Shifting Our Beliefs About Money

And why mothers' intuition is usually (always) right.

One Saturday in 2009, I got my first kidney stone. It was a beautiful day; I had plans to walk with my mom. I called her an hour before we were supposed to meet.

"Can we push this back an hour?" I asked. "I've been up all night with these awful cramps, and I just need more sleep."

She immediately went into mom-alarm mode and wanted to come over. I was like, no, I'm fine, I just need some Advil.

A few hours later, we were in the ER.

After waiting forever and an MRI, we discovered there was a 3mm stone trying to make its grand exit. Ultimately, I’d be fine after a few days of excruciating pain, medication, and lots of water. This would be the first of many similar episodes, but I didn't know that yet.

Here's the kicker—my ex and I had just filed for bankruptcy after our business tanked. We were both working random jobs, barely scraping by. I can't remember if we'd officially decided on divorce yet, but I had already separated our finances because, well, that felt like the only smart move I had left.

We had no money—and I mean NO money. Did you know they literally take the cash right out of your wallet when you file for bankruptcy? Because they do. That is real news.

So when that $3,000 hospital bill showed up, it was the rotten cherry on top of the shit sundae I was already choking down.

The stories we tell ourselves

Looking back, I realize money had been a huge source of shame for me my entire life. Not having enough, having too much, not spending it the "right" way—all reasons to tell myself I wasn't enough, that I should be better somehow.

The church always said money was just a tool—a totally neutral device. But that was pretty much all the guidance I got. So when I couldn't actually feel neutral about it, I internalized that and used it as another reason to feel bad about myself.

I believed money was this mysterious, all-powerful force I could never understand. The truth was, I was scared of it.

Scared I'd have too much and become an asshole, or worse, not fit through that "eye of the needle" and piss God off. Scared I'd lose it all and not be able to feed my kids or pay bills.

Guess what? Both of those things happened. And yet, here I am, still okay. Better than okay.

I also believed that dealing with money was hard. Maybe too hard for me to ever really get a handle on it or feel secure.

But that hospital bill? That became my turning point.

Learning to trust myself

I cried for a few days and wallowed in my victimhood. But then I got tired of feeling powerless and decided to take charge of what I could actually control.

I called the hospital and explained my situation, which was humbling as hell. And then I had to sit with all the feelings it brought up. The shame, the embarrassment, the fear of judgment, the fear of being told no.

The hospital didn't judge. Instead, they agreed to cover half the bill through their foundation and gave me a payment plan for the rest. Slowly, I chipped away at it. After a long time, it was paid off.

I had figured out how to do the "impossible," and I lived to tell the tale.

During this process, something shifted. I learned I could trust myself with money. I learned I could count on myself to figure out what was right for me financially, even when things looked hopeless.

Where do you want to live?

I don’t want to get all, ‘manifest-y’ on you, but there is something powerful about focusing on what you want instead of obsessing over the problem you're stuck in.

When we're facing difficult situations, the most important question is: “Where do I want to live in this situation? In the problem, or in the solution?”

I know which one feels better, and it's certainly not the problem.

So when it comes to money, I learned that money itself isn't the issue. It's the story you're telling yourself about your situation that's keeping you stuck.

Take, for example, hand-me-down clothes. During that season, I said yes (!) every time someone offered me used clothes for my kids. But I had to deal with my feelings about it—the inferiority, the comparison to other moms, the voice telling me I was failing my kids.

What story was I telling myself about not being able to afford new clothes? That I was a bad mom? That we were ‘less than’ our neighbors? I had to process all those feelings and negative beliefs.

Eventually, I pulled myself out of that hole. Through the divorce and adjusting to single mom life with three kids, I continued to practice this mindset shift. I took control of what I could and changed the story I was telling myself, both about me and about our situation.

The hand-me-down clothes eventually gave way to new purchases. The payment plans got shorter. The shame transformed into confidence. Not because I suddenly had more money, but because I changed the story I was telling myself about what having less money meant about me as a person.

Full circle

Today, when unexpected financial issues arise—and they do—I don't panic like I used to. I think about my mom's intuition that day, how she knew I needed help even when I insisted I was fine. She was right, just like my intuition about my financial capability proved true.

That first kidney stone taught me that crises, whether medical or financial, don't define us, but our response to them does.

Your money story is just that—a story. And like any story, you have the power to edit it, revise it, or write an entirely new ending.

What stories do you tell yourself about money? Are they true?

Please share in the comments below!