Money has never just been about numbers for me. It’s been about worth. Safety. Control. And sometimes—shame.
There were seasons where I couldn’t make ends meet, where every text or call from the bank made my chest tighten. Times I avoided opening bills, not because I didn’t care, but because I felt completely overwhelmed. I’ve bought groceries with coins. I’ve watched accounts dip below zero. I’ve smiled through conversations I couldn’t afford to be part of.
And in all that, I didn’t just feel broke—I felt broken.
No one really talks about how deeply financial struggle gets into your identity. How it can make you feel like a failure, even when you’re working endlessly. How it’s not just about what you lack in your wallet, but what you start believing you lack in yourself.
But nature helps me reframe it.
A drought doesn’t mean the land is useless. It means the season is hard. And seasons change.
What’s helped me begin to untangle this shame is remembering: I am not my balance sheet. I am not my debt. I am not my ability to provide at all times.
I am still resourceful. Still worthy. Still trying.
And that counts.
I’ve learned to ask for help without feeling weak. I’ve found joy in simplifying—not because I had to, but because sometimes less noise means more clarity. I’ve redefined what “enough” looks like, not as a finish line, but as a feeling: stability, peace, choice.
I still want more. And I’m still working toward better. But I don’t hate myself in the process anymore. I’ve stopped equating struggle with failure. Sometimes, surviving is success.
Money is part of life, not proof of mine.
And whether you’re thriving or barely hanging on—please know: you’re not alone. Your worth has nothing to do with what’s in your wallet. You are allowed to be in process. You are allowed to rebuild.
And you don’t owe anyone the performance of having it all together.