I was in my thirties when I realized I was still living like I was poor.
Not poor in reality—I was making decent money, had food in the fridge, could pay my bills. But poor in my mind. Poor in my nervous system. Poor in the automatic decisions I made every single day.
I’d buy the cheapest version of everything, even when I could afford better quality. I’d feel guilty spending money on anything that wasn’t an absolute necessity. I’d panic if my bank balance dropped below a certain number, even if that number was objectively fine.
I was still operating from scarcity. Still making decisions based on the fear that there would never be enough. Still carrying the weight of childhood poverty even though I wasn’t living in poverty anymore.
The external circumstances had changed, but the internal programming hadn’t. I was still running on the survival strategies I’d developed as a kid when money actually was scarce, when there genuinely wasn’t enough, when “going without” was just part of life.
And those strategies were sabotaging my adult life. They kept me stuck in patterns that ensured I’d always struggle financially, no matter how much I earned. Because it’s not about how much money you make—it’s about the beliefs you carry about money and what you deserve to have.
Growing up poor doesn’t just affect your bank account. It affects how you think, how you feel, how you move through the world. It programs your nervous system with messages about scarcity, survival, and your own worthiness that can follow you for decades.
I had to learn that I could have a different relationship with money now. That I didn’t have to keep living in survival mode. That the past didn’t have to determine my financial future.
But first, I had to understand exactly how growing up poor had shaped me—and why those survival strategies that helped me survive childhood were now keeping me trapped.
The Messages I Learned About Money (That I Didn’t Know I Learned)
When you grow up with financial scarcity, you don’t just learn “money is tight.” You learn a whole constellation of beliefs about money, about yourself, about how the world works. And most of these lessons happen without anyone explicitly teaching them to you.
For me, the first lesson was: money is always scarce and there’s never enough.
I learned this from watching my parents stress about bills. From hearing “we can’t afford that” so many times it became background noise. From the tension that would fill the house at the end of the month when money was tightest.
I learned that money was something to worry about constantly. That you could never relax about it. That there was never “enough,” even when bills were paid, because something else could always go wrong.
The second lesson was: wanting things is selfish and shameful.
When you grow up without much, you learn quickly not to ask for things. Not to want things. Because asking puts pressure on parents who are already stressed. And not getting what you want—because they can’t afford it—creates this painful combination of disappointment and guilt.
So you stop asking. You stop wanting. Or at least, you stop expressing what you want. You learn that your desires are a burden.
The third lesson was: your worth is determined by how much you struggle and sacrifice.
I watched my parents work themselves to exhaustion trying to keep our family afloat. I absorbed the message that this is what you do—you sacrifice yourself, you go without, you work until you break. That’s what good people do. That’s what family does.
Rest was luxury. Self-care was selfish. Spending money on yourself was wasteful. Your needs didn’t matter as much as survival.
The fourth lesson was: if things get too good, they’ll fall apart.
The few times we had a little extra money—a tax refund, an unexpected bonus—something would always happen. The car would break down. Someone would get sick. An emergency would eat up any cushion we’d managed to build.
I learned that you can’t trust stability. That good things don’t last. That it’s safer to stay in struggle because at least struggle is familiar. Getting comfortable just sets you up for a harder fall.
The fifth lesson was: you have to take care of everyone else before yourself.
Money wasn’t just about individual survival—it was about collective survival. If one family member had resources, they shared with everyone else. That’s what you did. That’s what family meant.
But it also meant you could never build anything for yourself. You could never get ahead because there was always someone who needed help. Your financial security was always secondary to the family’s needs.
These weren’t lessons anyone sat me down and taught. They were absorbed through experience, through observation, through the emotional climate of growing up with financial stress. And they became the operating system that ran in the background of every financial decision I made as an adult.
Why I Couldn’t Keep Money Even When I Started Earning It
Here’s what nobody tells you about growing up poor: even when you start making good money as an adult, your nervous system is still programmed for scarcity.
I got my first “real” job that paid decent money and I was so excited. Finally, I thought, I can stop struggling. Finally I can build savings. Finally I can feel secure.
But within months, the money was gone. Not because I wasn’t earning enough, but because I couldn’t hold onto it.
I’d get paid and immediately the money would start flowing out. Bills, yes, but also helping family members. Impulse purchases. Treating friends. Buying things I didn’t really need. It was like the money burned a hole in my pocket.
At first I thought I just needed more discipline. Better budgeting. More willpower. But the pattern kept repeating no matter how hard I tried to control it.
Eventually I realized: I wasn’t letting myself keep money because part of me believed I wasn’t supposed to have it.
Growing up, having money was temporary. Unstable. It came and it went, and you couldn’t count on it sticking around. So my nervous system learned: money doesn’t stay. Don’t get comfortable. Don’t build anything that requires sustained financial stability because it won’t last.
That belief was so deeply ingrained that even as an adult, even when I was earning consistently, I couldn’t let myself accumulate savings. The moment I started to get ahead, I’d unconsciously sabotage it. Spend it. Give it away. Create an “emergency” that required draining my account.
Because having money felt dangerous. It felt unfamiliar. It felt like pretending to be someone I wasn’t. And my nervous system would create whatever circumstances necessary to bring me back to familiar territory—which was struggling, just getting by, living paycheck to paycheck.
I was recreating the financial circumstances I grew up with because they felt safe. Because that’s what my nervous system knew. Because part of me believed that’s what I deserved.
The Guilt That Came With Having More
As I started earning more money and building some financial stability, a new feeling emerged: guilt.
Guilt for having what my parents never had. Guilt for achieving financial security they’d worked their whole lives for but never reached. Guilt for having options and opportunities they’d sacrificed to give me.
It felt like a betrayal. Like I was leaving them behind. Like my success highlighted their struggles in a way that was painful.
I’d visit home and see them still struggling with the same financial stress they’d always struggled with. And I’d feel this crushing guilt that I had money in my bank account when they didn’t. That I could buy things without agonizing over the cost when they still had to count every penny.
So I’d give them money. Help with their bills. Buy things for them. Try to ease their burden and assuage my guilt at the same time.
But it never felt like enough. And it kept me from building my own financial stability because I couldn’t enjoy what I had while they were still struggling.
There was also guilt around spending money on myself. Things that felt normal to other people—going to a nice restaurant, buying clothes that weren’t on sale, taking a vacation—felt wrong to me. Wasteful. Self-indulgent.
I’d hear that voice in my head: “Who do you think you are? That money could be used for something important. You don’t need that. People are struggling and you’re spending money on luxuries?”
Even “necessities” felt like luxuries. Good food. A comfortable place to live. Healthcare. Things I could now afford felt somehow undeserved because I’d grown up without them.
The guilt made it impossible to enjoy financial security even when I achieved it. I was always waiting for permission to feel okay about having money. Permission that would never come because the guilt wasn’t rational—it was trauma.
How Poverty Rewires Your Nervous System
Here’s what I learned: growing up poor doesn’t just affect your thoughts about money. It literally changes how your nervous system functions.
When you’re in chronic financial stress—especially as a child when your brain is still developing—your nervous system gets stuck in survival mode. You’re constantly scanning for threats. Constantly on edge. Constantly preparing for the next crisis.
That hypervigilance becomes your baseline. Even when you’re objectively safe, even when you have enough money, your nervous system is still operating as if you’re in danger. As if the next financial catastrophe is just around the corner.
For me, this showed up as:
Inability to relax: Even when bills were paid and I had money in the bank, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. I couldn’t enjoy financial stability because I was always waiting for it to fall apart.
Constant anxiety: Low-level anxiety about money that never went away, regardless of my actual financial situation. My nervous system couldn’t distinguish between “we didn’t have enough growing up” and “I have enough now.”
Overworking: Pushing myself to exhaustion, taking on too much, never feeling like I was doing enough to earn security. Because growing up, security came from working yourself to the bone, and anything less felt dangerous.
Difficulty making decisions: Every financial decision felt monumental because my nervous system treated them as life-or-death choices. Choosing between two options—even small ones—would trigger overwhelming anxiety.
Physical health issues: The chronic stress of poverty—both past and present—manifested in my body. Digestive problems. Sleep issues. Tension that wouldn’t release. My body was still carrying the stress of childhood scarcity.
This is what trauma does. It rewires your nervous system to stay in survival mode. And when that trauma is financial, your nervous system associates money with danger, scarcity with safety, and struggle with survival.
You can’t think your way out of that. You can’t just “choose” to believe differently. Because it’s not a thought problem—it’s a nervous system problem. And nervous system problems require nervous system solutions.
The Moment I Realized I Was Still Living in the Past
The breakthrough came on a completely ordinary day.
I was at the grocery store, shopping for food. And I caught myself doing what I’d always done: buying the cheapest version of everything. Generic brands. Sale items. Whatever cost the least.
But then I stopped and looked at my cart. And I realized: I could afford better. I could buy the brand I actually preferred. I could choose quality over price. I had enough money that this decision—organic vegetables versus regular, name brand versus generic—didn’t actually matter to my financial security.
But I was still operating as if I was broke. Still making decisions based on scarcity that didn’t exist anymore.
And I thought: How many other decisions am I making this way? How many areas of my life am I still living like I’m poor when I’m not poor anymore?
The answer was: most of them.
I was still wearing clothes until they fell apart instead of replacing them when I wanted to. Still living in a cheap apartment I didn’t like because spending more felt wrong. Still saying no to experiences I wanted because spending money on “fun” felt frivolous.
I was making good money, but living like I was broke. And not just in practical terms—in emotional terms. I was still carrying the stress, the anxiety, the fear of scarcity even though the scarcity wasn’t real anymore.
The external circumstances had changed, but my internal programming hadn’t. I was still running on software from childhood that was designed for a different reality.
And until I updated that software—until I helped my nervous system understand that I was safe now, that there was enough now, that I could make different choices—nothing would really change.
I could earn more money, but I’d still feel poor. Because poverty wasn’t just about money. It was about the beliefs and trauma that poverty had created.
How Tapping Helped Me Rewrite My Money Story
I started using FasterEFT tapping to work through my childhood financial trauma. And it was hard. Because I had to revisit memories and feelings I’d spent decades trying to avoid.
I tapped on specific childhood memories: Times when I’d heard my parents fight about money. Times when I’d asked for something and been told we couldn’t afford it. Times when I’d felt the stress and fear in the house and absorbed it as my own.
As I tapped through each memory, acknowledging the feelings that came with it—the fear, the shame, the helplessness—something started to shift. The memories lost their emotional charge. They became just things that happened, not evidence that I was doomed to always struggle financially.
I also tapped on the beliefs themselves:
“Money is always scarce. There’s never enough. I can’t trust stability. Good things don’t last. I don’t deserve to have financial security. If I get comfortable, everything will fall apart.”
Each time I tapped on one of these beliefs, it would soften a little. Become less like absolute truth and more like old programming that could be questioned.
I worked on the guilt—the guilt of having more than my parents, the guilt of spending money on myself, the guilt of not sacrificing enough. That guilt had been driving so many of my financial decisions, keeping me trapped in patterns that ensured I’d never get too far ahead.
As I released the guilt through tapping, I started to see that my success didn’t diminish my parents’ struggles. That I could honor what they went through while also building a different life for myself. That I didn’t have to stay poor to prove loyalty to where I came from.
I tapped on the nervous system dysregulation—the constant anxiety, the hypervigilance, the inability to relax even when things were okay. I worked on teaching my nervous system that it was safe now. That I had enough now. That I didn’t need to stay in survival mode anymore.
This part took time. Your nervous system doesn’t update overnight. But gradually, over weeks and months of consistent tapping, I started to feel different. The baseline anxiety decreased. The fear that everything would fall apart loosened its grip. I could start making decisions from a place of enoughness instead of scarcity.
What Changed When I Stopped Living Like I Was Poor
The changes were both practical and profound.
Practically, I started making different choices. I bought better quality items that lasted longer instead of cheap things I’d have to replace. I moved to a nicer apartment that I actually enjoyed living in. I spent money on experiences—trips, concerts, meals with friends—without the crushing guilt.
I built savings. Real savings. Not just a few hundred dollars that would get wiped out by the first emergency, but actual cushion that made me feel secure. And I could keep the savings instead of unconsciously sabotaging and draining them.
I stopped helping family members in ways that drained my own resources. I set boundaries. I helped when I genuinely could, but I didn’t sacrifice my own financial stability to do it. And surprisingly, they adjusted. They respected the boundaries once I was clear about them.
I allowed myself to have nice things. Not extravagant things, but nice. Things that brought me joy. Things that made my life more comfortable. And I didn’t feel guilty about it anymore.
But the deeper change was internal. I stopped feeling like an impostor in my own life. I stopped waiting for everything to fall apart. I stopped carrying the weight of poverty even though I wasn’t living in poverty anymore.
I started to feel like I deserved financial security. Like I was allowed to have enough. Like my success wasn’t a betrayal of my roots but a testament to my resilience.
The voice in my head that used to say “who do you think you are?” started to quiet down. And a new voice emerged: “You’re allowed to have this. You’ve earned this. You deserve financial peace.”
That shift—from scarcity to enoughness—changed everything. Not just my bank account, but my entire relationship with money, with myself, with what I believed was possible for my life.
The Training That Helped Me Heal
I learned how to use tapping for financial trauma through Robert Gene Smith’s Mind Over Money training.
What made this program so valuable was that Robert understood something crucial: poverty isn’t just about money. It’s trauma. And trauma requires trauma-informed healing, not just financial advice.
The training walks you through:
- How childhood experiences create your adult money patterns
- Why you might recreate scarcity even when you don’t have to
- How to identify and release limiting beliefs about money
- Specific protocols for working through financial trauma
- How to rewire your nervous system’s relationship with money
Robert teaches you how to use FasterEFT to address the root causes of your money struggles—the old wounds, the survival strategies, the beliefs formed in childhood that are still running your adult financial life.
If you grew up poor and you’re still carrying that programming—if you feel like you can’t escape scarcity no matter how much you earn—I highly recommend checking out Mind Over Money [AFFILIATE LINK].
They also offer a free 5-day introduction to FasterEFT [AFFILIATE LINK] if you want to start with the basics and see if tapping can help with your money story.
You Can Have a Different Story
If you grew up poor, I want you to know: you’re not doomed to struggle financially forever.
The programming you absorbed as a child—the beliefs about scarcity, worthiness, struggle, sacrifice—they’re powerful. They’re deeply ingrained. But they’re not permanent.
You can rewrite your money story. You can heal the trauma that keeps you stuck in survival mode. You can teach your nervous system that you’re safe now, that there’s enough now, that you’re allowed to have financial security.
It’s not easy. You can’t just think positive thoughts and override decades of conditioning. You have to actually work through the trauma. Feel the old feelings. Release the old beliefs. Rewire the nervous system responses.
But it’s possible. I did it. And if I can—someone who was absolutely convinced that poverty was just my destiny, that I was fundamentally programmed for scarcity—then you can too.
You deserve to feel financially secure. You deserve to make choices from abundance instead of scarcity. You deserve to stop carrying the weight of childhood poverty into your adult life.
Your past shaped you. But it doesn’t have to define you. You can have a different money story. Starting now.
This post is part of my series on healing your relationship with money. For the complete story, start here: [Money Mindset Blocks: How I Finally Broke Free from Financial Stress and the Belief That I Always Have to Struggle].
If checking your bank account triggers intense anxiety, read this: [Money Anxiety: Why Checking Your Bank Account Makes You Want to Throw Up].
Medical & Professional Disclaimer: I am not a medical doctor, licensed therapist, counselor, or qualified financial professional. The content and information provided throughout this website and within this article are intended strictly for educational and informational purposes only. This material should not under any circumstances be interpreted or utilized as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, mental health counseling, or professional financial planning and legal counsel. Always consult with a certified healthcare provider or qualified professional regarding any specific physical, mental, or financial concerns you may have.
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