What Money Means: The Emotional Life of Our Finances

Money is rarely just about money.

In the therapy room, conversations about finances are often layered with something much deeper—fear, control, safety, identity, power, even love. What starts as “we keep arguing about spending” or “we’re not on the same page financially” quickly unfolds into a much more complex emotional landscape.

I’ve sat with couples who are stuck in cycles of conflict—one partner saving rigorously, the other spending more freely. I’ve worked with families where money becomes the unspoken tension at the dinner table, shaping decisions, opportunities, and even relationships. Different beliefs about money—what it means, how it should be used, how much is enough—can quietly, and sometimes loudly, strain even the strongest bonds.

One of my first questions when money comes up in session is simple, but often revealing: “What is your earliest memory of money?”

I ask about what clients were taught—explicitly or implicitly—growing up.Was money talked about openly?Was it something abundant, where needs (and wants) were consistently met?Or was it something scarce, unpredictable, or even anxiety-inducing?

More often than not, people pause here—this is where we begin to see that our relationship with money didn’t start with us; it was shaped long before we had any control over it.

For many of the individuals I’ve worked with, early experiences with money were tied to instability. Some grew up in households with low to no income, relying on government aid to get by. Meals weren’t always guaranteed. There was no financial cushion—only survival.

So when I sit with someone today who struggles to spend, or who feels an overwhelming need to hold onto every dollar, I don’t see rigidity—I see history.

Because for them, money is not just a number in a bank account. It represents safety. It represents survival. It represents the difference between having and not having, between stability and uncertainty.

And that meaning doesn’t just disappear when circumstances change.

In our work together, we begin to explore not only where these beliefs come from, but also where they’re going. I often ask: “What do you want your relationship with money to be?”

Not what it has been. Not what you were taught. But what you want it to mean moving forward.

For some, money represents freedom—the ability to make choices without constraint. For others, it’s about access—education, healthcare, experiences. For some, it’s security. For others, it’s flexibility or even the possibility of early retirement.

There’s no single “right” answer. But there is value in making it intentional.

My own perspective on money has been shaped by the wide range of environments I’ve had the privilege to work in.

Early in my career, I worked in homeless shelters, sitting with individuals navigating the most basic and urgent needs—safety, food, a place to sleep. Later, I found myself working with individuals and families in positions of significant wealth and influence.

And what I’ve learned, time and time again, is this:

Pain does not have a hierarchy.

Financial status does not exempt anyone from struggle, nor does it define the depth of someone’s emotional experience. The stress, fear, and conflict surrounding money can exist at every level.

Because currency comes in many forms—and not all of them are green.

There is emotional currency. Relational currency. The currency of time, safety, connection, and belonging.

When we begin to understand our relationship with money—not just behaviorally, but emotionally—we create space for more compassion. For ourselves, and for the people we share our lives with.

And from there, change becomes possible.

Money lives in the nervous system as much as it does in a wallet, carrying meaning, memory, and emotion—and being part of that healing, of reshaping one’s relationship to it, leaves me feeling grateful and rich beyond belief.

If you’ve never explored your relationship with money in this way, it may be worth asking where your story begins.

Meaning & Money,

Mandy