In 2023, I thought a lot about money

Published on 4 December 2023

In 2023, I thought a lot about money. I didn’t just think about it though: I dreamt about it, I worried about it, I panicked about it. 

My body and brain responded to money in ways that, actually, aren’t so new to me: tightness in my chest, a sense of constriction around my lungs and heart, a skull clenched for hours at a time. Stress responses, essentially. 

These responses blurt up in the smallest of acts (Should I get the bus? Should I get a two pinter? Which petrol?). These are all things I have done for a long time. But 2023 was the year I started to notice I was doing it.

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A few years ago I was asked to take a pay cut at a company I worked for to get through a challenging time. The pay cut was just about manageable, my partner and I could make things work. When the company got back on track the pay cut ended. 

Except that I offered not only to extend my pay cut, but to actually take a further pay cut. This would not have helped the company in any measurable way; its finances were fine. But the surge of guilt I felt around my salary was so intense I felt sacrifice was my only option.

This wasn’t the first time I’d done something like this: I’ve negotiated my salary down, demurred on pay rises and dropped my day rate unprompted.

Sacrifice and shame are really ingrained in me. I grew up in a house where the financial comfort of others was a sign of a life selfishly lived. Meanwhile, in other parts of my family, generosity could only be one-way; you could buy the drinks, but never accept the drinks.

In 2023 I learned that I’m an Underearner. This is A Thing, in the same way Alcoholism and Co-dependence are: my relationship with money acts as a veil between myself and the world. It shapes what I do and how I interact with others in ways that can feel total.

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What underearning means for people varies wildly. I didn’t grow up in poverty. I don’t live in poverty now, either. I don’t live beyond my means. But I also don’t trust my worth, and habitually undervalue myself. I can pop a meaty tick beside just about every symptom on the list Underearners Anonymous publish.

I reject the possibilities of things that could bring me happiness, joy. I commit to isolated work instead of being an active and engaged teammate. I don’t trust people’s confidence in me, and so try and reprove my competence at core skills instead of building on their trust.

I exist in this weird state between vagueness and hyper-awareness. I might, for instance, check multiple times in one day (or night) how much money I have left in my accounts and what that means for my “cash runway”. At the same time, I neglect work that helps me understand what I need or want to earn, and what that might mean for my future.

Because my relationship to money is out of balance, I acutely limit my life and potential. I underlive, and so I underearn, and so I underlive and so on.

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This year I made an effort to behave differently. I had to: every time I read the words ‘cost of living crisis’ I could feel my exhausted little adrenal glands ineffectually puffing air.

Two breakthroughs happened in parallel. First, I saw a leaked ratecard from a recruitment agency. Seeing myself in this context shocked me. At the place I was working at the time I was charging about a third of what I should have been. 

Not long after, I attended an Underearners Anonymous meeting. On going, I heard people sharing their experiences – all so varied – and saw a space where people wanted to feel in balance about money. 

I’m not both feet in on UA. For now, I’m just feeling out the boundaries of what money means to me, how it shapes my behaviour, and how it impinges on my relationships. I’ve started to have more open conversations with people about money, started to accept advice about rates and value. Baby steps, but steps all the same.