Everyone Is Worried about Money
How do you feel about your money situation? I’m not asking for the answer you give your friends, family or colleagues, but for the truth. At three a.m., when you wake up and can’t sleep, how do you feel about your finances?
“There’s always something and we can’t seem to move ahead.”
—couple; household income: $80,000
“I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. I’m sick of being broke.”
—single; personal income: $45,000
“We have good incomes and we don’t live extravagantly, but I feel like we are always strapped. I feel broke.”
—couple; household income: $110,000
“How are other people doing it? Why am I falling so far behind?”
—single; personal income: $60,000
I run a financial planning firm and I hear the above statements every day when I meet with clients. Over the past 10 years I’ve had thousands of conversations as I sat down with everyday people to talk about their money. And we get it all out on the table—every financial secret, embarrassment, fear, win and loss. The process can be cathartic, enlightening and truly amazing.
I get to cut right to the chase with people. “Hi, nice to meet you. How much down payment did you put on your house? How much money do you make? What are your hopes, dreams and fears? Do you lease or own your car?” (I’m lots of fun at parties.)
People don’t lie or sugar-coat their finances when they talk to me. I get to peek behind the curtain into their financial lives and realities. Like a financial confession booth, I am privy to the true financial story, not simply what’s posted on social media or spoken in person at dinner parties—“Yeah, things are great” or “We spent more than we wanted but it was worth it.” They trust me with the real deal, the nitty-gritty numerical details, and it’s not a responsibility I take lightly. I love that I’m able to create a space where it feels safe to disclose things like these:
“I feel like I can’t win.”
—client in his mid-30s
“I feel like we did everything that we were supposed to, and yet here we are.”
—couple in their mid-40s
“I don’t think we have enough to stop working.”
—soon-to-be-retired couple who remortgaged their mortgage-free house to help their children pay off massive student loans
Sound familiar? When you allow yourself to be honest, the words you might find yourself using to describe your finances include frustrated, exhausted, scared, resentful and guilty. All these are just other words for feeling broke. Feeling broke means you’re worried about money. You’re convinced there just isn’t enough. You believe that if you just had a bit more money, surely you’d be less stressed, more fun, healthier, a better partner, a better parent. Happier. Successful. Less anxious. Safe. Maybe you could slow down, safe in the knowledge that you have the things you need. And maybe you could breathe. If you just had more money.
A decade ago, my clients didn’t feel as squeezed, hopeless and frustrated with their financial lives as they do now. The drastic increase in the use of the word broke caught my attention a few years ago. People in urban centres, the suburbs, the country; single, married, with or without kids—it didn’t matter. Client after client was saying to me, “I feel broke.” They all had this feeling of financial frustration and unease.
The interesting thing is that, on paper, these people are not actually, numerically “broke.” But being broke and feeling broke are two different things.
Let me be clear. In this book—and most of the time in my office—I’m not talking about the finances of individuals and families who don’t have enough to pay for basic necessities like food, shelter and health care. That situation, while still hopeful, requires a different set of financial solutions, financial planning and support that we won’t dive into here. In this book I’m talking about the financially frustrated middle class, those who earn a living wage right up to the downright privileged, but who all feel like they cannot get ahead. They feel stuck and they worry—a lot—about their financial future.
So what’s actually happening when you’re feeling broke? The real problem is that you don’t truly know if you are on track or not. Are you going to be okay financially? Or are you actually falling behind? It feels like there’s no real way of knowing. Just because you have some credit card debt doesn’t mean that you’re never going to be able to retire. And just because you have savings doesn’t mean you’re financially okay either. When you don’t know if you’re on track, you never know what you can afford.
If you don’t know what you can and cannot actually afford, every purchase feels terrifying. Was the $40 takeout a bad financial decision that you should beat yourself up for, or was it okay? Will an extra $100 in rent really push out your dreams of home ownership for years, or will it make no difference at all? How guilty and afraid should you actually be when you spend money? This constant sense of vague guilt makes it feel as if there’s no plan and no strategy to your finances.
And it doesn’t stop with spending. That guilt spills over into your savings—or lack thereof—too. I’m sure you know the benefits of saving and I’m sure you’re already worried about saving enough. How can you not be when low wages, rising home prices and the creeping fear that robots could take over your job dominate the modern economic reality and populate every news cycle? It starts to feel as if every single dollar you earn should be stored away, protected and saved for a rainy day—hell, a rainy decade. But life costs money and you have to spend money at some point. It’s a trap. You worry if you spend and you worry if you don’t. As a result, you find yourself worried about money, and often.
In the past when things felt financially scary, you may have turned to hardcore budgeting to gain control of your finances, but this type of budgeting simply does not work. It’s not the answer. Budgeting makes you feel truly broke, which leads to overspending, under-saving and general anxiety about the future.
Being both a certified financial planner and a certified life coach, I often make the joke that in my financial planning practice I use my life-coaching skills 80 percent of the time and that the rest is just an Excel spreadsheet. But there is truth to this. I listen. I hear you and people like you, and I’ve seen the mounting guilt, anxiety and frustration when it comes to money. I know what’s making you worry and I know how to help, so you can stop budgeting and start living life without financial worry.
It’s about changing your financial perspective and learning to say no. And it came to me years ago after I got into a massive fight with my then-future husband in an IKEA store.
An IKEA Fight
It was a Saturday afternoon. I was staring intensely at a Billy bookcase as if it were a piece of art that I needed to appreciate, terrified that an IKEA sales associate would ask me ever so cheerfully if I required assistance. If that happened I’d have to speak, and if I had to speak, I’d cry. A public IKEA cry. Ugh! The worst. Thankfully it was busy and the sales associates were swamped as they helped other people: people buying new kitchens, planning for babies, sprucing up bedrooms.
Only 30 minutes earlier Matt and I had been laughing in the car as the radio blared a Kim Mitchell song. We were driving to IKEA because we needed a new couch. Simple enough, right? But that couch took on a life of its own.
Our current couch was a 25-year-old hand-me-down. It was starter furniture. The statement piece of a couple who had moved in together right after postsecondary and gratefully accepted whatever they could scrounge from friends and family. In our small apartment it fit right in with our camp chairs, a folding picnic table and a mattress lying on the floor as our bed. Back in those early days I’d stumble home from my Bay Street job every night and we’d cook up a stir-fry or meatballs, and then we’d curl up on that couch to watch Planet Earth DVDs (we didn’t have cable, and streaming wasn’t a thing back then). We’d laugh and talk about our day, completely happy with our big dreams and our cast-off furniture.
Three years later we had paid off our student debt. We moved to a flat with wood floors and bought a bed frame (a big day for us). Then I quit my high-rollin’ Bay Street job to start my own company. This, I can assure you, had not been part of the plan.
By that Saturday at IKEA, I had been running my business for just over two years. I was doing okay, keeping my head slightly above water, but had nowhere near the income or financial security I’d had with my Bay Street job. I worried nearly constantly that I had thrown us off course financially with my decision to quit.
I worried that we were falling behind. Moments when we had to say no to social events or purchases were like a punch to my gut. A brutal reminder that the reason we couldn’t afford to spend money was because I had quit my job. I felt inadequate and utterly insecure. And, to drive home that overwhelming sense of inadequacy, I was inundated daily by social media posts from peers who had stayed the course at their professional jobs. They all appeared to be managing just fine. I would wake up at three a.m. in a panic and scroll through photos of vacations, weddings, home renovations and fabulous designer couches—$2,500 couches. The kind I could have afforded if I hadn’t quit my job.
In the morning I would tell myself to stop being ridiculous. Everything was fine. Yes, things were taking longer than expected with the business, but we were debt-free. Things weren’t so bad. We were planning a wedding and we could afford a new couch. Just not a $2,500 designer couch—and therein lay the problem. Despite our lack of debt and my gradually growing business, deep inside I feared that we were not only falling behind but might never truly recover. And it was all my fault.
That was why I was about to cry in the IKEA store. The lump in my throat had nothing to do with furniture and everything to do with money fear, guilt and the pressure to keep up.
You should know that our home was and still is wall-to-wall IKEA furniture. I love that place. But in that moment I didn’t want one of their couches. I wanted a couch from a designer store. A gorgeous $2,500 grey couch with an ottoman. I had been Internet-stalking it for months.
When Matt and I went to look at it, he said, “Um, this couch is $2,500, Shan.”
And I replied, “That’s because it’s high quality and has a 10-year warranty.”
He looked skeptical. “It’s an investment,” I insisted. “If you amortize the price over 10 years, it’s only $250 a year, right?” (Wrong. I hadn’t added in tax or delivery. That couch was actually going to cost about $3,000.) “Wouldn’t you pay $250 a year for a beautiful couch?” I continued.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We should check out some other stores to compare. We haven’t even gone to IKEA yet.”
I did not want to go to IKEA. I knew that we would find a lovely, reasonably priced couch and my dream of owning the expensive grey designer couch would be destroyed. But he insisted. So off we went. Compromise.
Upon arrival, we headed straight to the couch department, where I saw in the IKEA distance just what I had feared: a lovely grey couch very similar to the $2,500 ($3,000) designer couch. My heart sank. I tried to rush past it and distract my husband by making some silly joke about nothing.
“Oh, hey!” he said. “Look at this one!” Crap. He’d spotted it.
“What about it?” I asked.
“It looks exactly like the one from the other store.” He picked up the price tag. “Sweet! It’s $600! So much more affordable.” He looked at me expectantly, like he wanted to fist-bump or something. I was not interested in fist-bumping.
I protested. “This is the same couch that—” I listed three friends who owned this exact couch. (That was true.)
“So?”
“So we can’t have the same couch as everyone else.” (That was my insecurity talking.)
He looked at me curiously, as though he didn’t quite recognize me. “We’re talking about a difference of $1,900. I don’t think we should spend that much more on a couch when this one is almost exactly the same. We can’t afford it.” (That was a punch to the gut.)
This was where Logical Shannon exited the scene completely. My face burned hot. “Of course we can afford it,” I insisted. “I make money, you know. Our couch is disgusting; it’s falling apart. It embarrasses me when people come over.” I remember it clearly—I was seething. People were staring at us.
“Sure, but why can’t we just get the more affordable couch?” he asked. “I don’t get it. You’re acting so strange right now.”
“Because we aren’t broke,” I growled. (There’s that word.) “You need to grow up!”
That was when I turned and headed straight for the bookcases, fighting back tears, leaving him with his mind whirling, insulted, humiliated and confused. It was terrible. I cringe just thinking about it.
Before you judge me as the most snobbish, out-of-touch woman on earth, let me admit that in that moment I had lost all perspective. I wasn’t myself. I was being ruled by an overwhelming sense of money fear and inadequacy. And, as I was coming to realize while I stared at the display books on the shelf, when we feel inadequate, we make bad financial decisions.
As my blood pressure came down, I started to realize that this was a familiar feeling. Having couch envy was like being 12 years old again. When I hit Grade 7, I began to understand the difference between those who had money and those who didn’t have as much.
“Look,” one of my friends said, pointing to a group of really cool girls at school. “They all have Tommy Hilfiger jeans. Those cost like a hundred bucks. Their parents must be loaded.” Since most people in my public school were not “loaded,” rich parents held big currency in the popularity department.
It was funny. I hadn’t noticed the brand of jeans the other girls wore until it was pointed out to me. To my surprise, my friend was right. This was some sort of secret expensive-jeans club. I begged my parents for a pair. They said no a million times until finally, for my birthday, I got a pair. It was such a big deal.
I wore the jeans to school and the leader of the secret expensive-jeans club said “Nice jeans” to me. I beamed.
I realized in the IKEA store that the grey designer couch was simply my grown-up version of Tommy Hilfiger jeans. I wanted the couch to help me feel that I could keep up, to fit in with those who seemed more successful than me. Maybe I could point it out when one of my ex-colleagues came over and hope it would prove that starting my own business had been okay, that I hadn’t made a huge mistake by leaving Bay Street, putting us financially behind forever. All of a sudden, in the midst of the Billy bookcases, I could see that this overwhelming pressure to keep up was making me feel inadequate and broke. It made me want to overspend on the designer couch to prove my financial worth, even though I knew we shouldn’t.
I literally shook my head. Wait, what? That’s ridiculous. Enter: Perspective.
This realization gave me a moment to pause and ask myself: Could we actually not afford the designer couch? While buying the couch wouldn’t make or break our retirement, that didn’t mean we could really afford it. As I continued to “examine” the bookcase, I did some quick calculations in my head. In order to pay for it without credit, we would have to eat into our wedding fund or our emergency fund by $3,000. I was not willing to do either. The wedding was coming up soon, and as a self-employed person, I knew the importance of an emergency account.
The other option was to pull out the credit card and swipe. But I also knew that we couldn’t realistically reduce our spending money by more than $300 a month without increasing the likelihood that we would go into even more debt. That meant that it would take us approximately 10 months to pay down the couch. I didn’t want that either.
Because of my job, I knew that overspending like that would simply leave me feeling more anxious about money and guilty every time I sat on the fancy couch. It would be a physical reminder that I had overspent and made a foolish financial decision. We could not afford it. Buying the designer couch meant short-term happiness in the moment in exchange for longer-term pain. Not worth it.
So I said no. I took a breath, apologized for my epic meltdown and said, “Let’s do the IKEA couch.”
All these years later, I’m curled up on that IKEA couch as I write this. While it might not be the ergonomically friendly way to sit with a laptop, I’m comfortable and I like this couch. I don’t resent it now and I didn’t resent it then either. I didn’t ruminate about how I couldn’t get what I’d wanted, and I made a point of no longer looking at designer couches online. In short, I appreciated what I could have and I didn’t feel like I was settling, and that was key.
Buying the more affordable but still lovely IKEA couch meant that we were living within our means. For us the IKEA couch was the compromise between financial responsibility and happiness. We still got a great couch and I didn’t create more guilt and money anxiety by overspending. That’s why it felt good.
So why am I telling you such an embarrassing story right off the bat? Because that IKEA fight shifted the way I gave financial advice for years to come. I believe it’s the main reason why my business, the New School of Finance, has a waiting list. It was the birthplace of Worry-Free Money—the idea that it is possible to live within your means without hating your life, and that all you need is a little self-knowledge.
The couch fight showed me the importance of understanding the underlying reasons for wanting to overspend. Once I understood why I felt compelled to overspend, it was much easier to find perspective and say no. I wasn’t really upset about the couch. I just wanted to overspend on the expensive one to prove to myself that I wasn’t a financial failure. My own financial sh*t was making me feel broke and afraid.
Saying no to overspending allowed me to continue living within my means and to appreciate what I did have, instead of comparing what I didn’t have to what others did. Powerful stuff. That experience laid the groundwork for how I give my clients advice and financial solutions to this day.
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Imagine living a life that makes you feel happy while still being financially responsible. Imagine feeling hopeful about your financial future. Imagine feeling that you have control over your finances once and for all. It is possible. It’s Worry-Free Money.
This book explores the reasons why you feel broke and want to overspend, while also showing you how to stop budgeting and start living without fearing for your financial future. In the coming chapters you’ll discover how to—
• Understand the underlying reasons for why you want to overspend.
• Understand what you truly can and cannot afford, without budgeting.
• Spend money on things that make you happy.
• Say no to overspending (and yes to saving).
• Stop comparing yourself to others.
Mastering all five will give you control over your finances, enjoyment of your life and hope again for the future. That’s Worry-Free Money.
A few housekeeping items before you deep-dive into the awesome financial world of Worry-Free Money.
Since I’m a certified financial planner, I use many client stories in this book, which means you’ll be getting a glimpse into the private financial lives of everyday people. It’s important for you to know that every story in the book is told with the express permission of the client who inspired it and that all the names have been changed.
My company, the New School of Finance, works with clients from all walks of life who are diverse in age, location, privilege, sexual orientation and cultural background. The financial stories in this book reflect that diversity. From those who are struggling to make ends meet to others who are big, big earners, everyone is worried about money.
Last, there is a super-helpful Resource Library at the back of the book to help you create your own financial plan as you read. Bust out your calculators, people. It’s time for Worry-Free Money.
My mission is to offer you the kind of empathy, support and realistic financial strategies you need in order to survive modern life, to move you from simply understanding financial concepts to implementing positive changes in your life without resentment. By the end of this book, you’ll be living within your means without hating your life, and truly believing that everything’s going to be okay. I promise.
NOTE: No savings accounts were harmed during the making of this book.