Money Doesn't Have to Be Temporary.

I Stopped Chasing Money—and Everything Changed.

There’s a version of the relationship with money that is built entirely around pursuit. Chasing it. Trying to catch up to it. Trying to secure it before it disappears again. For many of us, that’s where the relationship begins: With urgency instead of choice or strategy. You learn early that money doesn’t stick around. That it’s something you have to fight for and that requires constant attention just to keep your life together. And over time, that creates a certain kind of identity: You are the one who pushes… who figures it out… who survives. It can look like resilience. But it’s exhausting. Because when your entire relationship with money is built on pursuit, it’s like there’s no one place… no firm ground to stand on. You literally almost never feel safe. And still, as humans, we become remarkably attached to our identities… even the ones that are not serving us. So making different choices feels risky. Can we choose stability over intensity? Consistency over possibility? Something that works… over something that, right now, just isn’t? For some of us, that choice feels like giving up. Like stepping away from our dreams. Like becoming less of who we are. But what if it’s the opposite? Sometimes, stepping out of the chase is what finally creates space for your life to expand. You have a little more room. A little more energy. A little more capacity to think beyond the immediate moment. And from that place… something new becomes possible. I would call it participation instead of just survival or recovery. You can make decisions from a place that isn’t panic. You can invest in yourself without risking everything. You can begin to trust that what you’re building will still be there tomorrow. And that trust changes the relationship. Because money is no longer something you’re hunting. It’s something you’re learning to hold, to care for, and to work with. It may not look like what you imagined. It absolutely may not match the timeline you thought you’d be on. But there’s something powerful about this stage. This moment where things are… ENOUGH. Sure… they may not be perfect. But they’re enough to stand on and build from. They’re enough to breathe. And for many people, that’s the turning point — when things finally stabilize…and you realize you don’t have to chase the same way anymore. If something in this brings up your own relationship with money here’s… A prompt, if you want it Write a letter to money that begins with: “The way I’ve been chasing you is…” or “What it would feel like to stop chasing you is…” You don’t need to judge what comes up. Just notice it. The anonymous letter that shaped today’s reflection Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity. Dear Money— For a long time I thought you were threatening or elusive, like a wild animal in the woods. I grew up believing I would have to hunt for you. In my 20s, I pushed myself so hard and still ended up in desperate situations: I’ve sold my favorite possessions to pay rent… Sold my car to pay rent… Gone into debt to pay rent… Only to end up being evicted a few years later. I used to have little energy to be an artist because my entire life was about finding you. I’ve done a lot of reflection and healing work to change our relationship. I’ve looked at choices I’ve made and patterns I inherited from my family. It’s taken a few years to feel safe enough in my body to strive for financial abundance, because the rises and falls can take a toll on the nerves! Two years ago, I risked “failing” as an artist by committing to a full time supporting job that I thought would prevent me from being an artist. No longer chasing the illusion of the starving artist, I focused on staying solvent and stable. Surprisingly, my artist self has been expanding over the past few months. I can afford to take classes and pay collaborators. I have a month of expenses saved in case everything goes wrong. It’s a humble existence, but one I am grateful for. I will continue to work on my relationship with you. I hope to better handle the grief of unexpected setbacks and face my fears of success. I will take it a day at a time. I hope I treat you so well that you feel cherished in my possession and important when you are spent. Because my relationship to money is a reflection of my relationship to myself. And so I thank you for all you have taught me and continue to teach me. I will continue to respect you and treat you as a priority, but with the faith that it will always work out. I don’t need to obsess or hold tight. I’m learning to view earning money as an opportunity to be of service to others. Spending money is a way to honor my needs and make life better. Saving money allows me to dream and envision a meaningful future. You help me so much! I hope you know how valuable you are. Thank you for being in my life. Thank you to the writer for trusting me with this letter. Dear Money is a space for honesty, not answers. If you find yourself holding a truth you haven’t named yet, you’re welcome to write your own letter to money [https://forms.gle/foinKU6Z6QGbagGL7]. I’ll be here. New episodes are published every Thursday. Until next time. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit miataedoga.substack.com [https://miataedoga.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

I Thought Money Was Meant for Other People

Some beliefs don’t arrive all at once. They form quietly. In small moments. In things we notice but don’t question. In patterns we don’t yet have language for. You see how money shows up in other people’s lives. You notice who seems to have access to it… who moves easily around it… who doesn’t have to think about it the same way you do. And without anyone saying it directly, something begins to take shape: That’s for them. Not for me. It’s not dramatic. It’s not even conscious at first. But it settles in. And once it does, it starts to organize everything. What you expect. What you reach for. What you assume is possible. Because when something doesn’t feel like it belongs to you… you don’t go after it. You adjust. You become realistic. You become responsible. You learn how to live within what feels available. And from the outside, it can look like discipline. But underneath it… is a belief. A belief that says: This isn’t mine. And the hardest part about beliefs like this is that they feel like truth. They don’t feel optional. They feel like an accurate reading of the world. But every once in a while, something interrupts that pattern. You see someone who came from a similar place BUT who learned something you didn’t learn… who made different decisions and expanded what was possible in their own life. And it creates a crack. Not enough to undo the belief. But just enough to question it. Enough to ask: Wait… is this actually true? That question is super valuable, because you don’t break out of beliefs like this by forcing yourself to think differently. You break out of them by getting curious. By noticing where they came from and seeing how they’ve shaped your choices. By allowing yourself to consider—even briefly—that these beliefs might not be fixed and written in stone. AND, that there might be more room here than you thought. Not because something suddenly, magically changed about money. But because something is starting to change about what you believe is available to you. And it’s with that smallest shift that a different relationship with money begins. Maybe this isn’t just for other people. Maybe there’s something here for me too. If something in this brings up your own relationship with money here’s… A prompt, if you want it Write a letter to money that begins with: “I learned that you were meant for other people when…” or “The reason I don’t feel like I can have you is…” Let yourself go back to the first moments you noticed and to the conclusions you drew. You don’t need to fix anything. Just see it clearly. The anonymous letter that shaped today’s reflection Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity. Dear Money— You’ve always felt just out of reach. I’ve seen what you can do. I’ve seen the kind of life you can create. But I’ve never felt like you were really available to me. I noticed that early. I remember cleaning houses with my mom — beautiful homes, more than I could imagine — and knowing they belonged to people who had more of you than we ever did. We worked hard. Really hard. And still… it never felt like enough. I saw it again when I applied to college as a first-generation student. The numbers attached to tuition scared me. They felt impossible. For others, they didn’t seem to mean much at all. That stayed with me. So did everything I saw once I got there. Families paying for housing, food, supplies — things that felt so far out of reach. I couldn’t escape the comparison. And I didn’t like what it brought out in me. I felt jealous. Angry. Like I didn’t belong in the same spaces as people who had more of you. Sometimes I even thought something was wrong with me — like I wasn’t smart enough, or capable enough, to have you. That belief has been hard to shake. Even now, I find myself just trying to get through each month. Staying up at night, wondering how I’m going to cover everything. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of feeling like I’m always behind. Tired of feeling like I’m just surviving. But something is starting to shift. I’m beginning to see that you’re not just something I’m supposed to chase or hope for. You’re something I can learn. Something I can understand. For a long time, I didn’t see you that way. You were just numbers in a bank account… something that came and went. And when I did have you, I didn’t know how to manage you. No one ever taught me how. But I don’t want to stay there. I want to learn how to keep you.How to use you.How to build something with you. Because I’ve seen what’s possible when you’re there. Education. Stability. Freedom. And I want that too. Not just to survive… but to actually have a life that feels open. So I’m here. Still learning. Still figuring it out. But no longer willing to believe that you’re only meant for other people. Thank you to the writer for trusting me with this letter. Dear Money is a space for honesty, not answers. If you find yourself holding a truth you haven’t named yet, you’re welcome to write your own letter to money [https://forms.gle/foinKU6Z6QGbagGL7]. I’ll be here. New episodes are published every Thursday. Until next time. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit miataedoga.substack.com [https://miataedoga.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

I Don’t Want Money to Change Who I Am.

Sometimes the fear isn’t that we won’t have money… but who we might become if we do. Transcript Hi. I’m Miata.This is Dear Money. Here, we tell the truth about our relationship with money—the parts we usually keep private. No fixing. No pressure to change anything. Just to see what’s there. Let’s begin. Reflection Here are some of the things I thought about after reading today’s letter. There’s a fear that I’m not sure we talk about enough. Yes, we’re often afraid that we won’t have enough money. But we’re also afraid that if we do… we might become someone we don’t recognize. Someone we don’t like. We’ve seen it before. People who became rigid, or entitled, or disconnected. Or just more focused on keeping money than on living their lives. And somewhere along the way, we made a decision: I don’t want to be that. So we create distance. We tell ourselves we’re not motivated by money. We downplay what we want. We keep our lives just small enough to feel safe. Because wanting more starts to feel risky. Not financially risky… personally risky. What if having money changes me? What if I lose something essential? What if I become less generous… less grounded… less myself? So instead of asking: How do I build a healthy relationship with money? We ask: How do I make sure money doesn’t have too much power over me? And that question shapes how much we allow ourselves to earn and how much we’re willing to receive. Sure, we may still have ambition. But larger than that ambition is our desire to protect our identity and values and our actual sense of who we are. That protection makes sense AND it creates a tension: You can’t build a strong relationship with money while also insisting on holding it at a distance. So what if the question shifts from Will money change me? to Who do I trust myself to be if it does? Because money doesn’t create character. It reveals it. It amplifies what’s already there and in some ways it puts pressure on the parts of us that we haven’t examined. And that can feel confronting. But it can also be so clarifying. Because the goal isn’t to stay exactly the same. The goal is to grow without abandoning yourself. To expand your life… without losing your values inside of that expansion. To let yourself have more… and still recognize the person holding that abundance. For many of us, that’s the real work. Becoming someone we trust… no matter how our circumstances evolve. If something in this brings up your own relationship with money here’s… A prompt, if you want it Write a letter to money that begins with: “I’m afraid of who I might become if I had more of you…” or “The version of me I never want to be with money is…” Let it be honest. Even if it feels uncomfortable. Even if it contradicts what you think you’re “supposed” to say. The anonymous letter that shaped today’s reflection Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity. Dear Money— You’ve shaped more of my life than I’d like to admit. Long before I understood you, you were already influencing where I grew up, what my family worried about, and the choices that they made. And even now, it still feels like you have a say in everything. What I do for work.What I say yes to.What I have to think about every single day. There’s a part of me that resents that. When I think about you, my first reaction isn’t excitement — it’s tension. Frustration. Even anger. Because I’ve seen what people do in your name. I’ve seen how easily you get tied to greed, to power, to decisions that don’t feel human. And I don’t want to become that. I don’t want my life to revolve around you in that way. But I also know I can’t just push you away. Whether I like it or not, you’re part of this life. You affect what’s possible. What’s available. What I can create. And pretending you don’t matter doesn’t actually change that. So I’m trying to find a different way to relate to you. Not from fear. Not from resentment. But also not from blind trust. I want something more grounded than that. I don’t believe you’re inherently bad. But I do think you amplify what’s already there? And that makes me careful with you. I don’t want to lose myself chasing you.I don’t want to measure people by how much of you they have.I don’t want you to change what I value. At the same time… I do want to use you. To take care of myself.To support the people I love.To build a life that actually feels meaningful. And I’m starting to see that those two things have to coexist. The resistance… and the reality. I may never feel completely at ease with you. But I don’t want to keep reacting to you the way I have been. I don’t want you to take up this much emotional space in my life. I want something steadier than that. Something where you’re present… but not in control. Where I can work with you — without feeling like I’m working against myself. I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet. But I know I don’t want to keep living in this tension. So I’m here. Trying to figure out what a different relationship with you could be. Thank you to the writer for trusting me with this letter.And thank you for listening. Dear Money is a space for honesty, not answers.You don’t need to do anything with what came up today. If you find yourself holding a truth you haven’t named yet, you’re welcome to write your own letter to money [https://forms.gle/foinKU6Z6QGbagGL7]. I’ll be here. New episodes are published every Thursday. Until next time. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit miataedoga.substack.com [https://miataedoga.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

I Want a Partnership with Money, Not Dependence.

Most of us don’t realize we have a relationship with money… until we’re the ones responsible for it. Transcript Hi. I’m Miata.This is Dear Money. Here, we tell the truth about our relationship with money—the parts we usually keep private. No fixing. No pressure to change anything. Just to see what’s there. Let’s begin. Reflection I want to start with a few thoughts that came up for me while sitting with today’s letter. For many of us, our first relationship with money doesn’t feel like a relationship at all. It feels more like an environment. Something that’s just… there. It’s handled by someone else and structured in ways we don’t see. We don’t ask where it comes from. We don’t think about what it requires. We don’t have to. And because of that, it can feel like money belongs to us… before we’ve ever had to understand it. But at some point, for almost all of us, that changes. Sometimes gradually. Sometimes all at once. We step into a version of life where we’re expected to meet money directly. To earn it and manage it and make decisions about it. And that’s often the moment when the relationship becomes visible because the distance is gone. And what we see in that moment can be pretty confronting. We see how much we don’t understand, how much we’ve avoided, and how much we’ve relied on systems or people we didn’t have to question before. That realization can bring a lot with it: Anxiety. Guilt. Maybe a sense that we should already know how to do this. And for many people, the instinct in that moment is to pull away. To avoid looking too closely and hope that things will somehow continue to work without changing how we engage. But eventually, pretty much always, that stops working. And when it does, though it can be painful at first, something important becomes possible. We begin to see that money isn’t something we can stay disconnected from and still expect it to support our lives. That it asks something from us: Attention. Care. Participation. And at first, that shift can feel like a loss of ease… of innocence even. It feels like a loss of the version of life where we didn’t have to think about it. But it’s also an opening. Because for the first time, we’re actually directly in the relationship. It stops being a relationship of avoidance, or one that really only exists through someone else. And from there, something different… something more mutual… can begin. We start to understand what money requires… and also what we need from it. We start to take responsibility… without staying in guilt. We allow ourselves to learn… instead of pretending we already should know. For many of us, this is where the relationship really starts. Not when money first shows up in our lives—but when we finally begin to meet it ourselves. If something in this brings up your own relationship with money here’s… A prompt, if you want it Write a letter to money that begins with: “The version of money I grew up with was…” or “The first time I realized I didn’t understand money was…” Let it be simple. Just notice what comes up. The anonymous letter that shaped today’s reflection Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity. Dear Money— I’ve known you my entire life… and I still feel like a stranger to you. When I was a kid, you were always there. I didn’t have to ask. My parents made sure I had everything I needed. And I didn’t think about you at all. I didn’t have to. Looking back, I can see how much I took that for granted. You were never really mine… but I acted like you were. When I left home, that didn’t change right away. A credit card meant one swipe could solve almost anything. I stayed comfortable… and disconnected from you. It wasn’t until I started working that something shifted. For the first time, I saw how hard it actually is to get close to you. I chose a path I cared about, but it demanded more than I expected. I was overworked, underpaid, and too exhausted to really face what was happening. So instead, I leaned back on what I knew. I asked my parents to step in again. And for a while, that worked. I kept moving forward with my life… but not with you. I was avoiding you. Avoiding the conversation I needed to have. Avoiding the responsibility that came with truly understanding you. But eventually, that stopped working. My parents reached a point where they could no longer carry me the same way. The support I had always relied on… wasn’t unlimited. And for the first time, I really felt that. The anxiety.The guilt.The realization that I had been living in a relationship with you that I didn’t understand—and hadn’t taken responsibility for. That was hard to face. But something started to change. I began to see that you have limits. That you require something from me — attention, structure, care. And slowly, I started to meet you there. I began paying attention to how I spend you.I started asking for more when I work.I became more aware of what it actually takes to keep you. And for the first time… I felt a different kind of connection. Not dependency. Partnership. I’m still learning. There’s a lot I don’t know. But I don’t want to stay in guilt. I don’t want to keep apologizing to you for who I used to be. I want to grow into someone who can meet you differently. Someone who understands you.Who respects you.Who can build something real with you. Not just for me… but for the people who supported me when I couldn’t support myself. So this is where I am. Not perfect. But paying attention. And finally willing to take responsibility for the relationship we’re in. Thank you to the writer for trusting me with this letter.And thank you for listening. Dear Money is a space for honesty, not answers.You don’t need to do anything with what came up today. If you find yourself holding a truth you haven’t named yet, you’re welcome to write your own letter to money [https://forms.gle/foinKU6Z6QGbagGL7]. I’ll be here. New episodes are published every Thursday. Until next time. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit miataedoga.substack.com [https://miataedoga.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

I Thought I Didn’t Need Money.

An anonymous writer reflects on the belief that they didn’t need money—and the realization that the life they want to build requires a different kind of relationship. This episode sits with honesty, avoidance, and what it means to finally turn toward money as something we work with, not against. Transcript Hi. I’m Miata.This is Dear Money. Here, we tell the truth about our relationship with money—the parts we usually keep private. Each episode, I read and respond to a real letter to money that has been shared anonymously.The goal (for all of us) is never to judge. It also isn’t to fix or to advise.Just to listen, reflect, and try to open some things that’ve been tight or hidden. Let’s begin. Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity. Dear Money— I’ve always told myself I didn’t need you. That I was happy on the inside. Content with who I am. And that “happiness” was enough. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. Because the life I say I want… requires you. If I don’t have you, I can’t build the creative business I keep dreaming about. I can’t travel, see the world, or meet the people I want to meet. And I can’t create the family life I imagine. So if I’m honest… I think I’ve been lying to myself. Or just avoiding something I didn’t want to face. I do need you. And I don’t really understand you. When I think about where that started, I go back to my childhood. My parents were always “struggling” with you — at least that’s how it felt. And yet… we always had what we needed. I don’t fully understand that contradiction. But I wonder if I learned something from it. Because now, when you come into my life, it feels the same. You come in. You go out. And I don’t really know where you went. I don’t know if I’ve been careless with you… or if I’ve been repeating something deeper. Something about scarcity.Or not feeling like I get to keep you.Or not believing I can actually build something stable with you. Whatever it is, I feel stuck in it. Like I’m running in circles, but not moving forward. And I don’t want that anymore. I have ideas. I have vision. I have things I want to build with my life. But I can’t keep pretending that I can do that without you. So I need to understand this. I need to understand how to keep you.And grow you.And actually use you to build something real. Because right now, I’m not doing that. Right now, I’m avoiding you… and hoping things will somehow change. They won’t. So this is me being honest. I don’t want to stay in this cycle. I want something different. And I think that starts with finally being willing to face you — instead of pretending I don’t need you at all. Let’s pause and just sit with that for a moment. Just breathe and let yourself notice anything this letter brings up for you. As I read your letter, what stands out to me is your honesty about yourself. You say, “I’ve always told myself I didn’t need you.” And there’s something very familiar in that. A lot of us have learned that wanting, or even needing money somehow makes us… less good… pure… generous. So we distance ourselves from it. We say things like:Money isn’t what matters. That’s not why I do what I do. And there’s truth in all of that. But sometimes those ideas become a way of avoiding something deeper. The truth is—the life you’re describing…the business, the travel, the relationships, the family… That life does require money. Not because money is the point. But because money is part of how things get built in the world we live in. And I hear how clearly you’re starting to see that. You say, “I think I’ve been lying to myself.” That’s not easy to admit. It means letting go of an identity that may have felt very important. The identity of being someone who doesn’t “need” money. But I don’t hear someone becoming selfish. You’re just becoming more honest. And that is what allows a stronger relationship to actually begin. You also describe this pattern of money coming in… and then going out. Not really knowing where it went or feeling like you get to keep it. And I notice how gently you approach that. You don’t immediately blame yourself. You wonder. Is this something I learned?Is this something I’m repeating? That kind of curiosity opens the door to understanding… instead of shame. And what you’re seeing is that this relationship didn’t start with you. You grew up watching money feel unstable. Struggle was present… even if your needs were met. That creates a kind of contradiction that’s hard for a kid to make sense of. We’re okay… but we’re not okay.We have enough… but it doesn’t feel like enough. Those mixed signals can absolutely turn into patterns later. Money comes in… and it goes out.There’s no clear sense of what “keeping” looks like. So when you say, “I don’t know if I’ve been careless… or if I’m repeating something deeper”… That’s an important question. Because it moves the conversation away from What’s wrong with me?and toward What am I working with here? And then you say, “The life I want requires you.” That sentence changes everything. Because now money isn’t something you’re trying to distance yourself from. It becomes something you’re willing to engage with, and understand. Something you’re willing to work with. And there’s a big difference between: I need money so I can be okay… versus I’m willing to work with money to build something meaningful. One is driven by urgency. The other is rooted in intention. I hear movement toward intention. You have ideas.You have vision.You have things you want to create. And instead of pretending money isn’t part of that… you’re turning toward it. Not with all the answers. But with willingness. This relationship starts to change the minute avoidance is replaced with engagement. We don’t have to wait for when everything is figured out. You say that things won’t change just because you keep hoping. That clarity? It’s a real starting point. The avoidance has been part of the story.But so is your willingness to face it directly now. And that willingness allows you to start building the life you’ve been imagining—with money as a partner, not something you have to push away. Thank you to the writer for trusting me with this letter.And thank you for listening. Dear Money is a space for honesty, not answers.You don’t need to do anything with what came up today. If you find yourself holding a truth you haven’t named yet, you’re welcome to write your own letter to money [https://forms.gle/foinKU6Z6QGbagGL7]. I’ll be here. New episodes are published every Thursday. Until next time. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit miataedoga.substack.com [https://miataedoga.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]