I grew up watching survival in its rawest form.

My caregivers were terrible with money — and “terrible” is being kind. We were evicted from every place we lived. Furniture got repossessed so often that strangers taking our couch felt as normal as the mailman dropping letters through the slot. The fridge was sometimes empty. I wore the same dirty clothes and plastic sneakers to school because we couldn’t afford new ones.

When you grow up like that, you learn a few things fast:

Money is never secure.
You’re on your own to figure it out.
People with resources are either to be envied… or hustled.
Do whatever it takes to survive.

I didn’t know it at the time, but those early lessons were planting seeds. Not all of them were good.

The Hustle Was Survival

When you’ve spent your life hustling to cover basic needs, your brain wires itself for quick wins. You become hyper-attuned to opportunity — and hyper-reactive to scarcity.

Fast-forward to me, years later, in the online marketing space. Suddenly I’m surrounded by people making ridiculous amounts of money with strategies that sounded like fairy tales: just take this course, create this funnel, use this “pain point” hack, and the sales roll in.

And here’s the thing — the survival part of me recognized that energy.

The same voice that once whispered, Grab what you can before it’s gone, started saying, Just do what they’re doing. Copy the formula. Don’t ask questions.

The Temptation to Cross the Line

My childhood didn’t just teach me hyper-survival — it gave me an unhealthy relationship with money. Money had always been unpredictable, fleeting, and tied to shame. So when I saw the speed and ease of manipulative marketing, it was intoxicating.

I told myself that being a little manipulative, a little deceitful, would be fine — because I wasn’t really hurting anyone, right? And honestly, there was a part of me that felt entitled to it. After years of struggling, scraping, and being on the receiving end of other people’s scams, I convinced myself it would be okay if I played the game for once.

I was one click away from becoming the kind of marketer I now call out — the kind that treats people like walking credit cards instead of humans.

The Slippery Slope

It starts small.

You follow the script someone “successful” gave you.
You tweak your offer to fit what sells, not what you believe in.
You start describing your audience’s struggles in a way that makes them sound more desperate than they are — because that’s what triggers action.

You start selling feelings and emotions, and not actual solutions.

And people respond. The sales come in. You feel like you’ve finally cracked the code.

But there’s a catch: every “win” like that feeds a hunger that never really goes away. You need the next one. You get bolder with the hooks. You stop asking if this actually helps anyone — because the bank balance is proof enough, right?

That’s how the grift works. It doesn’t require you to wake up one morning and say, Today, I will exploit people. It just needs you to stop paying attention to the impact of what you’re doing.

The Wake-Up Call

For me, it was a mix of gut instinct and guilt.

I’d send an email and immediately feel… off. Like I’d just said something that didn’t sound like me, but I’d convinced myself was “just good marketing.”

I started picturing the people on the other end — not as “leads,” but as actual humans with actual lives. Single parents counting pennies. People with chronic illnesses deciding if they can afford groceries and medication in the same week. Folks carrying trauma that a “pushy” sales person could easily poke at in the wrong way.

And then I saw it: I was on the same path as the people who had sold my family bad deals, overpriced loans, and “can’t-lose” opportunities when we were at our most vulnerable.

That realization made me sick.

Choosing the Harder Path

I made a choice that day: I’d rather make less money than make it by manipulating people. That meant slowing down. Questioning every strategy I used. Throwing out the tactics that preyed on fear, shame, or urgency for the sake of making the sale.

I started asking better questions:

Would I be proud if someone used this exact strategy on my family when we were broke?
Would this still feel good if I ran into this client in a grocery store years from now?
Does this invite people in — or push them until they say yes just to make the pressure stop?
Am I projecting some kind of unconscious sense of entitlement rooted in emotional pain?

These questions aren’t popular in a space obsessed with conversions at all costs. But they’re the ones that keep me from becoming what I hate.

Why I Tell You This

It’s not because I think you’re a grifter. It’s because this industry makes it way too easy to slide into grifter territory without realizing it. When you’ve been taught that “sales fix everything” and “it’s just business,” or “ask for the sale before you build any kind of relationship” you stop remembering that business is built on people — not just transactions.

If you’ve ever felt like your marketing was starting to sound like someone else’s — especially someone whose values you don’t share — pause. Walk in your audience’s shoes. Look at your own history. Ask if you’d want to be on the receiving end of what you’re about to send.

It’s harder. It takes longer. But it’s the only way I know to build something I can stand behind.

Because here’s the truth: I didn’t escape the chaos of my childhood just to recreate it for other people. I still sometimes find myself held in the grips of my upbringing. The difference is that it’s no longer an excuse, but the reason to do better. I didn’t survive manipulation to profit from it. And I sure as hell didn’t build this business to become the kind of marketer I warn people about.

So yeah — I almost became a marketing grifter.

But almost doesn’t count.