I didn’t grow up rich, but I didn’t grow up poor either. My mother and I lived with my grandmother for most of my life, meaning my mom had fewer expenses and, at times, extra money to spare. But that money rarely made its way to me.
She wasn’t stingy when it came to the necessities such as school supplies, groceries, extracurriculars, and those things that all kids need, but when it came to anything materialistic, the answer was almost always no. Birthday and Christmas gifts were almost always practical items. The clothes I liked were often overlooked for the ones she deemed necessary. And God forbid if I ever wanted something trendy to help me fit in.
I grew up during the rise of iPods, Nintendo DS consoles, and early iPhones. I watched my classmates show off their latest gadgets while I received the same message over and over: Wanting things made me selfish, anything beyond the bare minimum was a burden. Anytime I asked for something, I was met with,“Why do you think you deserve it?” and “You think I can afford that?” I learned to stop asking.
When I got my first job at 16 — making $9.50 an hour at the public library — it was the first time I was earning my own steady income. That money felt like freedom to me. I could finally buy the things I had always begged my mom for, the things I’d only ever admired from a distance. That summer, I saved every paycheck to buy a brand new iPhone 14 Pro as a graduation gift to myself. To me, it was more than a phone; it was proof that if I worked hard, I could save up and treat myself without needing my mother’s help.
My guilt didn’t belong in my wallet.
But when I told my mom about my purchase, I was met with the same questions I’d heard for years: “Why do you think you deserve something so nice?” and “Do I not provide enough for you?” Just like that, my pride dissipated. I began second-guessing my decision, wondering if I was being selfish. But in that moment, something inside me shifted. I had earned that money, and I didn’t need my mother’s permission to enjoy it. My guilt didn’t belong in my wallet.
Unfortunately, that moment was the beginning of my downfall.Â
In college, I began receiving financial aid refunds. It was thousands of dollars a semester, money that was up to me to either save or use responsibly. But what did I do? I spent it. All. Of. It. I bought myself an iPad, a Macbook, a set of Airpods, and a running list of things I believed I deserved to have. In one year, I burned through about $8,000. I’ve never regretted anything more.
It wasn’t just mindless spending — it was emotional.
It wasn’t just mindless spending — it was emotional. I was working to fill a void, to catch up on the many years of hearing “no.” Every purchase was a small rebellion. I wasn’t just buying materialistic things, I was buying validation, independence, and proof that I could finally give myself what no one else would.
But each high came with a low: Spend. Feel good. Regret it. Repeat. And when I went from spending money I earned to spending money I was given through financial aid, it was a different type of guilt. Every dollar I would spend felt like a test of whether I’m being “responsible” or “smart” enough. And deep down, I knew I should’ve been prioritizing my needs and bills, but my wants were louder. My desires were my new priority, even when it cost me more than just money.
Today, I’m still in a lot of credit card debt. I’m still buying things that I don’t need, the small luxuries that promise comfort and escape. But now, I recognize my spending patterns, and that recognition matters. After unlearning years of shame and unpacking a very long and complicated relationship with money, freedom, and guilt, I now understand that honoring my wants doesn’t mean giving into every impulse. It means listening to them and asking myself: “Do I want this out of joy, or out of comfort?” I still slip up, but I no longer let my spending define me. Healing isn’t about perfection, it’s about intention. And honestly, building a savings account is a luxury within itself.
I’m not “healed” by any means, but I’m aware. I’m learning how to be financially literate and emotionally honest with myself. And that’s where the real change begins.