I started at a new salon on Friday. A space I genuinely love, with people I'm genuinely aligned with, doing work that feels meaningful. I am running an e-commerce business, and a mentorship program, both of which are growing slowly. By every measure that matters to me, things are moving in the right direction.
And I'm still sitting here doing the math and coming up short.
We just had solar panels installed on our home. Not as a luxury, as a response to a nearly $400 gas and electric bill in April alone. My son is 10 and in that phase where he is apparently a small bottomless pit, and every sport he loves costs more every year to participate in. We own our home, which is supposed to feel like stability, and even our mortgage went up because local taxes went up. Groceries are more expensive. Gas prices are high. Life in general is feeling really damn expensive. There is no escaping it. The cost of everything has crept into every corner.
And then on Friday, my first day at the new salon, I lowered my rates.
It was a choice I made after weeks of true reflection. I'm asking clients who've been with me to make a longer commute, pay for parking, and no longer providing products at every service, and I wanted to acknowledge that. My rates also needed to reflect the area I'm now working in. It makes sense from that sense.
It is a strange thing to be tightening your own belt while loosening what you ask of others. But it also feels completely consistent with who I am and what I believe about how we're supposed to take care of each other.
That's the thing nobody really talks about with transparency. You can be doing everything right by making intentional choices, building something real, showing up for the work, thinking about your community…and the numbers still don't add up the way they should. This isn't a personal failing. The cost of living has outpaced what most people earn by so much that the gap feels impossible to close through effort alone.
I'm not going to tell you to budget better or find your latte factor. This is a structural problem, not a personal one, and we do each other a disservice when we pretend otherwise. What I do want to offer is this: there are ways to pivot that can still leave you feeling fulfilled. Here are a few things I’m doing to honor who I am, and my beliefs, while still surviving in our very expensive world.
Foraging and building an edible and medicinal garden. I'm growing what I can, learning what grows wild around me, and preserving what I forage by drying it for later use. It connects me to the land and quietly builds a home apothecary at the same time.
Saving seeds. I've been reseeding my marigolds since we moved into our house in 2017, and I'm starting to extend that practice to others. What you save this year becomes next year's garden for free.
Bartering and trading goods and services. I've always done some version of this, but I'm opening it up further now & considering trades I wouldn't have before, because money isn't the only currency people have right now and it's not always the most meaningful one either.
Mindful purchasing. Supporting small businesses over corporations wherever I can. Every dollar spent locally stays local, and that matters more to me now than ever.
Reduce, reuse, recycle, repurpose are in full effect. Before anything gets purchased, replaced, or thrown away, it goes through that filter first.
Making from scratch when I have time. It's cheaper, it stretches further, and there's something fulfilling about knowing you are able to keep your family fueled.
None of this solves a broken system. But it keeps me feeling like myself inside of one, and right now that's worth something. Friday I walked into a space that felt right and I let myself feel good about it, even with the math still unsettled. Both things were true at the same time.
That's where most of us are living right now. In the gap between the life we're building and the cost of sustaining it, trying to hold both without losing either.
You're not failing. The system is just expensive.
With love,
Cerissa