These Red Paper Clips Changed the Course of My Life

I almost missed it… or did I already?

I was prepping a desk I’d bought to flip for profit when I lifted the lid and pulled a red paper clip out of the dark corner. I froze. It reminded me of the red paper clip story my husband once told me—a man who traded his way from a single clip all the way up to a house.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was my push. A reminder that great things can start with something small.

About a week later, it happened again. I was moving boxes at our storage unit when I spotted another red paper clip on the ground, right by my foot. We don’t even own colored paper clips. Everything we had was packed in boxes. How did it get there?

I couldn’t shake the thought. Were these paper clips trying to tell me something?

Then, at a Chinese buffet, I cracked open my fortune cookie. “August will bring you financial security.”

For a moment, relief rushed in. Then shame. How could I let a slip of paper send me on a rollercoaster of hope? August was only a month away—what could really change? But then I remembered something Russel Brunson always said: If you do something consistently for a year, you’ll never have to worry about money again.

Maybe these weren’t coincidences. Maybe they were nudges.

The truth is, I’ve been struggling—harder than ever. Most mornings, I lie in bed trying to find a reason to get up, trapped in depression and physical pain.

In the past year and a half, we’ve lived with family—first with my parents after my grandma passed, and now with my in-laws after my father-in-law passed. I love helping family, but the cost to my mental health has been enormous. My own space—where I can cook, clean, create—has been stripped away. My life feels reduced to a single bedroom that I share with my husband and daughter.

Everywhere I turn, I feel the weight of the last eight years of choices pressing down.

Eight years ago, I had the idea to share our life—our experiments, our tips, our growth—but fear held me back. I hid in the shadows. I told myself I wasn’t ready, that I wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t handle the criticism. And so I stayed silent.

But these paper clips—and even that fortune cookie—felt like a challenge: What will you do now? Will you finally act, or keep ignoring the signs?

One evening, I asked my husband, Christopher, a question: “What are the five things that make you you?”

He turned it back on me.

I searched through the moments of my life—the successes, the failures—and found my answers:

• Crafting – my creative outlet, the way I calm a racing mind.

• Cooking – making food from scratch, nourishing and comforting.

• Bible Study – the anchor that brought me back to God when I was lost, especially through the guidance of my mentor, Melanie.

• Cleaning/Organizing – restoring order in my environment when my mind feels like chaos.

• Teaching/Helping – sharing what I know, lifting up others who struggle like me.

As I listed them, it hit me: I never give myself credit for what I do, but these are the pieces that make me me.

For the first time in a long time, relief and hope washed over me.

But there was still a problem.

I’ve been here before—full of ideas, frozen by fear. Overthinking. Waiting for the “perfect” time.

So this time, Christopher and I made a pact. A challenge. Deadlines, no perfection allowed.

We pulled out the camera, hit record, and filmed our first video together. For the first time ever, I didn’t hate what I saw. I wasn’t performing—I was real, authentic. Having him beside me took the pressure off.

And something clicked.

Some content is better than no content. Small steps are better than no steps.

Maybe—just maybe—if I show up consistently for a year, I’ll see the change I’ve been praying for. Maybe by next August, that fortune cookie will prove itself right.

So now, I stand here holding three small signs: two paper clips and a fortune cookie slip. They might look meaningless to anyone else—but to me, they’re a reminder.

I have a choice.

I can keep hiding, or I can dare to dream again.

And maybe, if you’re reading this, you’re standing at the same crossroads. Maybe you’ve been holding back, afraid to leave the comfort of the shadows.

If that’s you, hear me: It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to not feel ready.

But take the step anyway. Start small. Share one thing.

Because sometimes the smallest steps turn out to be the start of something bigger than you ever imagined.