My relationship with money | #55

Learning to love myself with how I relate to money

I’ve always had anxieties about money. This is probably due, in part, to growing up in a culture where scoring a good bargain is more brag-worthy than not spending money at all. My tendency to overthink and my previously held belief that, even though I earn money, I wasn’t worthy of spending it on myself, sure did not help either. Alongside my inner work, I’ve been able to examine how I relate to money and wanted to share it with you:

Example 1: The Surfboard I Was Reluctant to Buy for Myself
During the pandemic, I moved to the Cornish ocean specifically to surf. My surfing teacher suggested purchasing a board for my level. Discovering that it was £400—which, in hindsight, is really nothing for something I loved so much—I umm’ed and ahh’ed about the decision for longer than was really needed. If you’d tracked my browsing data, you’d have seen me clicking on that board and hovering over the “buy” button for days before finally purchasing it.

I remember feeling like that was a big amount of money with internal monologues like ‘Oh wow that is a lot of money, is it really worth it? Do I really need it? Can I find alternate options?’ Always in the back of my mind maintaining a frugality that didn’t really have a goal. I wasn’t saving up for anything in particular but I wasn’t willing to let myself enjoy what I earned either.

I look back and can see that I was going to make the purchase anyway, but I had somehow come to believe that I needed to really ponder on it, really decide whether it was worth the spend, really ‘work it out’ before committing to it.

Once I bit the bullet, I didn’t lament the money spent anymore. It felt like a limiting belief making me stuck in the decision and after I made the spending decision, I didn’t even think about it anymore. A coach I follow, Joe Hudson, says that being stuck in a decision is actually not related to logic but related to being stuck in an emotion. I see this example shining light on my stuckness.

Example 2: The Yoga Retreat I Wouldn’t Let Myself Go On
Back in 2018, I was devoted to practicing with one specific teacher. I went solely to her classes, up to four times a week and also did her six-month-long teacher training. Alongside these offerings she also regularly ran retreats to Japan and Tibet. It felt like one of those rare opportunities with an intimate group, a beautiful setting, and programming that I really wanted to take part in.

If I recall correctly, it was around £2.6k for a seven-day retreat alone, not including flights, which I still think is extremely expensive. Despite that, my truth yearned to go. I couldn’t get over the cost however. I talked about it endlessly with friends, and one friend suggested to go for it. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that, because she and I have similar spending habits—I expected her to say it was too expensive. Instead, hearing how much I wanted the experience, she encouraged me to go. In that moment I saw her ability to make exceptions to rational decisions when emotional decisions should be prioritised. Something I came to learn a bit later.

In the end I did not go. I look back and see that money should not always be the final decision, there are so many other factors we need to consider when thinking about decisions in wellness, enjoyment and generally human-ing!

The Bicycle I Had to Refund
This constraint I put on myself with money still exists—but it’s improving. In the UK, there’s a government scheme that lets you contribute to the purchase of a bicycle with pre-tax income, meaning you save money that would have been taxed.

I had wanted a Brompton folding bike, but the model I liked had a £2k+ price tag. I told myself it wasn’t worth it, that I didn’t need it. Instead, I bought a cheap £375 hybrid bike and took it home.

After two rides, I came home one day and realized I still wanted the Brompton. I mentioned it to my boyfriend and then to my sister. This time, my sister played the role of my friend Carlotta—she listened and simply said, “It sounds like you want the Brompton.”

Unlike before, I didn’t just stick to my rational decision. Even though it was more expensive, more prone to theft, and required insurance and an expensive lock, I admitted to myself that I truly wanted it. I returned the cheap bike to the shop, and thankfully, they allowed an exchange.

Factoring Emotions into Decisions with Money
I started to realise how my deeply held beliefs about money had been limiting me. I was using money as the primary weight in my decisions—more than my emotions or other intangible factors that can’t be neatly quantified.

Recently, I had a call with an old university friend. She shared that when she and her husband were looking to buy a home, their financial adviser advised against it because of high interest rates. Then he said, “If you’re buying for emotional reasons, that’s a completely different calculation.” I loved and appreciated that perspective because it’s true.

You could say £400 is a lot of money. But when you factor in my love of surfing and how often I’d use the board, that number starts to shrink in significance.

And yes, I could have traveled to Tibet for less than £2.6k, even with flights—but the emotional value of that specific experience wasn’t accounted for.

Same goes for my desire to have a Brompton over a standard bike.

Categories Where Money Is Okay to Spend
I noticed that I felt more comfortable spending money on education and self-development. The biggest ticket items I’ve spent on have always been related to learning.

I spent over £4k training as a yoga teacher—an expensive endeavor, especially since I had no intention of making that money back. I spent £995 on a deep tissue massage course and £450 on a facial gua sha course, both significant costs for something I wasn’t planning to monetize. I trained as a coach, which was another £1k.

Looking back, I realize why these felt justifiable. Because deep down, I believed I wasn’t enough—so I allowed myself to spend money on things that would make me enough. Achievements. Accolades. Abilities.

Releasing Myself from Limiting Beliefs
I was scared to spend money. I worried I wouldn’t have enough, so I hoarded it.

My landlady, who I got to know well, once asked me about it. She wanted to know why I didn’t spend money on myself the way she did—or the way most people did. I told her I was saving up to buy a home. That was partly true. But in reality, I wasn’t seriously considering buying property at the time. I had just convinced myself that my extreme saving was for something concrete, when in fact, it was rooted in fear.

Our behaviors often point to deeper beliefs—whether they’re justified or not. In my case, my relationship with money was driven by a mix of fears: that I wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t safe, and that I needed the ability to take flight on my own terms.

But I’ve done a lot of work, and I’ve started to release these limiting beliefs—especially around money.

Now, I buy things without agonising over them. I’m more at peace with buying clothes—not excessively, but enough. I don’t hesitate to treat myself to good hand cream, like the Clarins one at £22 a pop—not cheap! But I no longer feel guilty about it. I’m learning to be okay with spending money on quality things. And I’m reaching the point where I prioritise organic, high-quality food—not because I “have to,” but because I want to nourish and care for myself.

As I buy things like the surfboard, the Brompton, and other little luxuries, I see that I’m okay. I’m not less safe as a result. I’m not less free. I’m not less enough.

In fact, it doesn’t impact my day-to-day life at all.

With this, I’m starting to rewire my relationship with money—and, in turn, my ability to use the money I earn to love and care for myself the way I deserve.