When Money Feels Truly Hopeless… (read this)

I wrote a while back about romanticizing financial stability. In the blog post, I discussed my awareness that money doesn’t motivate me the way it does a lot of people and I shared that I have a hard time valuing the long-term payoff of accumulated money for consistent sacrifice of health, joy, social and familial balance, and autonomy.

Since sharing that vulnerable look at my inner world and the general state of my bank account, hundreds of people have reached out to thank me — they’ve told me they relate, that they have the same struggles, that they’ve felt so alone in the dark with their shame, and that it feels truly hopeless… but that “permission to romanticize” their perspectives on money and the value of their time has been a liberating experience.

Confession: I am ashamed about money every single day.

I talk about self-love and self-acceptance every single day; it’s something I am always working on. It’s actually becoming really easy to practice and talk about from a mental health standpoint. I am proud of who I am becoming…

But behind the scenes, there’s one aspect of my life I have completely compartmentalized and separated from all of that self-love…

I’ve spent the last two years walking around referring to myself as “useless,” “worthless,” “a burden,” “a pain in the ass,” “absolutely hopeless,” etc. because of my financial situation and the way that everyone who spends time with me has to help me in some way, whether it’s waiting until I have money for gas or driving out to get me, providing dinner, or offering me a place to sleep.

In the face of mental and physical chronic health flare ups and under the influence of a horrible drug reaction, I’ve become what plenty of people would describe as “a bum.”

But I’m also a writer… and I wouldn’t work a 9-5 even if I could.

I insist on finding a way that doesn’t involve exploiting or taking advantage of anyone.

So… maybe I am a worthless bum. Maybe I’m just being spoiled because I won’t work for someone who I believe is hurting the community with their values, their practices, or their products… and that doesn’t leave me a lot of options.

Maybe I deserve to be broke — maybe I have no right to complain about my struggles with brokeness, because while I have very valid reasons for my situation, even if I didn’t I would probably still be in this position.

At least, that’s what the cruel voice in my head says. (Realistically though, without the chronic illnesses, I would be much more physically and mentally capable of growing and sustaining the business and work I do have — and I would likely be much better off. It’s a hard thing to remember when the voice of shame and self-judgment comes in, but it’s the truth. I hope reading it helps you, too.)

Often, in our current economic system, financial stability is out of reach for people with chronic illnesses and for people who are neurodivergent.

Because much of my situation is chronic and systemic, getting out of this rut has felt increasingly hopeless. My lung disease is progressive and treatment for mental health is unpredictable and ongoing, full of very intense ups and downs and complications that can pull even the strongest people out of everyday life. If you’re going through any of these things, I’m writing today for you.

Romanticizing financial stability isn’t the answer to all of my problems, but it’s part of my long-term plan to get better.

Because while I am choosing to romanticize financial stability as a way of continuing to work toward relief from the financial pit I am in, I want to make sure you realize this is a long-term strategy for me.

There’s plenty about being broke that is not shiny, fun, or romantic… but if I were to just shut down and suffer, bury myself in shame at the state of financial instability and insecurity I am in, I’d be just as unalive as if I was able and willing to dive into a job that steals away what’s left of my health, my energy, and the time I still have to live.

There’s balance, though. I also choose to find positives in being broke.

It’s true: I am romanticizing being broke, and I’m not going to apologize for it.

Here’s how I’m doing it, and precisely why I’m not sorry.

I hope it gives you some perspective and freedom to lighten up on yourself, to be kind, and to hold on even though it feels hopeless. I hope it also allows you to give that hopelessness the space and caring it needs, because it’s real and it’s big, and it’s not something you have to pretend isn’t there.

5 Reasons I Romanticize Being Broke:

1. Wallowing is a waste of my time.
   
   Hating myself and my life while I’m broke is a waste of precious breaths I get to breathe… We broke-folks can see the light all around us and still work to get to a better place.
   

2. It doesn’t hurt!
   
   Making peace with a crummy situation does not mean I am not motivated to improve my situation.
   
   For the judgmental people reading this — or maybe just for the mean voices in us broke-folks’ heads:
   
   I can tell you for certain, no amount of gratitude for glimmers is going to make staying broke a tempting and easy option. Trust me, even if we see the bright side of where we are, we still very much want things to be better.
   

3. Focusing on what I’m grateful for gives me energy to generate more.
   
   In fact, when I allow myself to see the good around me and experience gratitude for what I do have, I tend to make better financial choices, get myself surrounded by people who are making better financial choices, and have more energy overall to do what needs to be done to improve my situation.
   
   It’s a classic case of positive reinforcement vs punishment. We need nurturing, not brow-beating. If we could punish ourselves into a better situation, that would have worked by now.
   

4. Who decided life was about money and that the worst thing a person could be is broke, anyway?
   
   Most of the people our society puts on pedestals were perpetually broke. Most of the artists we adore went through wild financial highs and lows. Why are broke people the “untouchable” class of America? I don’t agree with that. Even before I was broke, I didn’t agree with it, and now that I’ve had the experience, my beliefs are even stronger. People are worthy regardless of their income or their possessions. Stop letting capitalism make you believe different.
   

5. There are things to celebrate in life that have nothing to do with money.
   
   While I can’t always make money, I can always celebrate and contribute things that money can’t buy.
   
   Things like kindness…
   Like peace-making…
   Like a sense of home and feeling loved — for partners, in friend circles, at local events…
   
   Some of the most sensitive and vulnerable people in our society struggle the most to generate a consistent and sufficient income, and I am one of them. But what I lack in money, I bring to the table in neurodivergent skillsets that people who function very well in this system tend not to have. A community needs all of us, not just the ones who can make six-figures a year.

Romanticizing a bad thing can be toxic…

Romanticizing being broke can look like the dreamy videos we see on YouTube of vanlife that show people traveling the country, meeting people all over the world, and having lots of highly interesting experiences — a lot of this type of content hides the financial reality and struggles creators face behind the scenes. That’s not the kind of romanticism I’m talking about. I understand that they have to portray that picture, sometimes, in order to maintain their relationship with the brands and subscribers who pay them and provide what income they do have… but for me, romanticizing being broke is not about painting a horrible thing in gold to hide the struggles.

But it’s not always a bad thing…

Instead of pretending everything is just beautiful and perfect all the time, I view romanticizing being broke as noticing and naming the glimmers alongside the tough stuff. I’m just acknowledging the little sparkles of joy and delight and opportunity and gratitude as they occur within an otherwise extremely difficult and unpleasant experience.

This is not the same as toxic-positivity. My head is not in the clouds.

I know my situation isn’t going to flip overnight because I “visualized” it well enough. I know that chanting chipper affirmations is not going to change bad money habits or teach me how to handle money as it comes in.

One of the ways I romanticize being broke is by cherishing opportunities to practice being the kind of not-broke person I want to be. That’s a glimmer for me — moments where I get to strengthen my self-discipline muscle.

If you’re going through it, let’s just have a moment to acknowledge some of the tough bits together, shall we?

You have to let the anger exist and find healthy outlets for it, or else it will either eat you alive or explode… For me, the first step to finding glimmers in my situation was just allowing myself the time and space to acknowledge, feel, and express how deeply depressed, betrayed, and angry I was.

Here’s what I really think about while being broke and unable to fix it over more than a year:

It sucks not being able to indulge in a little treat over and over and over and over for months and years on end while you’re being bombarded with bills that, no matter how much you make and who you pay, never seems to end or get any smaller.

It sucks paying one bill only to have coverage on something else you desperately needed lapse for lack of payment.

It sucks making payment plans for months on end and then getting to the point where people will no longer accept partial payments, and you still aren’t able to pay the full amount. Months and years of working your tail off trying to make those payments all feel like they were worth nothing at all as the service gets cancelled anyway.

It sucks to feel entirely alone and hopeless as you explain to the human at the company that you do not have the funds due to a hospitalization, a family emergency, or for reasons you can’t even explain to a perfect stranger.

It sucks when you realize there is nobody who wants to hear if you’ve been trying to find psych meds that work for your condition, and who understands what a wildly terrifying and exhausting experience it is trying out medications for your brain that take upwards of three months to fully take effect and can cause literal insanity, suicidal thoughts and attempts, and overwhelming brain fogs that force you to do nothing but sleep.

It sucks when the treatments for an illness literally require that you not work and that you take medications that will incapacitate you for months on end — and the “right” thing to do is to follow the doctor’s orders… but that means all of your finances are absolutely screwed.

If you’ve been through this, I’m preaching to the choir. But as much as I hate to air my dirty laundry, I’m doing it because I want you to know that you are not alone.

You’re not alone. You’re not a lost cause. I know it feels so. damn. hopeless. I know you’re not getting anywhere. It just keeps coming. It keeps going. I know you’re trying — I believe you.

So there’s all of that…

And then there are the reasons “normal, healthy people” are broke right now too:

And then we add the strains of the pandemic, what that whole experience has done to all of us mentally, the weight of capitalism and the rise of recognition of neurodivergent conditions and the process of learning to cope with what we now know about ourselves and this system that wasn’t built for life for the many (but rather for profit for the few), the unprecedented increases in cost-of-living and the lack of increase in relative pay, and the housing crisis…

I don’t know about you, but where I live, it is completely normal for people between 20 and 40 to be living in campers, out of their vehicles, or with their parents. Not because they’re in college, not necessarily because they’ve just gotten divorced or been widowed, not to care for an elderly parent (though, that is an issue too as the cost of living and healthcare impacts the elderly)… We’re living in dependent housing situations not for any of those reasons, but simply because standard housing is completely unattainable for us. Even for a two-income household, housing is no longer less than 60% of a family’s earnings. That is insane. That’s unreal. It’s not someone being lazy or dramatic, it’s not just a couple sick people making a fuss. It’s a crisis and it’s real and people in hopeless financial situations and with long-term unstable housing are the real-life consequences of what’s happening.

This is sort of like new genre of trauma, or at least one I haven’t heard of yet.

I’m calling it financial trauma, and what you see here is how I’m coping — and trying to share some hint of healing or solidarity with others who might be silently going through it alongside me.

When I say I’m romanticizing being broke and I am also romanticizing financial stability… what I mean is that I am finding peace in the balance of accepting where I am and working toward a very big, very impossible-feeling long-term goal in which the odds are stacked against me.

When I say I’m romanticizing being broke, I mean that I am making the best of a situation that has exhausted my soul and threatened my life too many times to count.

I’m saying: I am done being cruel to myself and accepting the message that I am worthless if my income is not greater than my expenses.

I’m also saying, to myself: I want better than this, I want ease and I want to be the kind of person that, no matter who I say it to, when I say “I will give you this for that,” I can be trusted to deliver on that promise. I’m saying that I have not given up on being true to my word — whether it’s about paying an agreed upon amount for car insurance or repaying debt to a friend.

I’m saying: I am angry, so angry, at the multi-billion-dollar corporations who go out of their way to harass me for $80 while I lie in broken pieces on the floor… I am angry that my precious few pennies are lining the pockets of millionaires as I pay for services that are legally required to have — as I cut my expenses to the bare minimum of what it takes to legally reside, to exist as a living human being, in a very small box in a small town — and it’s still not enough. I’m angry that there are fees added for not having enough money, for the way the system demands more, more, more, more, more and now.

I am acknowledging, to myself, that this is wrong. I know that if I saw someone struggling the way that I am, I would want to help them, not add to their burden. No matter how little I had, no matter how badly I needed the dollars, I would not do this to another human being. When I romanticize my financial situation, I am doing it while also holding space for this reality. I am reveling in the opportunity to show myself that I will not give up on me, I will not gaslight myself about what is real and just to me, I will not value myself less for something as worthless as money. I would not do it to someone else, so I won’t do it to myself.

By romanticizing being broke, I’m offering myself a hand.

I’m not saying it’s all fun and fine and dandy all the time. I’m just saying, “hey, you’re allowed to smile. That doesn’t cost a thing. You can smile, you can laugh. You can dance, that’s free too.”

I’m saying to myself, “you might have to live like this for a while, so do it on purpose. Do it the way you can be proud of yourself for. You are still alive, so act like it.

Take up space, make sounds, experience wonder, share jokes with strangers. You are here. Be here.”

I’m sorry this post can’t offer you concrete answers about how to make more money from home, how to cope with chronic physical or mental illness in the office, or even how to invest and create passive income streams that will pull you out of this hopeless financial hole…

But I hope what it lacks in step-by-step solutions, it makes up for in hope and self-acceptance. This uphill battle is so exhausting and I’m sick of doing it silently and all by myself. Here’s a hand out to you, let’s climb together… and let’s laugh by the fire together in the meantime. We are alive, broke or not, so let’s act like it.