garden she worked herself into the ground in — just so she could eat — and the miserable little pension she survived on.
I can help you become stronger, richer old women — that’s why I keep talking.
But I lost my own grandmother’s battle.
She never went abroad.
She never lived her dreams.
She never had the job she wanted.
I don’t even think she did things she truly desired.
That reality punches me in the stomach to this day.
My other grandmother’s life wasn’t any better.
A dog’s life.
Pure survival mode.
A tsunami of pain.
So yes — generational trauma is boiling inside me.
And I’ll stay here with you girls until I feel like I’ve pulled enough of you out of the shit.
My grandmother spent her final time in a nursing home.
And almost everyone there was in diapers.
There was something deeply disturbing about visiting her.
One room.
Five women.
“Was” feels like the wrong word.
They were lying there.
In hospital beds.
Waiting.
For death.
At an unpredictable moment.
I won’t lie — they all looked awful.
My grandmother most of all.
Then came the hallucinations.
That’s when I broke.
When my golden-brained grandmother — sharp her entire life — told me she’d been at the local cemetery yesterday and didn’t see her friend’s funeral… the same friend who had visited her.
She said many other things too.
I won’t go into them.
That kind of thing destroys a sane person.
Watching someone’s skin become paper-thin.
Barely able to move.
A full year of this slow, grinding fight — and the last months looked like this.
Undignified.
Inhumane.
Devastating for the family.
And yet, thank God, there were people caring for her 24/7 — for money.
Because no one could do this alone.
You can’t keep a fragile little bird like that at home without breaking.
We tried.
She asked us to take her somewhere safe.
She was afraid to be alone.
Walking down that hallway was terrifying — elderly eyes snapping onto you from everywhere.
Not even the smell — that’s a whole different story.
Anyone there would have traded places with me — someone who had already used up their lifetime and was back in diapers again.
Because when I was born, I was in diapers too.
After childbirth, women walk around in diapers again.
The pads women use during their periods also belong in the diaper category if we’re honest.
And I’ve noticed something:
The more “diapers” a woman uses throughout her life,
the closer she gets to understanding why she doesn’t dare to live.
Why she’s afraid.
Why she doesn’t move.
Why she freezes.
“Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Too late.”
Especially when it comes to financial awareness.
Because all I see in women’s whisper-groups is women desperately trying to escape financially or emotionally abusive relationships — with small children.
Don’t worry.
There are areas where I’m scared too.
Show me a frog and I completely shut down.
That’s human.
But let me tell you something.
It matters how you shit yourself.
And whether it’s a little, a lot — or if someone else has to clean you up.
Because it matters whether, in old age, you have enough money, savings, pension —
so someone can change your diaper.
Because diapers aren’t cheap either.
And because living with dignity matters.
Having food placed in front of you.
Someone putting the spoon in your mouth.
Someone washing you.
Yes. These are uncomfortable topics.
But you know what’s far more uncomfortable?
Facing all of this without money.
That’s where I can help — through my financial blogs.
Sounds like a shitty sales pitch.
Still true.
There’s nothing worse than being vulnerable and broke.
At that point, you can’t earn, produce, move forward.
When you’re young, you can still scramble.
Side gigs. Hustling. Getting by.
But dying — slowly or quietly —
that’s not something you can “figure out”.
As long as you don’t need diapers full-time,
this phase of your life is the one where you can still build everything.
Shitty line.
Still true.
Because you are also your own child.
You just haven’t met the 80- or 90-year-old woman yet.
Do it for her too.
Build your financial strength for her.
She deserves it.
Your future YOU.
With love,
Christine