Thought

It’s funny how your view of money changes as you go through life. I can still see myself as that kid who clutched my dollars recognising it was exactly that which makes me king of the tuck shop. That’s all money was to me—something to buy snacks like the cool kids do.

I remember, in a moment I’m not proud of, stealing something from a classmate—something small, something they wouldn’t even notice. But I noticed. It was a quick grab, not for the object itself but for what it symbolized: their ease with money, their fancy stationeries, their privileges. I was caught, of course. Parents were called in, and soon after, I was shipped off to boarding school—a place my parents probably couldn’t quite afford and I never quite felt belong.

That was when I learned that money wasn’t just something you had or didn’t have. It was a dividing line. For a while, I resented it.

Scoop

When I got to university, my relationship with money was still pretty reckless. I spent what I didn’t have, lived on the edge financially, but always managed to scrape by. It wasn’t until I got my first job that I began to take money seriously. With my own income came the pull of investing—mutual funds, shares, CFD's anything that might give me an edge. I took out a home loan for a small granny flat, keeping a close eye on the stock market like it held the secret to all my future dreams. I was reading every book I could find on investing and trading psychology—books that promised wealth if I just mastered the “right mindset.” In retrospect, I was working so hard to accumulate more, assuming that once I reached some magic number in my bank account, then I could finally start enjoying life.

But life had other plans.

I was in a motor accident that flipped everything upside down. I was hospitalised for three months, couldn’t walk, let alone work or enjoy the fruits of all that saving and investing. In that moment, all the money I had accumulated felt pointless—useless if I didn’t have my health to enjoy it.

When I was debating amputation at the hospital, my dad lost a fortune with the Lehman Brothers collapse. Fortunately, he recovered nearly 90% of his losses, and I received a small insurance payout that allowed me to pay off my granny flat. At that point, I thought I had “won” the game of life, at least financially. I was the first among my peers to own property outright. I had investments, savings—I was comfortable.

Then life came knocking again.

I found myself in a relationship that drained me—not just emotionally, but financially. We bought a house and the nicest luxuries, and by the end of it all, it was just like a divorce, even though we weren’t married. I was financially wiped out, starting over at an age where most people are supposed to be settling into stability.

Here’s what I’ve learned from all of it:

1. I never felt I deserved to be rich. This was a hard truth to face, but for much of my life, I carried this deep-seated belief that wealth was something for other people—not for me. And that mindset? It sabotages you before you even start.

2. Taking what isn’t yours affirms that you don’t deserve more. Whether it’s stealing something small as a kid or taking that extra box of office supplies because “work owes you,” it all sends a message to yourself: “I don’t deserve this, so I’m taking it.” And that belief only blocks more abundance from coming into your life.

3. You will lose more than you win when you trade ‘scared money’. When you invest or make financial decisions out of fear—whether it’s fear of missing out or fear of losing what little you have—it rarely ends well.

4. There’s no better time than now to give to your loved ones and do what you’ve always wanted to do. Don’t wait for that elusive “right time” to live. Time is the one thing you can’t get more of, no matter how much money you have.

5. Money isn’t for saving, it’s for living. I don’t mean this in a reckless way, but in a purposeful way. If you’re not using money to enrich your life and the lives of those you care about, what’s the point?

6. Never give anyone your all—except yourself. I used to think giving everything to someone, be it a partner or a friend, was noble. Now, I see that keeping something for yourself isn’t selfish; it’s essential.

7. Money is a tool for experiences. It’s not about the dollar amount, but about what that money allows you to do. Whether it’s traveling, learning something new, or just enjoying a great meal, money should help you live, not just exist.

8. Money spent with good intentions will always find its way back to you. When you spend with a generous spirit—whether on yourself or others—the universe has a funny way of replenishing what you’ve given.

Where I am now:

I pre-ordered the iPhone 16. Not only did I pre-order one for myself, but I also got one for my girlfriend as a surprise. A few years ago, I would’ve agonized over the expense, cringed at the thought of spending that kind of money on something so unnecessary. But now, I’m in a place where I value experiences over the dollar signs. This is who I am now, and I look forward to all there is to come.

Resources

If you want to dig deeper into your own relationship with money, I recommend Louise Hay’s work on the subject. Her perspective on the energy of money and how our thoughts create our financial reality is timeless and eye-opening.

The below recording of a talk she held with a live audience and a meditation on wealth and prosperity are great places to start if you want to reframe how you think about money.

Last Word

We often get trapped in the idea that money is something to be saved, hoarded, or held onto for the future. But in reality, money is a tool—one that allows you to live, give, and experience the world around you. Don’t let it become something that holds you back.

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