Throwback to my Great Recession experience:

I didn’t think it would take me this long to share the story of why I dropped off the map in May 2011, but it’s been on my mind daily—especially after the flood of feedback from my last post.

Part of my hesitation—besides not finding a big enough block of time—was deciding how much to share. To share it all would leave me living only half a life.

One thing I’ve learned about life: there’s always more to learn. It’s both a curse and a blessing. You can never coast for long without life tossing a challenge your way, demanding growth, learning, and improvement.

Having come to terms with our financial mistakes in 2006, it was time to put the principles back to the test—to prove them true again and conquer. My message evolved during that time: from “You can prosper!!” to “Profiting From Your Losses” and “Making Sense out of Setbacks.” It was easier to talk about because it had become the theme of my life.

The blog posts I wrote during those years were often written to coach myself through the traumas I was facing. It turns out my best epiphanies—and my most popular posts—were born from my toughest moments. I constantly applied the principles I was teaching others, and when the “basic” Jackrabbit Factor principles didn’t quite cover the challenges I faced, I discovered new principles and remedies to cope.

Jackrabbit Factor remains an important primer, but the deeper lessons live in Portal to Genius (read the truth about Portal to Genius). It gave me a platform to show—through fictional characters—how to turn things around when you’re too tired, too cynical, or too overwhelmed to apply the Jackrabbit principles. It allowed me to answer my own question: “Do the challenges ever stop?” And it gave me a way to show how you can find new purpose that inspires you to move through despair.

Ultimately, I found a satisfying answer to why the Law of Attraction sometimes seems to stop working. Beyond that, I got to illustrate how we’re sometimes led to abundance for a purpose greater than ourselves.

I wasn’t quite ready to share our personal challenges publicly (outside of fiction), so I shared lessons learned only with a small group of readers—requiring a little extra effort to access them. I told them about using up our savings, maxing out credit, and finally reaching the end of visible resources. Then came the “portal to genius”:

After hitting our last $200 with no paycheck in sight, inspiration struck. We became conscious of hidden resources and pulled in more than $43,000 that month. And we had another similar month after that.

That was the fodder I needed to complete Portal to Genius.

My favorite epiphanies over the years—the insights that carried us through moments when it seemed we’d lose everything—are now collected in the Favorites or Top 47 list. The list isn’t complete yet, but it’s full of gems that reminded me: no, we didn’t lose everything. The new inflow helped us catch up, but it wasn’t enough to repay all our debts. It renewed my confidence in the principles, yet the journey ahead remained long.

Tomorrow will surely bring new challenges. I continue to learn how to roll with the punches. But I’m grateful for the lessons I’ve learned, for the person I’m becoming through the challenges, and for the tender mercies of the Lord that remind me He is mindful of my family and me—even in our failings. His hand has carried us from day to day. Can you say, “manna?”

Okay, back to the story of why I disappeared in May:

After the book came out, in the summer of 2010, I reconnected with Kirk Duncan. I was a student ready for the next teacher, and there he was. Though we’d known each other for a few years (I had spoken to his organization a couple times), I hadn’t truly known him—or what I needed to learn from him. That story, for the sake of focus, will have to wait for another time.

I attended his Body Language Show and his Master Your Influence class, and something inside me reignited. I caught a vision of what more I could do to see even better results. Not only was I going to throw myself into applying everything I learned from him through our mentoring sessions, but I also decided it was time to step up and actively put on workshops again—building new momentum for my business with a more sober, refined, and mature message I was finally ready to share.

I thought:

Perhaps I’ve finally turned the corner. Perhaps this is when I start seeing more than just the physical, emotional, and spiritual manna we’ve been surviving on.
Maybe it’s time to stop holding back out of fear that I’ll take too much time away from my family—and just GET IT DONE (pay off our debts).

So that’s exactly what I did. I gave my website a facelift, filled the calendar with a year of events, and went to work. Momentum grew, demand increased, and by spring of 2011, I found myself flying out for an event nearly every weekend.

The kids? What kids. I barely had time to stay connected with them, to know what they were feeling or experiencing. They didn’t like it—but they supported the cause. We all pulled together, trusting that this effort would finally get our debts paid and allow us to return to a sustainable pace, with more normal family routines and freedom to do things they wanted.

Despite one event in March, which was one of my worst ever (and about which I'm still embarrassed), I had a GREAT time on the Book Writing Retreat (because it was a retreat, after all), but by the end of May, I was figuratively black and blue from being away from home so frequently.

By the time I spoke at Garrett Gunderson’s big Financial Enlightenment event, I was so visibly drained that other speakers—and even some participants—approached me with pity, hoping to help me.

I had lost my "beacon in the fog." I could no longer envision any reward worth putting myself through this ordeal.

And when I finally tallied the results for the year? Revenue had only increased about 4% over the previous year—when I had kept a much more reasonable schedule and done most of my work online. That was the final straw. My “proof” seemed clear: no matter what I did, the laws must be in suspend mode. My results would continue to be manna—and manna alone.

I thought: if I’m just going to live on manna anyway, what the heck am I even trying so hard for? That’s when bankruptcy entered my mind for the first time.

Despite steady growth in our books and seminar business, the revenue wasn’t enough to make a dent in our heavy debt load—largely from hanging onto bad real estate investments for far too long. On paper, we were an easy case for bankruptcy.

Need I mention our relationship was strained? My husband had left his job in 2005 to help with the business. Over time, building and maintaining our online school became his full-time job. Within two years, he replaced his previous income, so it made sense to keep going. After all, the business promised unlimited income, whereas his old job had a ceiling.

The problem? We had to pay our own insurance (expensive), were maxed out for time, and couldn’t add another responsibility—even if it meant earning more. And though he worked 12–14 hours a day, there was no paycheck specifically in his name. Not a big deal—we were in it together and shared profits—but in my moments of weariness and despair, I often latched onto the distorted notion that he wasn’t doing enough.

It felt like I was shouldering the entire load because I was the one traveling, while his contributions—keeping things running and filling the gaps—felt intangible. Even though I knew that without him, it would all collapse, it wasn’t enough to stop me from feeling like a major victim in the world of my own creation.

We had a number of meetings with several different mentors—marriage advice, money advice, business development advice—and some pretty ugly conversations between each other. Deep down, we both believed we’d work it out, but at times it felt impossible to see how.

With some excellent counsel from Dino Watt, founder of The Business of Marriage, I found the courage to have a very specific kind of conversation with my husband. That conversation became the beginning of the much-needed surgery to address the root of our problem—to remove the cancer from our relationship and heal the necessary incision. I had to remember: on the way to success, sometimes surgery is required, and in the middle of it, it may feel like a murder has occurred in the room. In reality, sometimes surgery is necessary to save a life. (From You² by Price Pritchett)

Over the following weeks, I got a hard look at who I had become in the mad race to fix our mess—and I didn’t like what I saw. I was numb, drained, and ready to do whatever was necessary to find a pace I could actually live with. I didn’t care if it meant starting over from scratch, making sure this time the ladder was leaning against the right wall.

I’m a traditional sort of girl. My husband is a traditional sort of guy. We both want the classic roles: he provides, I nurture. That had always been our plan, but somehow, we ended up in circumstances that felt completely opposite to what either of us ever wanted.

To rock the boat now felt like rebellion against God. Here I had followed promptings for years, and yet I had no strength left to continue. I was done. I didn’t care if it meant we ended up in a shack—I was ready to let go and not be tempted to pick it all back up.

For the first time, I didn’t seek God’s approval to stop; I was outright mad at Him for stringing me along and wasn’t interested in His opinion anymore.

At the same time, I knew I was hardening my heart and cutting myself off from inspired solutions. But it hurt too much to respond any other way.

Then something remarkable began to happen. Within just a few days, I had multiple encounters with people whose words and actions shifted my perspective. Through these experiences, I realized with certainty that the Lord understood what I was going through, that He had compassion on me, and that it was complete.

What was complete? Did I hear someone whisper, “It’s complete?”

The words echoed in my mind nearly audibly, and repeated in reflection over and over. Along with them came peace and tenderness. I knew this impression was not my own invention, because I was already convinced I was jumping off a ship I should have been steering. Yet no—the message confirmed that God was still at the helm, and everything was unfolding exactly as it was supposed to.

Could God really be that merciful? Even in the midst of my bitterness?

I still get choked up thinking about it.

I was in awe. Even as angry as I had been, He placed people in my path, inspired conversations, and prepared my heart to recognize His confirmation: this child of His was throwing an unnecessary tantrum.

In one meeting with my bishop—essentially my pastor—he listened, counseled me, and then, knowing my heart was hard, left me with this verse:

"For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God..."
Romans 8:38-39

Not even my bitterness could separate me from His love. Suddenly, He didn’t feel so far away anymore.

In time, I had to smile, realizing that had I bothered to ask His opinion all along, I may have discovered that these changes were sanctioned from the start. My so-called “selfish” actions for self-preservation were actually aligned with His purposes as well.

How mysterious are the works of God. That’s all I have to say about that.

That night I had a dream—a recurring dream I’ve had for many years—so it didn’t really surprise me when it started. I think I’ve had it enough that I know I’m dreaming as it happens, yet it still always plays out.

Usually, I find myself on a campus, often a high school, unable to find my classes. I wander, eventually reaching where I’m supposed to be, but by the time I arrive, I’ve already missed weeks and feel unsure what to do. Sometimes I get to class, but don’t have the homework I’m supposed to turn in. In every dream, I question whether I’m learning what I’m supposed to or even being where I should be.

But that night, it was different. I was on a college campus, watching a graduation ceremony. Again, I felt I was in the wrong place, like I should be among the graduates.

Then my dear friend Carolyn Cooper appeared. None of my friends had ever shown up in this recurring dream before, so seeing her was a thrill. She could tell I was disappointed about missing graduation and said, “Don’t worry, your life experiences count toward graduation, and you’re only two or three classes away.” Then she added, “I’ll show you where they are.”

I woke from that dream completely at peace, amazed and grateful. The recurring dream finally had an ending—a divine reminder that everything is as it should be, and that patience and trust in God are required. It rounded out the insight I’d received the day before, helping me understand what had been meant by the words, “it’s complete.”

Here’s what I know: I was meant to create what I have over the last ten years. But despite my fears, it was never meant to be an unending assignment away from my most important role as a mother. It was necessary—but temporary.

I recognize God’s hand in our family during those years—how He held us together, taught each child individually through His Spirit, and strengthened us while the work was in process. But now, it’s complete.

I also realized that even though we still have debts to pay, I don’t need to keep rushing to create new, bigger, or better products, leaving previous projects underdeveloped. Too much of a good thing can be bad.

Here's another article on that topic: How to know when it's time to stop.

A conversation with Rich Christiansen helped me see that in my business, it’s time to trim away activities that don’t energize me or generate meaningful profit, and instead focus on the few things I love most—developing them fully to their peak potential. He also taught that pulling back or veering away from the goal can actually mean you’re on the RIGHT track. Who knew?

Long story short, Rich introduced the idea of “dancing in your tutu.” It means keeping your eye on the ultimate goal, but sometimes doing what’s uncomfortable for a season to get there. Men, imagine standing on a street corner, dancing in a tutu, just to fund the achievement of your ultimate dream.

In The Jackrabbit Factor, it’s like going after another paper sack when you’re really on a rabbit hunt.

In our case, my husband and I agreed it was time for me to settle down, and time for him to dance in a tutu, while we put our life back in order. It was time to redefine how we wanted our relationship to look and start the slow, deliberate process of putting it all in place. We’re in this for the long haul, and we knew that if we want the golden years we’ve always imagined, we must stop and redefine the guardrails of what we are—and aren’t—willing to do.

Around the same time, our children participated in a Pioneer Trek, recreating the experiences of early Mormon settlers. They dressed in 1800s clothing, were assigned to families with a Ma and Pa, carried their only belongings in a single bucket, and pulled handcarts across wilderness terrain for days. Along the way, they learned true stories of those who endured the original trek and discovered how to cope with and overcome the same kinds of challenges.

The following Sunday at church, quite a few of the youth stood to share their experiences and lessons learned. As I listened, one story in particular struck me. They talked about the women’s pull.

The women’s pull was the part of the trek when the men left the trail to serve their country during the Mexican War. The men who departed were part of the Mormon Battalion, leaving the women to shoulder the load alone.

What touched me most was how they described the end of the women’s pull. During the mock trek, the young men did leave the young women to pull the carts alone for quite some time over rough, discouraging terrain. But when the simulation was over, the young men ran back to help, and the women’s pull was done.

Hearing that, the words “It’s complete” returned to my mind. I felt a renewed assurance that things in my life were finally transforming. I didn’t need every change to happen immediately. I still expected there would be a few more lessons to learn before I could “graduate,” but the path was laid out, and I could see that it was good.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. again—I’m eager to share what those extra lessons turned out to be. You’re probably wondering, “So, what about the debts?” or “What are you going to do with your business now?” but I’ll have to save those details for next time.

If this story is resonating with you at all, please comment below. It helps me feel like all our drama (or trauma) wasn’t for nothing. :)

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