Money: A Necessary Evil or a Path to Freedom?

For most of us, money is a necessary evil. We need it to eat, pay the bills, and keep life moving forward. But how much we need versus how much we want—well, that’s an entirely different story.

A Complicated Relationship with Money

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with money. My parents approached it in very different ways. My mother was a saver—she always had a stash tucked away for vacations or the must-have item of the moment. My dad, on the other hand, was a spender. He had to have every gadget “as seen on TV,” bought groceries in quantities no two people could possibly consume, and had a knack for building debt. His financial decisions often started with good intentions but inevitably led to refinancing the mortgage to cover growing credit card balances.

Unfortunately, I inherited my dad’s money gene. While my big personality, strong business sense, and gift of gab (all gifts from him) have served me well, his financial habits? Not so much.

As a kid, money burned a hole in my pocket. In college, when I ran out, my parents always seemed to replenish the pot. It wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I faced the repercussions of my financial shortcomings.

The Debt Spiral

I don’t remember when my first credit card offer arrived, but I was a prime candidate for racking up debt. I looked the other way, buried my head in the sand, and justified every expense—so much so that I even believed my own excuses. Then, before I knew it, I was in over my head. The debt piled up, with enough zeros to put me in a panic. I had been living outside my means, and more than once, I turned to my parents for help. They bailed me out time and time again, not realizing that their help was actually hurting me.

Financial Adulthood… or So I Thought

In my 20s, I had a great job and made really good money for my age. I did all the “right” things—maxed out my 401(k), invested in stocks, and even had stock options from my company. By 30, I had a solid nest egg, had paid off my student loans, and felt financially secure.

Married with a dual income and no kids, it seemed like I had finally become a financial adult. But then life happened.

I had babies, and suddenly, the job that had paid me so well took me away from them. I started measuring my work trips in “wake-ups and goodnights” I would miss. The money was great, but my priorities had shifted. Caroline and Lyndsey became my world.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

At just 4 years old, Caroline was diagnosed with cancer, and in an instant, our entire world shifted. We fought for three years, emotionally, physically, and financially. After we lost her, it would be several more years before I found my way back to work. The financial toll of those years, combined with the absence of a steady income, left us filing for Chapter 7 bankruptcy. It wasn’t just about money—it was about the fear, the uncertainty, and the reality of rebuilding a life in every possible way.

I had spent so much of my life struggling with my relationship with money, but nothing compared to the helplessness of watching it all slip away when it mattered most. It reinforced every fear I had ever had—about not having enough, about not being able to provide, about money always being a fleeting thing that I could never fully control.

The Guilt of Wanting Money

Since that time, my desire to have and make money has felt almost dirty—like something I should be ashamed of.

As I dreamed of writing a book and becoming a motivational speaker, I imagined the success and income that could follow. But then guilt would creep in. Was it wrong to want to make money by sharing my story? Shouldn’t I want to speak solely to help others?

My Catholic upbringing was the perfect storm for this guilt. I convinced myself that if I aspired to be financially successful, my purpose was misguided. And so, time and time again, I shamed myself into not pursuing my dream.

Even when I let myself imagine success for just a moment, that clarity was quickly cloaked in regret. Wanting to make a lot of money is not something good people do, I told myself. Making a lot of money is something people do, and then they do good with it.

At least, that’s what I believed.

A New Perspective

Now that I am in my 50s, my relationship with money has taken on yet another chapter. A year and a half ago, I married my husband, and we are in the process of merging finances. Just two weeks before our wedding, I lost my job. While money has always been a source of stress, it has also been a source of my independence.

In my first marriage, I was the breadwinner. Later, as a single parent, I worked hard to take care of my family. I had to earn my own way, and money gave me the freedom of choice. Accepting financial security and support from my husband has been a tough road for me. Yes, security is part of the issue, but if I’m being completely honest, so is pride. And I’m not proud of that.

We are a team, and we will show up for each other in different ways throughout our life together. We made the decision together that I would launch my business instead of finding another W-2 position. We invested in that decision, and I’ve had to accept a different budget—another word I don’t like, if we’re being honest. But I know my spending habits have gotten me into trouble before, so as part of this partnership, I have committed to do better.

The stakes are different now. I want to be a better money manager. And now, a year later, I am starting to see my business generate revenue. Everything you build takes time. Growth is not a weakness—it’s quite the opposite. And I have to say, I’ve grown a great deal over the past three years with my husband, especially when it comes to money.

Giving Myself Permission

I’ve read countless books on this topic. Jen Sincero’s You Are a Badass was the first time I truly gave myself permission to be OK with wanting more money.

As I read her words, something clicked. I realized that we are worthy of being paid well for our contribution. People aren’t just paying for our time; they’re paying for me, for you—for the value we deliver, the transformation we provide.

For the first time, my vision is clear:

Money is not the enemy. It is a catalyst to the life we want.

Money won’t make us happy, but it can bring security and peace. It allows us to show up fully in the world, to give freely, to live without constant fear.

And when we finally accept that we deserve this—that we’ve worked hard for it—then we can let go of the shame. We can stop feeling guilty for wanting success.

We can surrender to the reality that money is a necessary evil—but if we earn our share and then some, it’s ours to accept, embrace, share, and enjoy.