by Jeanette R. Harrison
When Success Doesn’t Pay the Rent: The Cost of Living a Public-Private Life
From the outside, I look successful.
I’m an author. I’ve published books people actually read. I’ve created an online course. I speak about healing, health, and resilience. I’ve been featured on podcasts, in magazines, have a strong following on social media, and when people find my work, they often say, “This helped me.”
But behind that public-facing life — there’s another reality.
This weekend, I sat in my apartment with a three-day notice taped to the door. I spent the last few days scrambling to find ways to bring in money — not for luxuries, but for survival. Rent. Groceries. The basics.
I’m running a business with national reach and scraping by at the same time. I work a technically entry-level day job, and while I’m grateful for the competitive wage, it’s not utilizing all of my skills. It’s not my passion. And it’s not enough — because I’m starting from behind. Again.
And starting from behind takes a toll.
When people look at my life, they see what I’ve created. What they don’t see is how often I’ve had to rebuild from nothing — how many times I’ve started over. They don’t see the years I spent living in survival mode. Or the cost of trying to climb out of it with no safety net. They don't want to admit that I was set up to fail. Or they are quick to spread stories every time I am struggling again, so they can gloat about how I'm "not so great."
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The first couple of weeks in my new job, I walked this trail to work. A woman contacted me and chastised me saying, "If you just had pneumonia, why were you walking?" I couldn't decide if she was trying to accuse me of lying that I had pneumonia, or asking why I was walking. The answer is that I felt like I had two choices. Do it or don't. Yes, it was very hard on my body. But, I had to do what I had to do. |
The Social Determinants They Don’t Want to Talk About
Here’s what I wish more people understood: basic survival isn’t just about hard work or attitude. It’s about access.
Not having a car isn’t just inconvenient — it’s a barrier to work, stability, and even dignity. Transportation is a social determinant of health. So is housing. So is having a support system.
But when I speak up about those things, people act like I’m asking for too much. Like I don’t “deserve” stability — not because of what I’ve done, but because of who they’ve decided I am.
Two Worlds, One Identity
There’s a strange tension I live with — this public-private split.
By day, I’m treated like someone who’s “starting out,” like my past experience and accomplishments don’t count because others need me to be less than or want to make it look like there is something wrong with me.
But online, in my business, I’m someone else. I’m a thought leader. A speaker. A creator. I’ve been told by people I trust that I’m more public-facing than these men I knew from college in my area who are seen as “important," but I'm somehow not. They contributed a lot to their community, but I somehow didn't? It doesn't make sense.
Some people seem to go out of their way to hold me in the role they’ve assigned me — a lesser role. They don’t see the speaker, the strategist, the writer. They see what they want to see: someone who should “stay in her lane.”
The Emotional Politics of Visibility
And then there’s the unspoken influence — the way certain relationships seem to shift how others treat me.
It’s as if someone’s pulling strings behind the scenes, trying to manipulate how I’m perceived, trying to puppet master who I’m allowed to be.
It’s exhausting.
Because I’m not chasing anyone. I’m building something — something real. Something public. Something with value.
And when I shrink myself to make others more comfortable, I lose more than just momentum. I lose myself.
Owning My Story — Fully
I’ve spent years trying to prove myself — trying to fit the mold, trying to make others happy, trying not to ruffle feathers. But here's what I know now:
I don’t owe anyone smallness.
I deserve stability. I deserve a car. I deserve housing security. I deserve support. And I deserve to stand fully in who I am — even if that makes some people uncomfortable.
I’m not less because I’m struggling. I’m more because I’m struggling, and I get up and do it, anyway. I’m not fake because I have visibility but not wealth. I’m a real person building a real life — with or without their approval.
And I’m going to keep walking.
Keep moving.
Keep building.
Whether they like it or not.
If You’ve Read This Far…
Thank you. That means something.
If you’ve followed my journey, you know I’ve worked hard to get where I am — and I’m still working hard every day to keep going. I’m not living in poverty anymore, but I am still recovering from the long-term effects of it. Years of instability don’t just disappear when your circumstances improve. They leave scars — financial, emotional, and professional.
This dichotomous life — being public-facing, but still swimming upstream — isn’t easy. I’m doing my best to grow my business, speak publicly, and support others through my work, even while rebuilding a stable life behind the scenes.
If you’d like to support that journey, here are a few meaningful ways:
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Share my work, my books, or my course with someone who needs it
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Invite me to speak
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Or if you're able, contribute directly to my GoFundMe:
👉 https://gofund.me/ee52fc9b
Every dollar helps me continue this work, create more stability, and keep moving forward.
And I’m deeply grateful for every bit of support — past, present, or future.
Thanks for walking with me.
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