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. 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

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. 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

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. 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

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. 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

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. 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

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—

We’ve had a complicated relationship for as long as I can remember.

Growing up, I didn’t have clear examples of how to manage you. I saw you as something to spend quickly — without thinking, without planning. When you were around, I acted impulsively, afraid you wouldn’t stay. When you weren’t, I felt your absence deeply. As though I’d lost something essential.

The tension between us is real. When you’re here, I feel the urge to spend — as if you’ll disappear if I don’t use you fast enough. And when you’re gone, anxiety creeps in. I feel like I’ve failed.

But I’m starting to understand that this isn’t really about you. It’s about how I’ve related to you for so long. I’ve let fear drive our relationship. A scarcity mindset. The belief that you were always about to leave.

I’m also starting to understand that my joy and purpose don’t come from you. They never did. What you offer me is security. A foundation. With you, I feel grounded enough to take risks and pursue what actually matters to me. Without you, life feels uncertain. That’s not nothing — but it’s also not everything.

You aren’t a measure of my worth. You don’t define my success or my happiness. But you allow me the stability to chase what does.

I recognize that I’ve been shaped by what I didn’t know — how to plan, how to save, how to see you as something more than temporary. But I’m learning.

I’m also grateful. You’ve given me the ability to invest in myself, care for others, move toward the life I want. I see now that when treated with respect, you can be a partner.

I want to break the habits of impulsivity and replace them with intention. You don’t have to be temporary. I want to believe you’ll stay — when I treat you with care.

Here’s to starting fresh.

Let’s pause and just sit with that for a moment. Just breathe and let yourself notice anything this letter brings up for you.

There’s a moment in this letter that I want to go back to.

You describe it almost in passing — but I think it might be the whole thing.

You write about the urge to spend when money arrives. The fear that it won’t stay. And then the absence that follows. And then the anxiety that sets in — the feeling of having failed.

And you share this as something that happens over and over.

It’s a loop. And you see it.

What I want to point out is how rare that is.

Most of us live inside our patterns for years — sometimes our whole lives — without being able to name them clearly enough to examine them.

We feel the anxiety. We feel the urge. We feel the relief and then the absence. But we don’t see the shape of it. We don’t see that one thing is feeding the next.

You see the shape of it.

And then you do something even more important. You turn the lens around.

You write: this isn’t about you. It’s about how I’ve related to you for so long.

I want to sit with that for a moment.

Because so many of us — and I mean so many — spend years believing that money is both the problem and the solution. That if we just had more of it, or managed it better, or finally figured out the right system, everything would settle. The anxiety would lift. The fear would go quiet.

But you’ve found something here that a lot of people never find.

The pattern isn’t in the money. The pattern is in you. And that means — and this is the part that matters — you are the one with the power to change it.

That’s not a small discovery. That’s enormous.

You also name something I think deserves to be celebrated.

You’ve realized that joy and purpose don’t come from money. They never did. What money offers you is security. A foundation stable enough to pursue what actually matters.

That distinction — between money as the destination vs money as the ground beneath your feet — that is something so many people never quite land on. We conflate the two. We mistake the foundation for the building. And then we wonder why having more of it doesn’t make us feel the way we thought it would.

You’re not making that mistake.

You’re saying: this is what you are to me. Not everything. But not nothing. A partner. A resource. The thing that makes the other things possible.

That’s a relationship worth tending.

And here’s what I believe about this work you’re already doing — the seeing, the naming, the willingness to look clearly at the loop you’ve been in. That work is not separate from the change. It is the change.

The moment you can see the pattern is the moment it begins to loosen its hold.

You gave yourself a gift in writing this letter.

And honestly — you gave the rest of us one too.

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. 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

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 been thinking about you a lot lately. Not just in passing moments or fleeting worries — but in a deeper, more reflective way.

Our relationship has always felt complicated. Like a dance I’m still learning the steps to. Sometimes I chase you, hoping to catch up. Other times you feel just out of reach, slipping through my fingers before I can fully understand what it means to have you. To trust you. To feel secure with you.

Growing up, I learned that you were both a necessity and a mystery. You could open doors — but just as easily close them. You could offer comfort, but also create tension. I’ve felt your presence as a symbol of both freedom and constraint. And honestly, there are days I wonder if I’ll ever truly figure out how to live alongside you. Peacefully. Without fear.

I know I haven’t always treated you with the respect you deserve. I’ve been reckless with you at times — unsure of how to hold onto you when you came into my life, and just as unsure of how to manage your absence when you were scarce. But I’ve also tried. Tried to understand your language. Tried to build a life that respects your power without letting it define my every choice.

In this new phase, I want to build something different with you. I want to see you as more than a resource or a means to an end. I want to stop running after you in fear and start walking alongside you in trust.

I’m ready to shift. To invite abundance rather than scarcity. I know it will take time, patience, and a lot of honesty between us. But I’m willing to do the work.

I see your value — not just in the practical sense, but in the way you can shape my sense of freedom, my ability to create, my capacity to give.

This letter is my promise to myself: that I will do better. Not because I want to chase you endlessly. But because I want to build something lasting.

I’m ready for this new chapter.

Let’s pause and just sit with that for a moment. Just breathe and let yourself notice anything this letter brings up for you.

I want to say first, before anything else, that this letter is an act of courage.

It is hard to sit with something you haven’t figured out yet — and choose to write it down anyway. To send it. To let someone else witness it.

You describe your relationship with money as complicated. Like a dance you’re still learning the steps to. And I notice that you don’t rush past that. You don’t immediately pivot to solutions or plans or promises to do better.

Complicated. Elusive. Slipping through your fingers.

Those are your words.

And they’re worth sitting with.

Because before we can build something new, we have to be honest about what we’re actually working with. Not the version we wish we had. Not the version we think we should have by now. The real one.

And you’re doing that.

You also name the fact that money has been multiple things for you. A door that opens and a door that closes. A source of comfort and a source of tension. Freedom and constraint, sometimes at the same time.

That’s an accurate description of a complicated relationship.

You’re not misreading it. You’re seeing it clearly.

Another thing that stands out to me is that you don’t dismiss the fact that when it comes to your relationship with money - you have tried to strengthen it. A lot of us are really quick to blow past any positives. We catalogue our missteps and leave out our effort. But you hold both. The recklessness and the trying. The uncertainty and the intention.

That balance is not easy to hold.

And then you make a commitment.

Not a plan. Not a set of steps. A commitment. A promise to yourself to keep showing up to this relationship even when it’s hard, even when you don’t have all the answers, even when the path isn’t clear yet.

I want you to hear how significant that is.

Because the answers come later. The clarity comes later. The concrete steps come later.

But the willingness to take a stand — to say, I’m ready for something different — that has to come first.

And here’s what I’ve seen, again and again: when someone points themselves in a direction — genuinely, honestly, the way you have in this letter — the path has a way of revealing itself. Not all at once. But in small moments. A conversation you’re willing to have now that you weren’t before. A choice that feels different because you’re looking at it differently. A door you notice, because you’ve decided to start looking for doors.

That’s how it tends to work.

So keep showing up. In the big ways, yes. But also in the small ones. The small ones count. They accumulate. They become the thing you look back on and call a turning point.

You wrote this letter.

That’s where everything else begins.

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. 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

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 have some apprehension writing this letter. I read some examples of letters to money that I found online. I noticed a note of desperation in them — and I’ve truly worked to move past those feelings myself. I think I’ve come pretty far in my relationship with you.

My New Year’s Resolution is even the word “Fortune.” I want us to work together, despite our past.

Growing up, my family was always stressed out about you. You brought a lot of toxicity into my life and my mindset for a long time. I became well-versed in adapting to your scarcity — and it was real scarcity. You don’t live out of your car to keep going to college without that being true.

The student loans felt worth it. I was not going to be without an education, and because of them I was able to follow my dreams. The credit card debt hurts a little — I wasn’t told I’d be charged interest. You can argue it was in the fine print, but when you genuinely don’t know something, you don’t know what you don’t know.

Despite those amounts being high, I’m not as stressed as I used to be. I’ve worked on changing my mindset from scarcity to abundance, and I’m happier today than I’ve been in years. It took real effort at first to believe that you were out there for me. But I believe it now.

I also saw, throughout my life, the power you brought into a room. And for the most part, I didn’t like it. It’s hard to be in middle school watching classmates carry designer bags when your family can’t afford a new t-shirt.

And then there was my dad. You were used as a weapon during his decline with alcoholism — he would transfer me money, maybe out of guilt for how he’d spoken to me. But what I truly wanted was for him to be well. To see me. To want to connect.

When he passed away, I spent what I inherited to stay alive as an artist during a global pandemic.

Where I’m at now is this: I believe you are a tool. A powerful one. Our civilization may well be shaped — or destroyed — by people’s greed for you. But maybe having you in the right hands can change things.

I want to collaborate with you. I want to go on a vacation — just me and my fiancé, not for someone else’s wedding. I want to live in a better apartment. I want us to save for a wedding of our own. I don’t want to be one vet bill away from financial ruin. And when I reach retirement age, I don’t want to end up living out of my car again.

My life is on the upswing. I just got paid to direct — something I’ve been working toward for five years. I’ve come to understand that my time, and how I use it, is my real currency. But a thicker bank account would also be nice.

My resolution is Fortune, after all. Let’s work together to accomplish great things.

Let’s pause and just sit with that for a moment. Just breathe and let yourself notice anything this letter brings up for you.

You almost didn’t write this letter.

I want to start there. Because that detail matters.

You read the examples and felt the desperation in them — and you’ve worked too hard to go back to that place.

That’s not avoidance. That’s someone who knows the difference between where she was and where she is now.

And where you are now is genuinely different.

You grew up watching money create stress, conflict, imbalance. You watched it used as a weapon — transferred to you from your dad’s hands not as a connection, but as a substitute for it.

You learned early that money carried a kind of power you didn’t trust. A power that hurt people.

So you did what made sense. You kept your distance from it. You adapted to scarcity because scarcity was what you knew.

And it was real scarcity.

Living out of your car to stay in school. Figuring out debt only after you were already inside of it — because no one had shown you what interest meant before you signed. Spending your inheritance on survival. On staying alive as an artist during a global pandemic.

None of that is theoretical.

That’s experience that shapes how your nervous system responds to money. How your body knows, before your mind catches up, that the floor might drop out at any moment.

So the fact that you can now say — these are your words — “I’m not as stressed as I used to be.” The fact that you’ve done the work to believe money is available to you. That you’re letting in the idea of abundance, not just as a concept, but as something real and possible for your life.

That’s not nothing. That’s not a small thing.

That’s real work. And it shows.

What also stands out to me is a word you use near the end of your letter. Collaborate. You want to collaborate with money.

I don’t want to rush past that.

For a long time, money was something that happened to you — or didn’t. Something other people wielded. Something tied to guilt, to shortage, to a kind of power you associated with harm.

And now you’re saying: I want to be in a working relationship with this. I want to be on the same side.

That is a profound shift. That’s not just a mindset. That’s a new identity taking shape.

You’ve also named something really worth highlighting. You’ve started to separate the tool from the hands that hold it. Money in the wrong hands — that’s what you grew up watching. But money in the right hands? You’re starting to believe that could be different. That it could even change things.

Including your own life.

The vacation. The apartment. The wedding that’s yours. These are not abstract goals — they’re specific ones. The kind of specificity that comes from someone who’s ready. Not just hoping, but actually planning.

And you just got paid to direct. Five years in the making.

That’s not luck. That’s what it looks like when someone builds something carefully, through uncertainty, through loss, through a pandemic — and keeps going anyway.

The mindset shift came first. The material reality is catching up.

You chose the word “fortune” for yourself for this year. I see it as holding at least two meanings — the luck you’ve made, and the abundance you’re now purposefully moving toward.

That makes fortune a pretty perfect word for this moment.

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. 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

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 think you and I need a change.

My whole life, I was taught to be afraid of you — and that my wants weren’t worthwhile. So now I don’t know what a valid financial decision even looks like.

Somewhere along the way, you became embarrassing. Even degrading.

The thought of asking for help is terrifying. And when I hear people say I need to spend you to make you, my whole body goes into fight-or-flight.

I feel guilty when I have you, and like a failure when I don’t.

I know you can be fun. You’ve given me things to look forward to in my life.

But you also come with so many secrets. I constantly feel like I’m trying to catch up to you.

It’s frustrating watching other people seem to move through you so easily — like they get to enjoy you without a care in the world.

Meanwhile, I’m in the dark, asking:

How much is enough?When do I get to enjoy what I’ve made?Will I ever feel safe with you?

And don’t even get me started on taxes.

It feels like they wipe out everything I’ve managed to save over the year. I know they matter. I know they serve a purpose. But I still haven’t figured out how to survive April on my own.

I’m working really hard on giving myself permission to enjoy my life.

And part of that is believing that the money I earn can be used without guilt.

I’m not there yet.

Every dollar I have after rent still feels tight — like it’s wrapped around my neck.

I know I haven’t been fair to you.

I’ve avoided learning about you, afraid it will only make me feel worse… even though I know that learning is probably the only way this relationship gets better.

Because I do want something different.

I want to understand you.I want to use you in ways that actually matter.I want you on my side.

I want to create more connection, more understanding… maybe even a little bit of magic.

But I need to figure out how to do that without biting my nails every time I get a receipt… or don’t have a job lined up… or make another overwhelming tax payment.

So please… be patient with me while I learn.

In the meantime—

I’m banking on you.

Let’s pause and just sit with that for a moment. Just breathe and let yourself notice anything this letter brings up for you.

The first thing I really want to acknowledge about your letter is your honesty.

It’s the kind of honesty that’s willing to name embarrassment.Willing to admit confusion.Willing to say, I don’t actually know what I’m doing here.

None of that is small.

Because embarrassment has a way of keeping things hidden.It tells us to stay quiet.Not ask questions.Pretend we understand more than we do.

And I hear how strong that pull has been for you.

Money hasn’t just felt complicated.

You use a really striking word…You say it’s felt degrading.

And as I sit with that, I think about how exposed that can feel.

Like everyone else somehow understands the rules…

You talk about watching other people move through money with ease—spending, earning, deciding—while you’re left questioning every choice.

That kind of distance can feel incredibly lonely.

Because at that point, it’s not just about money.

It’s about belonging.About wondering if there’s something you missed…or something you were never given access to in the first place.

And at the same time, there’s this expectation—that you should already know how to do this.That you shouldn’t get it wrong.

Even though no one showed you how to get it right.

And yeah—that’s a painful place to stand.

So when you say that even the idea of learning about money feels like it might make things worse…That totally makes sense to me.

Because if money has been tied to shame,then learning doesn’t feel like empowerment.

It feels like you might finally confirm the thing you’ve been afraid of—that you’re behind…or that you’ve been doing it wrong.

But there’s something else in your letter that I want to highlight.

There’s a lightness.

A part of you that knows money can be fun.That remembers looking forward to things.That even uses the word magic.

I think that part of you has been living alongside the fear.

And so there’s this tension.

The part of you that wants to enjoy what you’ve created—and the part that tightens every time you spend.

The part that wants to feel free—and the part that’s bracing for something to go wrong.

That sounds like someone who, just like you said, was taught that wanting is dangerous…but is now trying to learn how to want anyway.

You ask some questions that don’t have quick answers.

How much is enough?When do I get to enjoy what I’ve made?Will I ever feel safe with you?

Those aren’t technical “number” questions… They’re relationship questions.

And even as you name how hard this relationship with money has been…

You’re not pretending.You’re not pushing it away.

You’re turning towards it.And maybe that’s where this begins.

Allowing yourself to be a beginner…without making that mean something is wrong.

You said you want more connection.More understanding.Maybe even a little bit of magic.

And while it’s hard to know exactly how magic happens…

I don’t think it comes from having everything under control.

So maybe the next step is just softening the idea that you’re already behind.

Letting yourself learn…without turning every moment into self judgement.

And noticing—

that even in the middle of fear,confusion,and a lot of unanswered questions—

You’re still curious.And willing.

And that might be more of a beginning than it seems.

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. 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

Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity.

Dear Money—

I’ve been afraid of you for as long as I can remember.

Growing up in a Latino household, we didn’t really talk about you — except when you were missing.

You were always this distant thing. Something to chase, but never quite catch.

I watched my parents struggle with you, constantly worried about where you would come from next. And whenever you disappeared, anxiety filled our home.

I learned early that your presence — or your absence — seemed to control everything.

That fear stuck with me.

Even now, you still feel elusive. Unpredictable. Out of my control.

When I have you, I hold on too tightly, anxious that you’ll disappear as quickly as you arrived.

And when I don’t have you, I feel powerless — like I’m sinking, unable to provide for myself or the people I love.

For most of my life, I’ve been terrified of you.

Sometimes it felt like you were always just out of reach. Other times it felt like I didn’t deserve you at all.

But I’m tired of living like this.

I want to break free from the anxiety that has defined our relationship for so long.

I’ve seen what this fear has done to my family — how it shaped our decisions, our sense of security, even our vision for the future.

It’s a weight we’ve carried for generations.

And I want to be the one who breaks that cycle.

I don’t want to pass this fear down.

I want to change how I see you.

I want to stop feeling like you control me and start realizing that I have a say in this relationship too.

I want you to be something I can welcome into my life with balance and gratitude — something I can use to support myself, my family, and my community.

I want to build a new relationship with you — one where I trust my ability to manage you, use you wisely, and share you in ways that lift others up too.

I want to break the scarcity and fear that were passed down to me and build something different.

A new legacy.

This is my commitment to you, Money.

I know the road won’t be easy.

But I’m ready for a new beginning.

One built on trust, balance, and a better future — for me, and for those around me.

What stands out to me first in your letter is how early the relationship with money begins.

Your relationship with money didn’t start with your first bank account or job. It started in the emotional atmosphere of your home.

I think a lot of us can relate to that.

You describe growing up in a household where money wasn’t really discussed except when it was missing.

And it doesn’t happen on purpose, but that kind of environment teaches children that money carries weight.

Anxiety.Uncertainty.Urgency.

When a kid grows up watching adults worry about money, they learn something long before they ever earn their first dollar.

They learn that money can determine how a room FEELS.

Whether it feels calm… or tense.

Whether the people in the room feel secure… or afraid.

So it makes sense that the fear you describe started early because you were paying attention.

You were watching the way money moved through your family and you were noticing the emotional impact it had on the people you loved.

I think that when we’re young we’re pretty good at absorbing those patterns, and they become stories we carry long after the circumstances themselves have changed.

Stories like:

Money disappears.Money can’t be trusted.Money controls everything.

These stories often travel through generations—not because parents want to pass down fear, but just because they’re doing their best to survive their circumstances.

There’s a moment in your letter though where you start to recognize that you don’t have to hang on to this fear you inherited.

And I want to point that out because questioning the beliefs we grew up with can actually feel disloyal.

Especially if they belong to people who protected and raised and loved us.

But breaking a cycle isn’t about rejecting them…It’s about honoring what they carried… while asking whether you still need to carry that burden forward.

You describe wanting to build a new relationship with money.

Rooted in balance.

In gratitude.

In the ability to support your family and your community.

That vision says that the fear you inherited hasn’t turned into resentment or rejection.

It’s turned into a question:

What kind of financial legacy do I want to leave behind?

That question is awesome.

Because we don’t have to have certainty to create generational change. We just have to recognize that the stories we inherited came from real circumstances AND they don’t necessarily have to define the future.

When you share that you wanna have a say in this relationship too? That’s another super important shift.

You’re not pretending that money is always predictable or that your fear is gonna disappear overnight.

But you’re seeing that the relationship with money isn’t something that just happens.

It’s something you participate in.

It will evolve as your understanding grows.

And that is absolutely how you start a new legacy.

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. 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

Letters may be lightly edited for privacy and clarity.

Dear Money—

Where do I start?

We have a complicated relationship. And I wish it were better. I want to do better — for me, for you, for us.

When I was younger, I didn’t know how to treat you. No one ever taught me what to do with you. And even now, as an adult, I’m still not sure.

I feel ashamed of that.

No matter how hard I work, I can’t seem to get enough of you. No matter how many things I learn or how many jobs I’ve had, I’ve never earned enough to comfortably cover my bills.

And when I do have you, I don’t know how to keep you around.

It’s an endless cycle that keeps me stuck — never moving forward the way I want to.

I admit it. I need your help.

Back in 2020, I had a great year. I thought I was finally on the right path with you. I paid off all my credit card debt.

But now, a few years later, I’m in debt again.

When I’m lucky enough to have you, I pay for the things I need. But there’s never enough left to save or invest. Never enough to prepare for the slow months.

I’m constantly in the red.

It’s embarrassing. And I’m so over it.

I need your help paying back my parents and finally taking control of my life. Independence has always meant everything to me, yet I haven’t been able to reach it consistently.

Putting strain on the people around me hurts. I carry so much guilt about that.

I love what I do for work. Making music is everything to me. But without you, everything becomes harder.

I need you to help me feel a sense of freedom.

Freedom to take care of myself and the people I love.To build an emergency fund for health issues or whatever life throws my way.To go out to dinner occasionally with my partner.To take vacations with friends.To invest in my career and my well-being.

I’m tired of always feeling like I’m without.

I want to enjoy my life the way I imagined I would when I was younger.

To maybe afford to have a child someday. Or even a pet.

That would be something.

Sometimes I feel sad thinking I may never get to experience those things because I couldn’t figure you out.

But I have made some strides this year.

My student loans are gone. Financial grants helped me pay down medical bills after serious health issues last year. My parents helped me open a Roth IRA, even though I won’t be able to contribute yet unless things change.

I’ve paid off my auto loan. And my credit card debt is going down.

I am working really, really hard.

But it still isn’t enough to live comfortably. My bank account is overdrawn almost every month.

It feels so hard.

I do wonder if something in me is broken because we’ve never had a stable relationship.

But I don’t want to keep living this way.

I want to build stability with you — something strong enough that I never have to struggle like this again.

I want to give back to the people who’ve supported me. To my community.

I want to feel peaceful. To sleep well at night.

To reach my fullest potential as a human being.

So please… Can we move forward in a positive way?

Thank you for hearing me out.

I look forward to what we might accomplish together.

As I read this letter, the word that stays with me is effort.

You write about working really, really hard. And I believe you.

There’s a kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to build stability while the ground keeps shifting. Especially when the work you love—music in your case—doesn’t provide the predictable rhythm that money seems to prefer.

Many of us living with irregular income know this feeling well.

Some years are good.Some months are great.

And then suddenly you’re back in the red again, wondering how it happened.

It makes the relationship with money feel like a puzzle you just can’t solve.

I hear the shame that has started to creep in around that.

You ask whether something in you might be broken and if the reason this relationship has been unstable is because you somehow failed to figure money out.

But as I listen to your letter, I don’t hear someone who isn’t trying.

I hear someone who has been navigating a relationship that was never explained to them in the first place.

You say something important:

No one ever taught me what to do with you.

That sentence shows up in so many letters like this one.

When we grow up without guidance around money, we end up believing that our struggle is a personal flaw.

But learning how to work with money is not something most of us absorb naturally.

It’s a skill.A relationship.

A set of practices that usually require time, support, and many imperfect attempts.

I also hear something else in your letter.

The belief that once things start going well financially, they’re supposed to stay that way.

So when a good year is followed by a difficult one, it feels like failure.

But relationships with money—especially for people with creative or non-traditional careers—rarely move in a straight line.

They move in seasons.

Some seasons are expansive.Some are restrictive.

That doesn’t mean the relationship is broken.It means the relationship is alive.

It really stands out to me how much responsibility you’re carrying.

You want to pay back your parents.You want to support your community.You want to care for a future family.

You’re not asking money for luxury.

But you are asking for stability and independence and the ability to breathe.

That’s all incredibly human.

And I just want to point out that even though you describe exhaustion, you also share real evidence of movement.

You paid off your student and auto loans, reduced medical debt, opened a Roth IRA…

These are not small things.

These are signs that even with the difficulty, the relationship has been changing.

Maybe not as quickly as you hoped… But it is changing.

And sometimes when progress happens slowly, it is harder to recognize.

The thing I hear the most clearly in your letter is persistence.

You’re still asking questions.Still working.Still imagining a future where the relationship with money feels calmer and more supportive.

That kind of persistence doesn’t guarantee an easy outcome but it does keep the relationship open.

Your exhaustion is real. But so is the effort you’ve continued to bring to this relationship.

And that may be one of the strongest foundations for building something steadier over time.

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. 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

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—

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I would love to never have to worry about you. But that’s difficult when you’ve been so scarce lately. Honestly, I’m at a loss for how to keep you around.

I hate to sound desperate, but I do miss you. And I’ll admit it — you’re an important part of my life. You matter a great deal.

But the truth is, I hate having to think about you at all.

Even when there’s enough of you, I prefer putting you on the back burner. I have other things I’d rather spend my time on.

I know that sounds wrong.

I just don’t like the thought of appearing materialistic. That’s not a good look for a woman. I guess that belief is sexist… and probably something I need to get over.

My middle-class upbringing also taught me not to value you too much. That you’re not everything. That you can’t buy happiness.

I’ve since learned that you can at least buy peace of mind.

Working for a bank helped me see that more clearly. It also helped me question some of the assumptions I was raised with.

And having that job was my way of trying to make sure you’d be in good company for a while. But eventually I got too tired to keep up the charade — a career I increasingly hated, even though it kept you nearby.

I need something that makes me happy too.

I’m still working on that.

But it would ease my mind to have you back for a little while. Just while I figure things out.

I promise I’m ready to work on learning more about you — and better understanding how to help you stay.

Does that sound good to you?

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 this letter, what stands out to me is the tension you’re holding.

On the one hand, you miss money.You say it pretty clearly: you matter a great deal.

But on the other hand, there’s a part of you that wishes you didn’t have to think about money at all.

And that tension is normal.

So many of us were raised with a story that caring about money somehow makes us smaller, makes us materialistic, greedy, selfish.

Especially for women, there can be an added layer — the message that talking about money too openly makes us look bad...

So we keep our distance.

We say things like:Money isn’t everything.Money can’t buy happiness.

Money isn’t what matters to me.

And there’s truth in those statements.

But sometimes those ideas become a way of keeping money at arm’s length — a way of staying morally safe by pretending the relationship doesn’t matter very much.

The problem is that our relationship with money doesn’t disappear when we stop paying attention to it.

In fact, the less attention we give it, the more uncertain the relationship becomes.

And the uncertainty tends to create fear.

I hear that cycle very clearly in your letter.

You don’t want to seem materialistic, so you keep money in the background.Because it stays in the background, it remains uncertain.And because it’s uncertain, it becomes frightening.

And that brings money right back to the center — but now with anxiety attached.

That’s a difficult loop to live in.

What I appreciate about this letter is how willing you are to question the assumptions you have… the ones you grew up with.

You name the sexism.You name the messages from your upbringing.

You also describe how working at a bank was a different kind of influence. It helped you to see money differently.

All of this reflection you’re doing matters.

It’s demonstrating in real time how our relationship with money doesn’t stay the same.It is something that evolves as we do.

And there’s something else in your letter that I find so honest.

It’s when you describe working in a career that kept money nearby — even though the work itself made you increasingly unhappy.

That’s another story so many of us live in.

The idea that the only responsible way to keep money around is to choose the steady path… even if that path slowly drains the life out of you.

So we end up faced with an impossible choice:

Ignore money and risk instability.Or pursue money in ways that make us miserable.

Is it surprising that so many of us avoid the conversation entirely?

What I hear in your letter, though, is someone who is beginning to step out of that bind.

You’re not pretending money doesn’t matter anymore.You’re not pretending happiness doesn’t matter either.

You’re allowing both of those truths to exist at the same time.

And that’s where a more honest relationship with money can start.

You say you’re ready to learn more about money now.Ready to understand how to help it stick around.

That’s a powerful shift. Because curiosity is a very different place to begin than avoidance.

The tension is still here.But so is your capacity to face the relationship directly — without pretending money doesn’t matter, and without pretending that it’s everything.

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. 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