I remember the day I noticed I was both judgey and jealous of people with money. My boyfriend at the time was thinking of buying a high end BMW and I was mortified. Turns out, I didn’t want to be seen in such a luxury car. What would people think?! (Funny, I thought they’d think exactly what I was thinking). My beliefs and my desire to make more money were at terrible odds. Over the last years, money has become a kind of teacher/guide, especially in relation to my visibility, authenticity and strength. My relationship with money has shifted quite a bit, and there’s much further I’d love to go. I’d not call what we have intimate, and since that’s what I’d like, I decided to write money a letter.


Dear Money,

For years we tiptoed around each other. I used to wonder if there was something I did, something I said, that made you turn the other way.

We’ve come a long way, but recently I’ve been seeing you laughing with others, some of them lovely people. I don’t blame you one bit for wanting to be with them. But sometimes I feel left out.

The other day, when I was thinking about how to pay, I wondered if I even know you. Sometimes I get the impression you are skirting around me, leaving when I arrive, just dozing off when I come to bed.

How long have we been together? Pretty much since I was 17? I know we married young and it was shotgun and all, but, something must be keeping us together. I want to find that thread. And weave it into something bold and beautiful.

I would like to understand you, where you are coming from.

In my twenties and thirties and even early forties, I lived on a shoestring with just enough to pay for the cup of coffee here. The movie there. The rent, yes? Can we make it this month? Whew! (But the relief was always only until next month).

On a shoestring is no way to live.

I’m in my fifties now. I am practicing loving the body and the life I have now, wrinkles and all. I work hard and I love my work. Do you see me growing my business? (I am so proud of myself!)

I would love your help. Can we do this together?

I want to hire someone to do the admin things in my business that I don’t love to do so that I can put all my heart into the transformational people-part of this work I adore, the work of helping people turn patterns of anxiety into meaningful connection, and overwhelm into calm.

I’d also like to hire someone (or several someones including a developmental editor and agent) to take my book—the memoir I’ve been poring my heart and time into for the last years—through to publication. “Home(sick).” It’s my story of going back for young me. No more waiting for someone else to hear young me crying at night in boarding school. (I’m coming for you, Heidi. I’m bringing you home!) Will you help me finish and publish that book?

I’d also like to pay an excellent person to help me with some tender and old, still-hurting places. A body-based therapist. Someone wise and smart. (Someone who sees through what’s left of my layers of protection, far fewer than before, but a few layers remain). A kind, huge-hearted, irreverently funny and creative person who can laugh and cry and help me become the strong woman I am finding myself out to be.

I’d like to buy some new clothes. For my now-body that is 56 years old. I want to feel good in those clothes, like they reflect the wonderful woman I have become and am becoming.

Money, I would love for you and me to make us more friends. Friends to have dinner parties with. Friends to laugh and cry with. Friends who are real, who aren’t afraid to show their underbellies. Or see mine.

Speaking of friends and speaking of you, I want to be able to go out without having to worry about “my means.” You know I’m a diehard foodie. (I think you are too, ammiright?) I want to go to those gorgeous farm-to-table restaurants and have the appetizer AND the entree AND the cocktail, without having to worry. And if I’m with others, I don’t ever want to have to worry about will it be a group check? Because oh no, did that person did not just order the rib eye? No. With your help I’d rather say, I’ve got it. This one’s on me, friends.

You know that I come from a long line of missionaries, people who were ALL about saving souls from hell in the afterlife, no matter what kind of hell this life was. People who depended on their mission headquarters to send them an “allowance” every month.

Even though some ancestral habits of thinking die hard, today I want to remind you that I am not a missionary. (Also, I like to be on top sometimes 🙃)

Money, are you here? I want to know you. I want to hear you. Will you show me who you actually are? Will you tell me what you love? Will you teach me how you love to be touched?

I have a tender heart, good hands, a decent head, and I’m here.

Love,

Heidi

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