Leslie Juvin-Acker - The Money Formula: Change Your Relationship to Money in 7 Steps in 15 Minutes or Less

Published by

WSA Publishing

301 E 57th Street, 4th fl

New York, NY 10022

Copyright 2018 by Leslie Juvin-Acker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by in any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

Manufactured in the United States of America, or in the United Kingdom when distributed elsewhere.

Juvin-Acker, Leslie

The Money Formula: Change Your Relationship to

Money in 7 Steps & 15 Minutes or Less

LCCN: 2018956102

ISBN: 978-1-948181-23-5

eBook: 978-1-948181-24-2

Cover design: Josh and Kayla Simpson

Cover photo by: Justin Nunez

Interior design: Claudia Volkman

http://themoneyformula.leslieinc.org

For Franck: Thanks to you, we cracked the code

Love, Leslie

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD

I never thought that I would dictate a book from the source of all money: God.

Ill be honestnone of these ideas are my own. I just lean my ear into the wind and write down everything I hear. Pretty crazy way to write a book, huh? But many of the greats have done it. The struggle, strain, and drama of writing a book is just for show. In fact, its very easy once you get the right idea. And an idea is just a thought that leads you on a train of consistent thought that creates a pattern. Thats all.

If you would just quiet your mind to hear the whispers of the wind, your life would be a whole lot easier.

Leslie Juvin-Acker

INTRODUCTION

I remember the moment. I was ten years old, and my parents had just moved us into our first real home (without wheels) on a dead-end dirt road called Solomon Street in Orange Park, Florida. Its a bedroom community on the outskirts of the military and logistics city of Jacksonville.

The grass was always soggy. The property was built on what could otherwise be called a bog. In fact, we couldnt be choosy as to where it was located because our home was gifted to us at an affordable rate by the Habitat for Humanity organization. For just $40,000, our family could afford to have a home. Thats the kind of dignity this organization is all about; a hand up, not a handout.

You see, Im the ambitious firstborn child of four of two unlikely lovers who met on the fringes of Clark Air Force Base, Philippines, in the early 1980s. I never thought Id end up writing this book. Although at the age of ten, in that soggy backyard, I do remember having the exact thought that I would do two very important things.

First, I wanted to figure out why my dad struggled so desperately to find and keep a job. He always seemed so unhappy when it came to his work. It was a constant source of pain and suffering for my parents. So much so that their fights were brutal, consistent, and never came to a resolution. I just wanted that to end, and I wanted to figure a way out. If not for him, for other people so their kids didnt have to feel the way I felt so often.

Second, I thought Id do that by writing a book. The thought just came into my head like a flicker of a light bulb. And from that moment, I was obsessed with answering this question and, more importantly, solving it in a way that could be easily communicated to you.

So lets go on with the show!

ONE: MY STORY

My story actually begins before I was born. It started with my parents. Theirs was an unlikely love story between two young adultstoo young by many standards. They were twenty and twenty-one when they began their life together. And each of them brought significant baggage into the relationship.

My dad was a small-town boy who grew up in Castle Rock, Washington. His parents were working-class professionals who met when they were fifteen and sixteen and were inseparable ever since. Their highest educational background was a General Equivalency Diploma (GED). Grandpa worked for the United States Postal Service and Grandma worked at the public school. They were both janitors. They built their own home on two acres at the base of the evergreen foothills of Mount St. Helens. Their life was meager, but it was dignified. Their parents came from humble origins. Both sides of the family immigrated from Scotland.

Grandpas dad was an alcoholic and abused his only son and wife. While Grandpa didnt beat his children, they were subjected to regular diatribes of criticism. And, no doubt, this went on to affect the self-esteem of Dad and his siblings.

My moms parents were survivors of World War II. Their parents passed during the war. The children dispersed by marrying sailors and military men as a means to survive the decimation of the Philippines after the Japanese occupation. Grandma, who I call Lola, raised seven children in a world of unimaginable third-world poverty. And Grandpa couldnt hold a job, so he turned to the bottle and cigarettes. He was debilitated by a stroke which left him lame and unable to work.

To make ends meet, Lolas daughters were faced with two choices: marry an American G.I. or be forced into prostitution. Two of my aunts escaped the latter by marrying sailors, but my mom was not so fortunate. At fifteen, she was told to visit the local nightclub to dance for G.I.s, which meant on going on dates arranged by the club. Needless to say, my parents did not meet in a grocery store as they claimed when I was a small child.

Sexuality was always taboo in our family for this very good reason. But abuse was par for the course. Two young adults who were raised in an environment of abuse lacked the self-awareness and the self-esteem to build a healthy marriage, but they did their best to be parents.

I am grateful to say that I was not a point of focus in my parents abusive marriage, but I was the principal witness. Like a passerby at the scene of a crime, with morbid curiosity and fear of what would happen next if I didnt watch the violence, I saw my parents berate each other and beat each other senseless.

I developed severe anxiety as a child. The thought of going home where my father would be sleeping filled me with dread. I found every excuse not to go home, not to wake up the giant who would fill the house with terror.

And while I was avoiding his wrath, I saw my mom stand many nights at the kitchen sink helpless, alone, and sobbing; mumbling to herself in a half prayer, half confession for the struggles of her life.

As a child, you love your parents unconditionally. You want them to be happy so that your family can be happy. My parents happiness became a condition for me to be happy. But that model of life is not self-sustaining, and I had to find my own happiness if I were to survive.

For much of my life, my story was not my story. It belonged to my parentsand youll soon learn how much of your story is your parents too.

Through the process of discovering this essential fact, I have come to terms with the abuse that took place in our home. And as a result, I have found a deep sense of appreciation and gratitude for my parents, because what they went through wasnt easy. They took the hard way in so many ways for me, but they certainly didnt have to.

Heres why: life isnt meant to be a struggle. Its meant to be a journey of self-realization. Its meant to be a course on creativity, using the creative forces of life in the spirit of love and kindness. But too often we hold on to outmoded thinking long after the appropriate situation has passed, and we cant seem to figure out why the old ways of surviving no longer fit this new world were living in.