When Currency Collapse Challenges My Courage

From $2,000 to $30: The Value of My Salary Suddenly Stunned My Spirit

For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried my own weight.

I worked, I earned, I planned, and I invested. I never waited for someone to provide for me. My financial independence was something I took pride in—it wasn’t given to me, I fought for it.

I invested in a small van to support my work, paid monthly installments for my apartment, and every lira I earned was saved toward a dream I carried in my heart: to open my own language and training academy in my homeland, Lebanon. It wasn’t just a personal goal—it was my way to give back, to educate, and to empower others.

At one point, I was making around $2,000 per month. For where I lived, that was more than enough to live with dignity, to save, and to dream boldly. I wasn’t wealthy, but I felt secure. I believed in a future I was actively building.

But then… everything changed.

The Lebanese lira began to fall. At first, slowly. Then violently.

Overnight, my $2,000 salary became worth just $30 in real purchasing power.

That’s not an exaggeration—it’s our reality.

Banks shut their doors, froze our accounts, and blocked access to our savings. Years of hard work—money I had saved to open my academy, to grow my business—was suddenly trapped, locked, untouchable.

And worse, no one was held accountable.

No one explained why we were robbed.

No one told us when—or if—we’d ever get our money back.

In one moment, I lost not only my income and savings—but also my trust in the system.

I was grieving a dream I had sacrificed so much to reach.

I was angry, exhausted, and scared.

How does a woman rebuild her life in a country where money has no value, and systems offer no justice?

For a while, I withdrew. I asked myself if all the effort had been worth it.

But then I remembered: I didn’t fail. The system failed me.

And I was not done yet.

I began to search for new ways to stand again. I turned to what I had: my voice, my skills, my experience, my words.

I started working as a life coach and story writer, using my talents to support others—emotionally, professionally, and spiritually.

🌱 Today, I’m officially starting my coaching career, alongside my writing journey.

I offer healing and empowerment coaching sessions for those navigating loss, transition, and uncertainty—whether financial, emotional, or personal.

And I’ve realized something else: my voice matters.

My story matters.

That’s why I’ve begun networking globally, with the goal of stepping onto international stages as a global speaker.

I want to represent not only Lebanese women, but all women who have been silenced, pushed to the edge, or made to feel small because of systems that collapsed around them.

I want to share the truth about what it means to lose everything and rebuild with grace, wisdom, and fire in your heart.

Then came the Financial Literacy course, and it was exactly what I needed.

The course didn’t just teach me how to budget or save (although that was part of it)—it reminded me that financial empowerment is possible, even after devastation. It helped me reframe my mindset from survival to strategy. I began planning again. Not in the same way, not with the same numbers—but with wisdom and clarity I didn’t have before.

I learned:

• How to budget with dignity, even when income is inconsistent.

• How to protect myself from financial risks I once ignored.

• How to set new goals that reflect today’s realities, not yesterday’s hopes.

• And how to treat money not with fear or shame, but with curiosity and courage.

Yes, the dream of my language and training academy is still alive. It’s taken a new form, and I don’t know when it will come true—but I know that it will. Maybe not through traditional banking. Maybe through global partnerships, digital teaching, or slow savings. But I believe in it. Because I believe in me.

Today, I am building with more intention than ever before. I am forming global connections. I am coaching individuals across different walks of life. I am writing stories that hold truth, tenderness, and power. And I am speaking out—not just for myself, but for everyone who has felt the devastation of economic injustice.

To every woman reading this—especially those in countries facing war, collapse, or injustice—I want to say:

You are not alone.

The system may fail us, but we do not have to fail ourselves.

We can rise. We can adapt. We can rebuild.

We may not control everything. But we can control how we respond.

And if we share our stories, if we learn from one another, if we lift each other up—then even the darkest economic night cannot silence our light.

Have you experienced financial collapse? Are you rebuilding too?

Share your journey with me. I’m listening—with both my ears and my heart.

Let’s rise together—one story, one voice, one dream at a time.

You’re not just rebuilding—you’re leading.