An anonymous creative admits a truth many of us avoid: money doesn’t just create stress—it creates fear. This episode sits with what happens when overworking becomes the only source of safety, and what it means to name that fear without rushing to fix it.

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 am simply terrified of you. I’m scared to look at you, to use you, to touch you—to do anything involving you. I’m so scared that I can’t even tell whether my situation with you is good or bad.

The only thing that feels stable is when I’m working like crazy. When I’m working nonstop, I feel like I spend you less and earn you more… but I also feel miserable. Still, at least that’s when I feel secure.

Even then, I can’t relax. I still worry about whether you’re really there—whether you’ll still be here next month, or two months from now, or whether you’ll disappear in a matter of days. Maybe it’s anxiety. Maybe it’s that I don’t trust myself. I don’t even have strong urges to spend you, but I’m terrified of something horrible happening and not having enough of you to protect me.

The worst part is that I have to spend you in order to keep pursuing my art. And when I spend you, I have to work more. But when I work more, I have less time to actually make the art. Sometimes I take jobs I hate just to keep you close enough to survive—and so I can still call myself an artist. I would rather work harder to have more of you than work less, do more art, and risk losing you.

Everyone in my life has a tendency to throw you away. I’ve watched family members find success and spend everything on hobbies and interests until you’re gone. I’m so scared that will happen to me that it feels like we can’t trust each other. You can’t trust me, and I can’t trust you. But all I want is for you to be on my side.

I want you to have my back—so I can explore my creative impulses and support my artistry in a real, tangible way. I could be an actor, probably. My dreams might actually happen. I could live in New York without the fear that I’ll have to run home crying, needing help.

I would do anything to have you in my life forever… but I don’t even know where to start.

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 believe that when someone says, “I’m terrified of money,” we often rush to explain it away. Anxiety. Lack of information. But I think your fear is actually a very intelligent attempt to stay safe.

Your fear makes sense.

You’ve learned that the only time you feel even a little bit secure is when you’re working relentlessly. When you’re exhausted. When you’re overriding your own needs. That’s not a personal failing — that’s a nervous system doing its best to protect you.

For all of us… money can stand in for lots of things. And it’s often things we want… abundance, freedom, power, success.

But in this case I notice how much money seems to be standing in for something you NEED: Safety.

And when money is holding that much—when it’s responsible for whether you can rest, or breathe, or trust the future—of course there’s terror.

Of course there’s overworking.

Of course letting go feels impossible.

What also stands out to me is that this fear isn’t coming from recklessness.It’s coming from memory.

You’ve watched money disappear in the lives around you.You’ve seen what happens when it’s spent too freely, trusted too easily, assumed to be endless.So you learned to become the one who never lets it slip.

That’s not a flaw.That’s a strategy.

And it’s been working—just not without cost.

I’m struck by the bind you’re living in:You have to work more to feel safe —but working more pulls you away from the very creative life you’re trying to protect.

I don’t hear a budgeting problem here. I hear the weight of something that’s been lost—or maybe never fully felt possible.

Underneath all of this, I hear a mourning for a life that feels just out of reach. A life where you could make art without fear. Where you could live in New York without a constant escape plan. Where money had your back instead of holding you hostage.

Right now, money isn’t the thing you trust.Work is.

Work has become the coping strategy.Work is the place where control lives for you.

And until that’s acknowledged — until it’s spoken out loud — nothing “practical” will ever land.

So if you were sitting with me, I wouldn’t start with how to fix this.

I’d ask:When did working yourself to the edge become the only way you felt allowed to feel safe?

Not to answer today.Not to solve.Just to notice.

Because the first step here isn’t changing your behavior.It’s honoring the intelligence of the strategy you’ve been using — and gently questioning whether it still has to cost you everything.

You said you don’t know where to start.

I want you to know this:You already have.

Telling the truth about fear — without trying to dress it up or outgrow it — is the beginning.

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