Learning to Allow Myself to Live

Is there anyone else out there who absolutely loathes money?

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a time when money didn’t cause me stress, worry, or fear. Growing up, we didn’t have much. We drove used cars, our house was always a project, and my dad often traded work instead of taking money. My parents tried to shield us from financial stress, but as kids, we noticed things, overheard conversations, comparisons with others, and little glimpses that life is tight.

Early Lessons in Scarcity

I got my first job at 15, using my money for gas and clothes, trying to ask for as little as possible. Then, at 18, I got married so I was college-poor and married-poor. We lived in a trailer my in-laws bought while I juggled three jobs and college. Later, we moved back home so my husband could farm. Life was always tight: cleaning out the car for change, emptying my daughters’ piggy banks to pay bills, and picking through the stack of bills to see which ones would need to wait.

We had a home, cars, and adventures. To outsiders, we didn’t seem poor, but I learned early that spending felt risky. I didn’t have my first pedicure until I was 40, and mall trips for my girls were non-existent unless they went with a friend. One year, a good tax return let us take them shopping. They didn’t go wild they chose thoughtfully. I was proud, but I realized they had already learned the same lessons about money I had.

Adulthood and Financial Fear

Divorce brought a new reality. Public education pays little for support staff, and I had done very little to advance my career while married as one of us needed to be home with the kids. I worked three jobs just to keep up. Life demanded spending - tires, prom dresses, and activities. Even in my 40s, money stress was constant.

A Shift in Perspective

In 2024, a career change increased my income. For the first time, I could save, invest, and pay bills without stress. I even qualified for a house loan. Life felt manageable and hopeful.

Then fear returned. I hesitated to buy a house, worrying about surviving on a single income. Later, I found a pop-up camper, something that promised adventure and freedom. I put money down, imagining weekend trips, coffee by the lake, hikes or reading, adventure or quiet.

But fear struck: “What if the dog gets sick? What if the car breaks down? Save the money!” I canceled, rationalizing losing the deposit as safer than spending on joy.

Breaking the Cycle

This is the pattern I’ve known my whole life:

1. I see something that could improve my life.

2. I feel excited.

3. Fear shows up.

4. My brain cancels the risk.

5. I feel frustrated with myself.

6. My inner voice reminds me I’m one mistake from ruin.

7. I miss my opportunity.

I know I need more than work and home. I need to allow myself to live. Maybe the camper was too big of a step, but a smaller adventure, even a solo day trip, could help me reclaim joy. I am not tired of living; I’m tired of not living.

It’s time to stop letting fear dictate every choice. Spending money on life itself isn’t reckless; it’s necessary. And maybe, just maybe, I can learn to trust myself enough to say yes one of these days and stick with it.