Miss
Wall
Street.

It was a beautiful Saturday in June. Open bar, floral arrangements that probably cost more than my first car, and a seating chart designed by someone who clearly enjoyed chaos. I was happy for my friend. Genuinely.

And then came the question. Delivered with a champagne flute and a well-meaning smile from someone's aunt: "So when is it your turn, sweetheart?"

I smiled. I deflected. I refreshed my drink. And somewhere between the cocktail hour and the first dance, something shifted in me — quietly, permanently.

I wasn't sad. I wasn't bitter. I was suddenly, searingly focused.

If the world was going to keep measuring a woman's success by her ring finger, I was going to give them something else to look at entirely.

Here's the irony nobody talks about: people who work in finance are not automatically good with their own money. I spent my days analyzing asset allocations, reviewing estate plans, and advising on generational wealth strategy.

My own finances? A different story entirely.

Good income. Real debt. A wardrobe that would make a stylist weep with joy and a brokerage account that would make a financial advisor do the opposite.

I was the cobbler's kid with no shoes. I knew every tool in the wealth-building toolbox — I just hadn't picked them up for myself. The wishlist in my phone was full of things to buy. Nothing about things to own.

The wedding was the mirror. And I didn't love what I saw.

I went home from that wedding and opened every account I had. Checking. Savings. Credit cards. Student loans. All of it. I made myself look at the full number — the real number — for the first time in longer than I'd like to admit.

It was uncomfortable. It was clarifying. And it was the last time I let debt have that kind of power over me.

I didn't go cold turkey on my lifestyle — I'm not built for deprivation and I never will be. But I got ruthlessly intentional. Every dollar had a job. Every purchase got a second look. And every month, a meaningful chunk went toward zeroing out what I owed.

It took time. It required more discipline than I expected and less sacrifice than I feared. And when the last payment cleared — I felt something I hadn't expected.

Not relief. Hunger.

I had cleared the debt. Now I wanted to build something real.

I work in wealth. I understand the mechanics. What I needed was to finally apply them to myself — and to document what that actually looks like for a real woman with a real income, real taste, and zero interest in pretending that building wealth means living like a monk.

So here's where I am now: high earner, not rich yet — but moving with intention. My net worth is real and growing. My debt is gone. And for the first time, I spend on what I love without guilt — the travel, the trainer, the handbag — because the investments come first and the fun comes from what's left.

That's The Wishlist Method. I used to keep a wishlist of things to buy. Now I keep one of assets to acquire. Same dopamine hit. Completely different outcome.

My name stays private. My strategy doesn't.

Welcome to Miss Wallstreet. Let's build something.