I was born a white trash girl to a single teenage mom. We lived with her parents in Cabbagetown, a poor section of Atlanta with small mill houses that surrounded the Fulton Bag Cotton Mill. Both of my grandparents worked there for 75¢ per hour and I remember the mill controller coming by our house every Friday to collect the $4.32 per week rent, which we most often did not have. We lived primarily on dried beans, cabbage, potatoes, and corn bread with a roasted chicken as our big splurge on Sundays after church. When my Mother started working as well, that afforded us an occasional ice cream or a few clothes from the thrift store. We were indeed dirt poor.
My first thrill was when my Mom’s oldest sister, Mary Elizabeth, bought the family our first television set. I sat glued to the few shows that aired, mesmerized by the images of faraway places. The highlight of my year was the arrival of the Sears Roebuck Christmas catalog. I would spend hours every day going page-by-page circling all the things I wanted to buy when I grew up, moved away from Cabbagetown, and had my own money.
There was never enough money and any inquires about buying me something I wanted were met with “you know we can’t afford that,” “money doesn’t grow on trees,” or “quit obsessing about things and money; it is the root of all evil.” Still, I was green with envy of my friends who had pretty dresses, took dance classes, and whose parents had shiny cars and June Cleaver houses. I on the other hand rarely invited friends to visit my house and was ashamed of my cheap clothes and worn shoes.
I became obsessed with money and thought that if I just had some, it would be my ticket out of there. I studied hard and made straight As in elementary and high school. I ran away from home and spent the next eight years putting myself through college while working full-time as a secretary and supporting myself. I majored in accounting because I wanted to be good with money and because it was, after much research, what I determined would make me the most money with the least amount of education. I landed a job with Ernst and Young out of college for what seemed to me at the time a fortune: $15,500. I was told “you have to work hard to make money,” and no number of hours or amount of travel was ever too much.
I was recruited from one company to the next, each bringing more rewards, bonuses, money, and prestige. I had finally made it out of Cabbagetown and I wasn’t looking back. My list of possessions was growing and upgrading. I thought that if I had the mega-mansion, the Mercedes, the perfect outfit and jewelry for any occasion, belonged to the right clubs, took the right extravagant vacations, and threw the most expensive, elaborate dinner parties, then nobody would know I was a white trash girl. I became obsessed with “things” and there were never enough to fill the hole inside me and the feelings of being worthless and not good enough. I mean, even my dad abandoned me so there must be something deeply wrong with me.
My friends thought I had it all. I was the true self-made woman having made millions. However, deep inside still lived that white trash girl and no matter how much money I made, I spent it all trying to shut her up and make her go away. Every purchase and acquisition contributed to the façade and there was never enough to make those voices in my head and those thoughts and beliefs about myself go away. With every year that passed, I needed to make more money so that I could prove to everybody that I had indeed made it. I was a prostitute for money, but instead of the traditional sense, I was selling my soul to scale the corporate ladder.
