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So apparently, the average student debt upon graduation is $22,900.

Do you know how many lap dances you could buy with that? I should know; in Barcelona, I lived around the corner from the best strip club in town: Baghdad’s. But then again, I wouldn’t really know, because I never actually went in, of course. I just admired the unabashed display of boobs from the outside that didn’t make me uncomfortable AT ALL.

Something else I wouldn’t really know about is that whole student debt thing. (Do you like how I’ve managed to discuss academics + porn in the same paragraph?)

I wouldn’t know about student debt because I never had any. As you may know, as a high school senior, I was awarded a full scholarship including room + board to a private university, courtesy of Andrew McKelvey, founder of Monster.com, based on my “entrepreneurial spirit,” as they called it. Go ahead–I dare you to imagine a little high school entrepreneur Ashley. Yeah.

As a matter of fact, not only did I graduate college debt-free, but I graduated with over $33,000 cash in my bank account.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

How the hell did I do that? Well, certainly not by being an entrepreneur, although that’s what this introduction would have you think.

Rather, I had $33,000 because months before I walked the stage to start my adult life, my mom died, and forced me to start it a little sooner. I was left with a note on the door from the coroner, $33,000 in life insurance monies, one hell of an education and all the promise in the world, but, seemingly, no one to celebrate it with.

I was, and still am, very much an orphan, and the last living member of my amazing family that once was. (Which, by the way, is ironic when you consider that here in Chile, I live on a street called “Huerfanos,” which, translated into English, means “orphans.” Very funny, universe.)

I used to have grandparents. And great aunts. And a dad. And a mom. And then, slowly but surely, before I was even of legal drinking age, they all vanished, one by one, ripped away by old age, cancer, blood clots, and bullshit, leaving me alone in this world to do what I wish with it, without needing anyone’s consent. Holidays are always an interesting exercise in verbal eloquence, as I’m forced to respond to the 8,000 Chileans who want to know what kind of daughter doesn’t fly home to visit their parents. Or for those that do know, it becomes another interesting exercise in turning down their endless invitations to dinner, because, as nice as their intentions are, it’s very uncomfortable for me, as they whisper behind my back to the other relatives to explain my presence: “She doesn’t have anyyyy fammillyyyyyyyyy.” 

The point is that if any of them were alive today, they would have slapped me fucking silly if they saw what I did with that $33,000.

I had an incredible head-start on life. I had a down payment for a mortgage. I had a savings. I had a cushion. I had my first born’s college fund. I had opportunity. Opportunity that most 21 year olds will never have.

Know what happened to that opportunity?

Lavish dinners. The phrase, “I’ll treat!” $500 hair extensions. A Caribbean cruise. Another 6 months in Costa Rica. Expensive champagne. Shoes. More shoes. An $8,000 down payment on a fancy car with leather seats and every upgrade imaginable. $1,000+/month one bedroom apartment all to myself in Philly. A THREE-THOUSAND DOLLAR MATTRESS. Not including the bed itself.

This was my period of, “I’m in so much pain, and I’ve had to deal with so much, I deserve it.” It was how I rationalized everything.

Once the money was gone, I continued to make poor decisions. I built a beautiful house with a man I didn’t love because he was financially secure, and it made me feel financially secure. I then went in the complete opposite direction and ended up moving in with a man I WAS madly in love with, but who made $10 an hour.

And then, at the end of the day, I ended up on the street. My worst nightmare had finally come true; one night, I found myself with nowhere to go, and only $26 in my checking account. And it was ALL MY FAULT.

Despite having started with $33,000, and then having held some very lucrative positions in marketing, sales + PR over the years, my “I deserve it” phase never seemed to have an end point. I was incredibly irresponsible with my money because, well, it was one more thing that I didn’t want to have to deal with. It was one more thing that I didn’t want to have to play adult with. I had played adult enough, what with lawyers, estate auctions, funerals, credit card companies, and my emotions.

I wanted to be carefree, like every other 20 something who had the support of their families to catch them if they fell. And ironically, even though the money I earned should have served as a form of support, I chose material objects and passing whims, instead. Because it was the only way I could feel like I had an advantage over everyone else. They may have had families and happy little lives, but I had money and power. And I was determined to show it.

But here’s the thing about that:

Unlike family love, money + power is not unconditional. As a matter of fact, it’s highly conditional, and not just on your ability to rake in the cash, but on your ability to USE IT INTELLIGENTLY.

And that’s where I went wrong. It’s where so many of us go wrong. I don’t care how many clients you get, or how well your product sells; if you don’t know how to manage the moo-lah once you’ve got it, you’re no better off.

Fortunately, I’m a reformed money asshole these days. Yes, that’s a technical term. As I’ve grown my business, I’ve HAD TO smarten up, and stop pissing around. This is a big girl’s game, and I’m here with my big girl bra on, ready to play some motherfucking ball.

My friend Baker, who’s a smarty pants expert in personal finance, has helped me tremendously with this – his favorite thing to say is, “your finances shouldn’t hold you back from your dreams; they should empower them…nah nah nah nah nahhhh nahhhhh.”

Okay, so he doesn’t really say “nah nah nah,” but he probably should, because he’s been able to accomplish some pretty wild shit himself. If you’re finding yourself in a bit of a pickle with your finances, and you need to find a way to take back control so you can get your shit together with your business–ESPECIALLY if you’re in mad debt and are struggling to get out–you should probably look Baker up on the double.

What I like about him is that he isn’t just about slashing expenses and typical “stop drinking Starbucks, hooker” advice like that, but he also teaches you ways to MAKE more money. You know, so you can afford a $3,000 mattress.

Ha. Just kidding.

Actually, I’ll mention that I’m enrolled in a special class that Baker is doing on this, starting the 26th of this month, called You v. Debt. He’s got the class all sorts of tricked out with daily lessons, videos, challenges, games (with awards and badges), and a support forum. I’m enrolled because, besides wanting to school everyone and win all of the badges (suckas!), even though I’ve got things pretty much under control, I’d like to avoid splurging on more $500 hair extensions (!!!) so I can be sure that my money is going toward things that will help me get further–in business, and in life.

So, to the TMFproject community, I welcome you badasses to join us.

You can check out the deets by clicking here. It’s like AA for debt, yo. Minus the funky religious crap. And by the way, enrollment is only open until Thursday, Sept. 22. So, get on it.

And even if you don’t have a ton of debt, you should still check it out anyway, mostly because he’s a trip on video. (And his videos are so damn well done, I’m jealous.)

CLICK HERE TO GO WATCH BAKER ON VIDEO.

CLICK HERE TO GO CHECK OUT HIS CLASS, YOU VS. DEBT.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH MONKEYS MATE.

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Just kidding. All of those links go to the same place. We can’t talk about academics, porn AND monkeys all in the same post. Because that would just be overboard, and we all know that I never go overboard at all. 

You know, except when it comes to amazingly luxurious mattresses, apparently. Which totally feels like the plural of that word should be “mattressai,” but we’ll save that for another day.

You’re welcome.

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