Just Me vs. My Money Shame in Aisle 7 (It Got Deep, Y'all)

Script-Breakers, listen up.

Today, I'm just going to rapid-fire this thought dump, because I'm still processing the full-on emotional battle that went down yesterday. 

And where did this spiritual showdown happen? 

Aisle Seven, next to the gluten-free flour.

 I'm serious.

We all know I wrote about money shame recently, but the real mess—the authentic, unscripted reality of being a creative entrepreneur who is building her biz (i.e., currently surviving on sheer willpower)—happened when I had to decide what my bank account could handle versus what my stomach wanted. 

Not fun.

The Inner Monologue That Tried to Ruin My Day

I'm standing there, trying to figure out which brand of flour and sugar won't bankrupt me, and the internal monologue was so mean, y'all. 

It's not whispering; it's screaming:

"You're a CEO! You should be past this! Why aren't you making money yet? Seriously, doing something wrong? You're too old for this broke artist narrative!"

The shame is just this physical, gut-clenching horror.

And do you know what my instinct was?

To ditch the cart, run home, and hide under the covers until whenever the next paycheck hit.

To use that nasty feeling as proof that I’m absolutely failing.

But I forced myself to stop. Because running isn't the vibe anymore. 

I thought, Okay, Ashlee. Let's just sit in the mess for a second.