What stood out for me this week was the question "If I weren't so cheap, I'd... " Oh boy!
My parents had weird relationships with money. My mother treated it like it was burning a hole in her palm and any coin (in fact any thing) my father has let go of has claw-marks in it (the marriage didn't last long). I have consciously tried to cultivate a more balanced relationship with money that lies between these two extremes, but I realise as I write this that both behaviours have the underlying anxiety... money is dangerous. Dad: "Money is a corruptor, but I need it, so I bitterly resent it and people who have it, but I must hold on to it, because there is never enough" Mom: "I still yearn for the feeling of being rescued from my childhood poverty and abandonment. I refuse to be financially stable and independant and miss out on that feeling, so I am keeping that vacancy open."
I don't yet know what these things mean for me now, but it is brewing, for sure. Once I got beyond the resistance (I'm NOT Cheap!) and then shame (Ok, maybe a little) that question evoked, I eventually really enjoyed answering it and I'm doing little chuck outs and bought some new things I've been meaning to for my home - Significantly, some velvet cushions like the ones my partner has - which I've been coveting for a while. It feels good and right to just get on with getting them for myself.
So interesting the idea that money is dangerous! My story growing up was that money was scarce, "like blood from a stone" and something other people had. "Money doesn't grow on trees", rich people are all assholes, "blessed are the meek" (and poor) for they shall etc etc ... My gran had a real Great Depression and war-time mentality to everything; saving every last piece of thread or pencil sharpened down to its nub. My father was terrible with money but since he was "the man of the house" was always in charge of it. The money relationship that I inherited from my father and caregivers has been a pretty enmeshed one to claw myself away from.
The last few years have been around untangling myself from those beliefs and then learning how to manage money instead of treating it like some magical fairy dust that sometimes gets sprinkled into my life and *then* how to see and appreciate value beyond simply financial contribution. Also: that cash is only one kind of resource.
A few years ago, we were staying at a place in Tsitsikamma and the owner of the smallholding was talking about how he'd come to buy the land and build his house and garden. Him and his wife had been working on the cruise ships and they wanted to settle down and "there came a time when we found ourselves cash rich" ... I LOVED that. They were rich anyway (experiences, time, love, health, etc) but at that specific moment they were also *cash* rich.
Anyway I love a velvet cushion hey. Good choice. What colour? I've started making a little pile of Things That Must Now Go.
What stood out for me this week was the question "If I weren't so cheap, I'd... " Oh boy!
My parents had weird relationships with money. My mother treated it like it was burning a hole in her palm and any coin (in fact any thing) my father has let go of has claw-marks in it (the marriage didn't last long). I have consciously tried to cultivate a more balanced relationship with money that lies between these two extremes, but I realise as I write this that both behaviours have the underlying anxiety... money is dangerous. Dad: "Money is a corruptor, but I need it, so I bitterly resent it and people who have it, but I must hold on to it, because there is never enough" Mom: "I still yearn for the feeling of being rescued from my childhood poverty and abandonment. I refuse to be financially stable and independant and miss out on that feeling, so I am keeping that vacancy open."
I don't yet know what these things mean for me now, but it is brewing, for sure. Once I got beyond the resistance (I'm NOT Cheap!) and then shame (Ok, maybe a little) that question evoked, I eventually really enjoyed answering it and I'm doing little chuck outs and bought some new things I've been meaning to for my home - Significantly, some velvet cushions like the ones my partner has - which I've been coveting for a while. It feels good and right to just get on with getting them for myself.
So interesting the idea that money is dangerous! My story growing up was that money was scarce, "like blood from a stone" and something other people had. "Money doesn't grow on trees", rich people are all assholes, "blessed are the meek" (and poor) for they shall etc etc ... My gran had a real Great Depression and war-time mentality to everything; saving every last piece of thread or pencil sharpened down to its nub. My father was terrible with money but since he was "the man of the house" was always in charge of it. The money relationship that I inherited from my father and caregivers has been a pretty enmeshed one to claw myself away from.
The last few years have been around untangling myself from those beliefs and then learning how to manage money instead of treating it like some magical fairy dust that sometimes gets sprinkled into my life and *then* how to see and appreciate value beyond simply financial contribution. Also: that cash is only one kind of resource.
A few years ago, we were staying at a place in Tsitsikamma and the owner of the smallholding was talking about how he'd come to buy the land and build his house and garden. Him and his wife had been working on the cruise ships and they wanted to settle down and "there came a time when we found ourselves cash rich" ... I LOVED that. They were rich anyway (experiences, time, love, health, etc) but at that specific moment they were also *cash* rich.
Anyway I love a velvet cushion hey. Good choice. What colour? I've started making a little pile of Things That Must Now Go.
I have that pile! Stone coloured for my earthy little fairy cottage in the woods. :-)