It’s me, Miloney.
Welcome to Marginalized Margins.
I’m going to be in your inbox every week because I’ve realized something terrifying: When the world feels like it's on fire, most of us are trying to put it out with a water pistol while wearing a polyester suit.
We are being squeezed. Out of our money, our time, our energy, and our safety. We’ve been conditioned to believe that if we just give enough of ourselves, eventually the system will reward us with peace. It’s a lie. The system isn't broken; it’s working exactly as intended—by squeezing your margins until there’s nothing left for you. You aren't just 'busy'; you are being liquidated. Building a life on your own terms isn't a lifestyle choice; it is a survival strategy. It’s time to stop being the most reliable resource in everyone else's life while being a stranger in your own.
But before we get to the "how," I have to tell you why I finally took the gloves off. It started the day my father died—and the moment I realized I didn't just need a priest; I needed a bouncer.
The "Crawl Space" Greatest Hits
People act strange around death. There are those who say the right thing, those who say nothing, and then there are the people who decide that your tragedy is the perfect time to be their absolute worst selves.
I recently sat down with my therapist to unpack the "buffoonery" that unfolded after my father passed. I wasn’t processing the grief of his death—that was peaceful. I was processing the sharks. The Greatest Hits included:
The "Theological" Flake: A high school friend who skipped the funeral because my family doesn't pray to her specific version of God.
The "Real Estate" Vulture: A tacky lady who showed up to the service not to mourn, but to pass out business cards to grieving relatives.
The Crawl Space Creeper: A neighbor who kept trying to "fix things" I never asked for. FOR THE LOVE OF BUNDT CAKES, SIR, STOP MEASURING MY CRAWL SPACE.
That’s when I long-jumped into the Rage Stage of grief. I realized no one warns you about the third tier of tragedy.
When life hits the fan, you aren’t just dealing with grief (the fetal-position-and-Cheetos-for-breakfast phase). You aren’t just dealing with death admin (canceling Amazon Prime and filing final tax returns while your eyes are swollen shut).
You are dealing with The Squeeze. The moment you are at your weakest, the world demands you be at your strongest to fend off the sharks. If you don't have a plan, you operate from a place of frantic desperation.
You need margins. You need "Sanity Insurance." And, not just when you're dealing with The Big Things. But, when you're dealing with The Small Things—AKA Your Everyday Life.
In my next email, I’m going to show you the "Invisible Margin." It’s the one thing most women give away for free every single day without realizing it—and it’s the primary reason you feel like you're vibrating at a frequency of 11/10.
If you want to reclaim your wealth and your heart, you cannot afford to miss it.
I’m thrilled you’re here. Let’s go get more.
Stay human,
Miloney
PS: If you’ve ever had someone do something truly "unhinged" while you were grieving, hit reply and tell me. I’m collecting stories for a future deep dive on why we need more bouncers in this world.