There’s a binder clip in the top drawer of my vanity that has a single purpose: to secure the rolled-down top of my lotion container when supply starts to dwindle.

At the moment, I’m at the “bang the cap as hard as I can on the counter” phase of container emptiness but likely mere days from DEFCON Binder Clip.

I have even been known to, in desperation, cut the top of the container off and scoop the last few nights’ worth of moisturizer out with my fingers. The binder clip holds the opening together, obviously.

Last Friday, my husband and I ordered Lebanese for lunch: falafel and baba ghanoush for me, a chicken shawarma wrap and fries for him. (And let’s be honest, fries for me too, whether he liked it or not.)

Along with the tiny containers of hot sauce and tahini in the bag, the restaurant had tossed in several packets of ketchup.

As I cleared the takeout detritus, I contemplated emptying those three or four .32-ounce packets into the nearly empty Heinz bottle sitting in our fridge. 

I did not do it. But I thought about it. (These people actually did it 😵‍💫)

None of this is about being an EcO bAbE 🌸

I do not even attempt to adhere to a zero-waste lifestyle. I am not proud of this, but it’s the truth:
♻️ I have 1,723 reusable tote bags at home and remember to take them to the store about 4% of the time.
♻️ As a tall woman, I buy 92% of my clothing online and return 73% of what I order.

(btw, those are all meticulously calculated percentages.)

This is not about cost 💸

A container of my facial moisturizer is $10.50. There are spares in the cabinet, and Sephora has more.

Ketchup is readily available to me — for the low, low cost of $2.50 — including at the Walgreens through my alley (where I will not be shopping any time soon because of reasons, don’t @ me).

I can afford these things, just like I can afford new tubes of Sensodyne to replace the ones I force into prairie dog mode for weeks, sweating to extract those final sticky brushfuls.

A potential culprit: a beautifully evolved scarcity mindset. My lizard brain just refuses to acknowledge that I’ve got enough.

It tells me it’s gonna take a lot of work to get to the store and replace those things, when I actually have all the time and wherewithal in the world to go to the damn store.

Tells me that at some point the money bottom’s gonna drop out and I’m suddenly not going to be able to afford ketchup (?) so I’d better make this good to the last red squiggle.

(I might also just be a total weirdo.)

Scarcity mindset isn’t just in my bathroom and my pantry.

It’s shown up a lot in my business over the years, too. (Okay, and last week.)

And I’d bet it has yours, too, because we’re humans living in the world in the year of Beyoncé 2023.

We shrink our brand voices to cast a wider marketing net.
We skip on bold marketing ideas in favor of the safe status quo.
We say yes to work we don’t actually want, believing our funnel will dry up any day.
We ask for less than what we’re worth because something’s better than nothing.

But sometimes moving through it is as simple as shedding light on it and talking about it with folks who get it. 

I have an amazing therapist and a husband and friends and a professional community who encourage me every day (and offer gentle reality checks).

And thankfully, I get to be a cheerleader and real talker for those people, too.

📣Weeks ago, I reassured a coaching client that she actually knows her core message and what she’s offering wayyyyyy better than she gives herself credit for.

📣 Last Wednesday, I encouraged a colleague to revisit an email where he raised an objection to working with him that about .34% of his list would actually have. Confidence, my guy!

📣 And just yesterday, I talked another client down from a ledge of self-doubt that she was going to ruin the business’s entire email marketing program if she screwed up a contact export from their CRM. She’s just learning all of this, and she’s doing so great.

The best reality checks are the ones where reality’s actually better.

So I don’t know who needs to hear this today, but: Put the packets in the car for a french fry emergency. Then go to the store and treat yo’ self to that new bottle of Heinz.

Peeling back that little foil seal is gonna feel so good.

Pom-poms are my favorite accessory,
Paige