If you had asked me about money in my early twenties, I would’ve shrugged. I didn’t start learning about personal finance until after finishing my teaching degree, taking on a student loan, and realizing I wanted to pay it off quickly so I could start saving for a home. I didn’t know how to budget or save, investing didn’t feel relatable at all, and talking about money with anyone felt uncomfortable. So, when I started working, I began learning on my own, slowly, quietly, one small step at a time.

Over the years, those small steps began to add up. I paid off my student loans in a year, saved for a down payment, bought my first home, paid off a car loan, and built a fully funded emergency fund. I started budgeting and putting my money to work, learned to spend with intention, and figured out how to enjoy my money without guilt.

Eventually, I got curious about investing, not the flashy, complicated kind, but the basics. I learned what fees were, why so many Canadians are sold expensive products, and what simple investing actually looks like. I moved my own tiny (but meaningful) investments into places and strategies I understood. Today I manage my own six-figure investment portfolio with confidence not because I’m a finance expert, but because I learned the fundamentals slowly and made choices I understood.

Through all of this, one thing kept standing out to me: almost everything I was learning was taught or presented by men.

Every planner I’d ever met was male.
Most podcasts, books, and investing voices were male.
Most conversations about money in my life were with men. 

And the women around me, friends, coworkers, people I cared about, weren’t really talking about money. Not because they didn’t care, but because it simply wasn’t a common conversation. Money felt like one of those things we were expected to handle privately, even though many of us were trying to figure it out on our own.