A night or two ago I was casually talking about finances with a friend of mine. I was reflecting on the role money plays in your life when you’re not constantly thinking about how or where you’ll get more of it by the time the next bill is due.
I’ve been paying my own bills and rent since I was 15 years old. Always with roommates, but somehow who always worked fewer hours than me, but always had parents that paid their rent, or phone bill, or petrol, or groceries.
I witnessed firsthand the difference it makes in someone’s mentality and personality to simply live, instead of struggle to survive. I laughed at how I’d spent my whole life listening to my biological Dad tell me at 20 years old that I was broke all the time because I was bad with money, NOT because I’d been on my own since high school and was trying to make ends meet on $13 per hour.
So, my whole life thus far, I’d taken my caregiver’s opinion of me seriously. Hi, I’m Micaela and I’m bad with money.
Imagine having such a enormous emotional impact on your child, and using it to trivialize and berate them instead of provide guidance or support.
Gross.
Wild Little Hare 