Money shame, shredded knickers, and charging what you’re worth
Money is fake, Harry Styles is forever*
I was trying to think of what to write about this week and thought maybe I should start at the beginning. With my earliest money memory. Because I am lazy efficient, I searched up one of my old blogs where I knew I’d written about this before. Turns out I did a month of money posts all the way back in April 2008.
Reading the posts, I realise that my relationship with money actually has improved a lot over the past thirteen (dear god) years. One big thing back then was that I always felt guilty about spending anything at all. I once posted on a money forum looking for advice about this and some man commented along the lines of “I don’t think you really feel guilty about all spending, do you. You don’t feel guilty buying groceries or petrol.” Wrong, random man! I felt guilty about any and all spending, you know, LIKE I JUST SAID I DID.
Part of what fixed that particular issue for me was going to America twice in 2018 to see Harry Styles (can you believe it’s taken me four newsletters to mention Harry Styles? The restraint). I went to New York in the June and then when I got back home, booked to go to LA the following month. Ridiculous really. But my marriage had just ended after twenty-two years, I had a bit of money (not enough, a friend paid for my LA flight and I paid her back over the following twelve months), and I just wanted to go and have fun with my friends.
And I did. I had the absolute best time. I sang and danced and ate and drank and laughed and felt more me than I had in forever. In the past, once my bank account was empty, I would fret about every bit of spending. Why did I buy that magazine? I shouldn’t have got that coffee. If I hadn’t missed that payment then I wouldn’t have had to pay a £12 fee. Why was I so irresponsible? Going to America to see Harry Styles (twice!) was probably irresponsible, yes. (And I absolutely appreciate the privileges that allowed me to do it at all.) But it was also one hundred per cent worth it.
And it finally made me realise that it’s almost impossible to put a value on things like that. I could have been sensible, saved the little money I had and stayed home. But I’ll always be glad I didn’t.
* graffiti spotted in New York recently
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This week, I’m talking to an amazing woman I’ve known online for a long time. I’ve been so thrilled by her recent (massive!) success.
An interview with Katherine May
Katherine May is a New York Times bestselling author, whose titles include Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times and The Electricity of Every Living Thing, her memoir of being autistic. Her fiction includes The Whitstable High Tide Swimming Club and Burning Out. She is also the editor of The Best, Most Awful Job, an anthology of essays about motherhood. Her journalism and essays have appeared in a range of publications including The New York Times, The Observer and Aeon.She lives in Whitstable, UK with her husband, son, three cats and a dog.
Why do you think women are often reluctant to talk about money?
So many reasons! I think we’re often ashamed - that’s certainly true for me. I always felt like I was getting it wrong all the time. I wasn’t saving, my pension fund was vanishingly small, and I was constantly in debt. I’d pay off one chunk, and then immediately get into more debt all over again. So I never wanted to talk about money because I felt like everyone else understood it on a level that I didn’t. It was embarrassing to be that incompetent.
Getting my autism diagnosis made me understand how much my shame at my financial issues were internalised ableism.
A few things have happened in the past few years that have helped me to unpick that. First of all, getting my autism diagnosis made me understand how much my shame at my financial issues were internalised ableism. I’ve had to drop out of every stable job I’ve ever had, and I’ve had many, many periods of poor physical and mental health.
I finally came to understand that those issues weren’t failures on my part, but just the effect of trying to live like someone who wasn’t autistic for my whole life. It was no wonder my money was all over the place. I forgave myself for a lifetime of trying to conceal a disability, and for just about staying afloat all that time. I actually did a good job.
Secondly, as I’ve got older it’s become clear how many of the people who say ‘money doesn’t matter’ - and look really cool because of it - are actually quite wealthy behind the scenes. I don’t just mean the people who are getting handouts from their parents, and keeping quiet about it. I also mean that people who know that, ultimately, they are going to inherit in the future. They can carry on looking bohemian and devil-may-care, because, ultimately, they know there are safe. I never had that luxury, so I had to do the uncool thing and be honest about needing to make a living. There is such a huge, hidden class dynamic in the way we talk about money, and the way we’re able to earn it.
I know so many women who’ve had autism and/or ADHD diagnoses later in life and have said similar to you - previously they thought they were just bad with money. Is there anything you think would help in how we teach/talk about money? What would have helped you?
Funnily enough, I don’t think the conversations we need are necessarily about money, but instead about neurodiversity. If we all get the chance to recognise that our minds might be working in a different way, we won’t have to live with the sense that our own difficulties are a dirty secret. I know that I’m working through a whole load of internalised ableism (and it’s definitely still a live issue for me), and what’s helped most of all is being able to see that others are in exactly the same boat.
I feel like I’ve forgiven myself for a lot because I was never terrible in the first place - I was just broke.
What is your relationship with money currently?
I’ve made good money this year (embarrassing to say that, but let’s do this). It’s a revelation, because after all those years of thinking I was terrible with money, I’ve realised that I just didn’t have enough to get by. Right away, I put enough aside to pay my taxes (that was always a panic in the past), and paid off my debts, and put some in my pension, and saved some for my son. All those sensible things that I thought I wasn’t doing because I was profligate and hopeless! It turns out, I just couldn’t afford to, and as soon as I could, I acted responsibly.
And I didn’t splurge, either. It took me six months to replace all my shredded, decade-old knickers with new ones. I’ve been able to donate to charity and help out people who need a little assistance. I feel like I’ve forgiven myself for a lot because I was never terrible in the first place - I was just broke.
Casting away that shame has made me realise that I’m allowed to carry on making sure I have enough. I feel comfortable with charging what I’m worth, with saying no to projects and gigs that don’t pay enough, and with breaking the connection that I used to carry between hours and money. That was a really challenging one - to ditch the idea that everything had to be paid by the hour, and that therefore I shouldn’t ask for too much. That concept has no utility for me anymore.
What’s your earliest money memory?
My parents separated when I was 3, and my mum was working part time as a waitress, so immediately money was extremely limited. It was talked about endlessly, and remember feeling very afraid that we would have to live in a special home for poor mothers and their children. I’m not sure if my mum said that would happen, or if I made that up. But I know that I used to watch every purchase my mum made and worry whether we could afford it. Every now and then, she would splurge on the credit card, and I would feel utterly sick. Money was such a hugely anxious issue for me, right from the start.
I think I absorbed the message that money would always be scarce, but also that it wasn’t good to have more than you needed.
Did your mum talk to you about it? What was your understanding of money as a child?
She talked about it all the time - I think I knew more about money than most kids did. I was conscious of every bill and debt, and every night I’d watch her sit and write all her expenses down in a little notebook. She still does that now. She’s so much more careful with money than I am.
I think I absorbed the message that money would always be scarce, but also that it wasn’t good to have more than you needed. We used to talk a lot about people being ‘flash’ with money - which really meant having things we envied. I’ve only just realised the constraints that put me under, believing I could never have enough, and that, if I did, I would become a vulgar, bad person; not ‘one of us’. Of course, it was her way of feeling okay about where she’d landed, but I took it as gospel.
What’s the biggest money mistake you’ve made?
Taking out an endowment mortgage in my early twenties. At the time, interest rates were high, but property prices where I lived were really low, so we realised it was cheaper to buy a small house than it was to rent a flat. I used my student loan to pay the deposit - and looking back, I made such a sensible decision there. But we were very aggressively sold an endowment mortgage by our bank (basically, you take out a high-risk investment that should pay off your mortgage in full at the end of the term), and in just a couple of years it was clear that it couldn’t possibly work out. The bank wrote to us to tell us so, and I felt stupid and humiliated. We had to buy our way out and start again. Looking back, I didn’t do much wrong, but I carried that with me as part of my big package of financial shame.
Oh, and also installing one of the very earliest hot water solar panel heating systems. The bastard thing has never worked properly, and keeps imploding. I can hear it whirring away upstairs as I type, and my heart sinks. There are huge disadvantages to being an early adopter, even if you’re a very well-intentioned one.
What’s the best thing you’ve ever spent money on?
Our first washing machine. Before then, we’d been driving our laundry to my mum’s house, and that got old very quickly. Going to the Co-op and choosing a Hotpoint was just such a great moment in my life!
Do you/have you ever had a f*ck off/running away fund?
Not specifically! But my money is my money. I think it’s so important to have separate bank accounts to your partner.
What's your happiest money memory?
Visiting my Auntie Betty once a month with my Grandma. She would give me a stack of 20p pieces, which I used to fit into a plastic tube that had once held mini easter eggs. I used to love the feeling of the coins in my hand.
Do you feel financially secure? If not, what does financial security mean to you?
I definitely don’t feel financially secure - but for once, I know I’m okay for a couple of years. I think to feel truly secure, I’d need to know that I had a steady income planned for the next couple of decades, and then a good pension. That feels like a big ask, to be honest. I think I’ll always feel a bit uncertain.
What would you do with £10,000?
Ooh I might install a garden office! I’ve always wanted one.
Super insightful read! I also ADORE that you went to see Harry twice in one year. Epic!!!
I know this conversation about money is sooooo important and I am here for it but....what I really want to talk about is seeing Harry Styles. Only seen him once, but oh my.