I’m Not Letting Money Write My Story Anymore!
How a lifetime of financial wounds led me to create a radical experiment in healing scarcity, together in community.
I gave Money my decision-making power.
It started as early as middle school when I started to think that I couldn’t make a living as a writer, so I needed a back-up plan. That led to Money determining what college I would go to, what I majored in at that college. What graduate degree I got. What job I took after college. What apartment I lived in. . . and so on.
Even though I willfully let Money make these decisions, I resented Her for controlling my life. But I kept giving away my power of decision making.
What resulted was a highly abusive relationship with Money.
I ignored money when it tried to get my attention—those unopened bank statements stacking up like unread love letters, credit card bills shoved into drawers where I wouldn't have to face the numbers.
I threw money away carelessly when I was angry or stressed, impulse purchases that felt like rebellion (or entitlement) but were really just tantrums.
I hoarded it when I was scared, clutching every dollar so tightly I forgot how to let it breathe and flow.
I manipulated money to make myself feel better without thinking about consequences—saying yes to teaching free classes because guilt felt safer than asking to be paid, undercharging for my work so people would like me, then resenting them for the very discounts I'd offered.
Then I realized, if money was a person, it would have left me years ago.
I was the abuser.
No wonder abundance felt so impossibly far away. I'd been pushing it away while simultaneously begging it to stay.
The Experimental Year
This year, I decided to completely shatter my scarcity consciousness.
I went radical.
I broke every business rule I'd ever learned about sales and pricing in hopes that I could start feeling abundant. . . for realz this time.
What if, instead of trying to convince people upfront that my work was worth paying for, I let the transformation speak for itself? What if I let them pay me after their experience with me based on the results?
I told my clients to pay me a little bit up front (barely enough) and then, invite them to donate more after they experience my work based on the results.
Gulp.
TBH - it feels like that moment before you do a trust fall off a 10’ platform into the arms of a crowd of strangers.
And yet, I believe in the quality and value of my work.
One. Hundred. Percent.
The idea is simple: What I do changes lives. My clients recognize that value when they experience it and because they are so grateful for the work we did together, they want to offer reciprocity.
True reciprocity comes from the soul's desire to balance the scales of exchange. Right?
Right.
Period.
I applied this same approach to several new clients who I knew were financially stretched, asking for a minimum donation with the invitation to pay more later, based on their experience. And, they can pay over time in a way that fits their budget.
The results are both breathtaking and brutal.
The breathtaking:
"If I had a million dollars, I would pay you all of it for what you've done here,"
"I'm in a tough financial state right now, but what I’ve experienced here is priceless. I wish I could pay more, and I'm happy to pay more over time. "
“I’ll pay you [enter astonishingly high amount] if you don’t mind me paying monthly over 2 years time.”
The brutal:
One person paid me the minimum, and then cut off his auto-pay promise as soon as our work was done.
One person never paid a penny and ghosted me entirely.
I realized I'd created an arrangement with no way to protect myself when other people's scarcity mindset kicked in. I guess I still have some learning to do on the money-front. Boundaries.
In the midst of all this, my husband’s income has significantly increased. At first I got jealous. How come he gets to make more money and I don’t? Then, he got real with me.
"This is OUR money," he said, "I wouldn’t be making money like this if it weren’t for you!"
While I still hiccup at fully receiving that reality, I'm training myself to accept this form of collaborative abundance too.
The Community Solution and Invitation
The one thing I have learned from this year of messy money experiments:
I can't figure this scarcity shit out alone.
The patterns are too deep, too entangled with family histories and cultural programming and nervous system wiring that goes back generations. Every time I thought I'd cracked the code, another layer surfaces. . . and I’m making progress, little by little.
What I do believe is that the best solutions emerge from processes that happen in community. When sensitive souls gather to witness each other's stories, to practice new patterns together, to hold space for both the spiritual wound-healing and the practical skill-building—that's where real change happens.
I’ve partnered with Dr. Axel Meierhoefer, a financial strategist. He understands that you can't just budget your way out of inherited money troubles, and I understand you can't just meditate-and-positive-affirmation your way to sustainable wealth.
We’re figuring this stuff out together,
and we want to invite you to join us.
Real transformation happens when you address both the spiritual healing AND the practical financial strategy.
Together, we have created this container for sensitive souls (including ourselves) to explore the scales of abundance and scarcity together.
We won’t be standing up front pretending we have all the answers. Because we don't. We’re still rucking our way through the muck, still catching ourselves in old patterns. Heck, I’m still learning how to receive my husband's abundance without that familiar hiccup in my chest.
Axel will wear his financial strategist cap, and I’ll wear my mindfulness spirituality cap. And we hope the participants who join us will bring their own creative-outside-the-box and lived-experience caps to the table as well.
Applications are now open.
And yes, we are structuring the payment plan similar to what I did with my private clients (with better boundaries). Cohort members will pay a base minimum and be invited to give a reciprocal offering after the program is over. Self-Study participants pay a simple monthly subscription fee.
Because maybe, just maybe, our sensitivity isn't something to overcome in our relationship with money. Maybe it's exactly what the world needs more of.
Thank you for sharing this, Teri. I’ve had such a similar relationship with money all through my life. I’m working on fixing it!
I tried an experiment with the first two years of the mindful writing course and let people pay on a Dana basis. But sadly I couldn’t support myself on what people offered. Even though some people paid slightly more than the minimum I suggested, most paid a lot less. I love what I do and am happy that I did that so that people were able to take the course and benefit from it but I had to change it this year and make it a fixed price. Which is still low for a full year’s program as I want to keep it accessible.
Your analogy of money as a person... "if money was a person, it would have left me years ago," and then your subsequent realization, "I was the abuser," is soooo freaking brilliantly unconventional and is a deeply insightful perspective.
We often talk about our relationship with money in terms of control, lack, or abundance, but rarely do we frame it within the emotional landscape of a relationship – complete with abuse, neglect, and manipulation. This flips the script entirely. If we treat money not as a cold, inanimate object, but as something with which we have a living, breathing connection, how might our behaviors shift?
Imagine treating your finances as you would a cherished, if sometimes challenging, partner. Would you ignore its calls (unopened statements)? Would you lash out at it with reckless spending (impulse purchases)? Would you hoard it out of fear, suffocating its flow? Probably not, if you truly valued the relationship.
WOW. I'm floored.