This as-told-to essay is part of Lonely at the Top, a series that examines the link between wealth and loneliness. It is based on a conversation with Lisa Johnson, award-winning business strategist and CEO. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Eight years ago, I was in £35,000 of debt, or around $44,800 USD. I had toddler-aged twins and had just gotten remarried. We were struggling to afford rent and had to meticulously budget for food.
I'd decided not to return to my job as a personal assistant, as the pay was less than the cost of childcare. I looked into starting my own business and decided to set up a wedding planning company on a whim. I liked parties and naively saw wedding planning as an extension of that.
It failed at first because I knew nothing about business. Since I didn't have any money to spend on learning to run one, I attended every free webinar I could find and read numerous library books on starting a business.
Once I had learned about branding, messaging, and what made an ideal client, the business became profitable and in demand over the course of about a year. People started asking me how I had made it work, so I began teaching others how to start their own businesses online, first one-on-one, then in large groups.
Between the wedding planning business and online coaching, I made £60,000 in 2017. At that stage, there weren't really any costs to either business — I was running it all by myself from my phone.
Then, I launched my first online course in 2018, and I made £60,000 in one week. In 2020, during the month that the pandemic began, I launched another course and made more than that in one week.
I just couldn't believe it.
Over the last eight years, I have made over £20 million.
Once I had money, some of my friendships changed
I grew up on a council estate in England. No one made money there, and when they did, everyone thought it was because they were bad people. When I suddenly had money, I was worried about what people would think — and I was even more worried that wealth would change who I was.
Even though I had been concerned my family would think differently of me, they didn't. They were proud of me for overcoming adversity and achieving success, and they always had my back.
My family was so accepting that I hadn't expected to lose friends as a high earner — but I did in the early days. I think some people found it hard to reconcile who I was with the way my life was changing.
I spoke often about money on social media — about how I was working hard to move myself away from debt and an ingrained mindset that money was a bad thing — and I often felt like that irritated a few of my friends.
Talking about money in Britain is often seen as vulgar, but I've always been upfront and honest about what is going well and what isn't — including in a financial sense. There were lots of comments that felt passive-aggressive, like: "It's alright for you," "It's OK for the lucky ones," and "It's how the other half live."
I don't feel as though I changed my behavior toward any of my friends, but some of them seemed to be different toward me. They just ghosted me — disappeared. It was a shock. None of them ever spoke to me about why our friendship was ending; I just felt like I was being dropped.
Not all my friends reacted this way, and most of the people I lost were friends I'd made at various workplaces over the years, rather than lifelong friends I'd always had. In the end, it was a great opportunity to see who my real friends were.
It was also hard to trust new friends
The harder aspect of becoming a high earner was gaining friends — both in person and online — who weren't friends for the right reasons. Because my lifestyle changed — I went from living in a council house to a multimillion-dollar house, for example — my wealth became obvious, and I no longer knew whether people were being my friend because of what they could gain from me or because they genuinely liked me. Now, I'm sadly always suspicious of people's motives when they want to be my friend.
Some of these new friends would ask for something, and if I said no, I wouldn't hear from them again. People I trusted asked me for large sums of money for what they described as a major, life-altering issue. More often than not, I gave them the money because I knew what it was like not to have any, only to discover the reason was not what they had initially said. They often asked again, and I said no — their reaction was often silence. It was devastating.
I got used to this, though, eventually.
I do have a good group of friends I trust, and some of them work with me now
Now, I have a really good group of 20 friends, most of whom I have known for at least 10 years. They all knew me when I had nothing, and helped me and my family. I didn't realize how much I took them for granted, but I'm so grateful for them now. I know I can trust them, because they liked me before I made my money. Though they've never asked me for anything or treated me differently, every year, I do take them on a holiday — a yacht trip around Greece.
As my business has grown, I have employed several family members and close friends. They had the skill sets I needed, and I trust them completely. My best friend since I was 12 is my finance director. My sister is my social media manager. My best friend of 15 years is my operations director.
I want to make sure all my friends and family are taken care of. And we're all very good about knowing when I'm not the boss, and when I am.
While I don't set out to make new friends, I have met people with whom I have grown closer. I feel my "friend radar" is pretty well-tuned these days, but I still think twice about trusting new people I meet.
Though I have fewer friends than I used to, the ones I do have are of great quality. The number of friends I have is less important to me than the few friendships I have with amazing and supportive people.
I don't feel lonely with them by my side.
