The Breaking Point
“Bootstraps?” What the hell are bootstraps, and where do I get mine? The phrase echoed in my mind as I sat outside a corner store, holding my six-month-old son, Woody, in my arms. We were out of diapers. Out of cigarettes. And completely out of options.
We had tried everything—staying with family, crashing on friends’ floors, making things work with whatever scraps of stability we could find. But each attempt at security crumbled beneath us like sand slipping through our fingers.
Then, in the silent space between my own desperation and the early morning traffic, an idea slapped me across the face. A memory from my time working retail surfaced—a tiny bracelet, an add-on sale at the register, something that sold for five dollars but probably cost less than a quarter to make.
Could I make those? Could I sell them? Could this be the hustle that saved us?
The First Hustle
With a few dollars from kind strangers, I made my way to Walmart, ready to buy supplies and launch my plan. But nothing was as simple as I had hoped. The beads I needed weren’t there. The thread was too thick. Doubt began to creep in, whispering that I was grasping at nothing.
Then, like fate intervening, I found an old headband—one of those trendy, beaded, stretchy ones that always knotted in my hair. Without hesitation, I tore it apart, salvaging the wooden beads and threading them onto hemp string.
The first bracelet was rough, simple, and imperfect—but it was mine. And it was a start.
Selling My Way to Survival
Day by day, bracelet by bracelet, we sold enough to get what we needed. Food. Diapers. A little hope.
David, ever the skeptic, hadn’t believed in the hustle at first. But when the money started coming in, he saw what I saw: a way forward.
This wasn’t just a hustle. It was survival.
We climbed our way out, inch by inch. We saved up, got off the floor, bought a car, and even had another child. We were still struggling, still living on the edge, but we had created something—an income, a system, a means of fighting back against the disaster that had swallowed us whole.
The Lesson
There was no roadmap. No easy answers. Just sheer grit and a refusal to accept defeat.
I had been searching for bootstraps, but in reality, I had to weave my own.
And I did it with nothing but thread, beads, and the fire to keep going.
