An anonymous writer shares what happens after the debt is gone—when saving becomes another way fear tries to keep us safe. This episode sits with how scarcity can linger long after financial “success,” shaping choices even when nothing is technically wrong.

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,

When I was a kid, I was scared I would never have enough of you as an adult. My mom was a teacher, so she never had much. My dad could never hold down one job for long, so he definitely never had enough. I figured that if I kept my head down and worked hard, maybe my future could be different.

I took out student loans—lots of them. I took out a car loan to afford my first car when I moved to Los Angeles. And… there it was. Suddenly, you were nowhere in sight.

Still, I told myself I would never regret going into debt for my education. I worked hard, cut coupons constantly, and budgeted the best I could for years. And now, my student loans are paid in full, I own my car, and I have no long-standing credit card debt.

Weirdly, my problem now is that I find myself hoarding you.

It’s as if what I have is never enough—as if something terrible is bound to happen, and at least I’ll be prepared for the worst.

Some people might say, “You have plenty of money in savings—how is that a problem?”

Well…

I worry that I should be investing you more, but my lack of knowledge and confidence leaves me continuing to just save you instead.

I worry this obsession with endlessly saving you is keeping me from pursuing more in my life: starting my own business, living in a slightly nicer apartment, or even buying a house.

I worry that making sure you’re always coming in keeps me in jobs I don’t love instead of finding possibly lower-paying work that might actually feed me creatively.

Now that I’m an adult I can see that I’ve built solid money habits - that I probably don’t actually need to be worried about you at all. But the fear that you might suddenly leave—that you’ll just disappear one day—well now that’s the thing holding me back.

I look forward to the day I can see you as an ally and truly trust you. I hope that trust will allow me to move forward in all the other areas of my life.

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, I’m struck by how careful this relationship with money has been.

You learned early that money could be unreliable. That it might not stay. That it might never quite be enough. And so you did what we’re told is the right thing to do.

You worked hard.You took calculated risks.You invested in yourself.You paid your debts.

And it worked.

THAT really matters.

You took out student loans and weren’t dragged under.You borrowed money to buy a car and survived it.You built habits.You did the long, unglamorous work of responsible day in, day out sacrifice.

You did that.

And yet—here you are, still afraid.

What stands out to me is that this fear didn’t disappear once you “proved” yourself. It didn’t go away once the debt was gone or once the savings account grew.

And let’s be honest - I think that’s what we believe is going to happen.

As soon as I get “here” I won’t be afraid anymore.

Instead, the fear just changed shape.

It went from you “better do these things or else” to you “better hold on really tight to these things or else”

There’s something here that’s helpful to recognize.

We’re often told—pretty explicitly, everywhere—that confidence comes after success. That once we do enough, earn enough, save enough, trust will naturally follow.

But your letter tells a different truth.

You did the things.And trust didn’t arrive.

Instead, safety became something to protect at all costs.

As I read this, I don’t see someone who doesn’t trust money because they’ve misused it.I see someone who doesn’t trust money because they’ve learned (watching others) how easily it can vanish—and they’ve learned first hand how much effort it takes to rebuild.

Saving became the place where certainty lives.The proof that nothing bad has happened yet.

And so the question has shifted from

“Do I have enough?”to“How do I make sure this never disappears?”

That’s a very understandable shift.

But it also creates a strange bind.

The very habits that kept you safe…are now the ones making your life feel smaller.

You’re not stuck because you lack discipline.You’re stuck because the finish line keeps moving.

I’ll trust you when I invest more.I’ll trust you when I feel smarter.I’ll trust you when nothing bad happens for long enough.

But “long enough” has no end date.

What I notice is that trust here isn’t waiting on more evidence.You already have evidence.

It’s waiting on permission.

Permission to believe that the skills you’ve used to reach this place…might also be the skills that will catch you whenever you leap.

You say at the very end of your letter that you look forward to the day when money feels like an ally.

I wonder—what it would be like to look at your relationship with money and notice that money already has been an ally.

Not perfectly.Not without fear.But consistently.

You’ve faced challenges. You’ve made tough choices.

You adapted.You learned.You stayed standing.

Maybe trust doesn’t arrive all at once, like a finish line you cross.

Maybe it begins the moment you stop asking money to guarantee the future—and start noticing how often you’ve already found your way through uncertainty.

Not to decide anything today.Not to change a single behavior.

Just to notice.

That the fear didn’t stop you before.

And it doesn’t have to be a verdict now.

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.

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