My Scarcity Brain 🧠

You know what? I’m really glad I finally caught on to my scarcity mindset with money 💭. Some people go through life with it and never even realize, letting it quietly steer every decision they make. Instead of focusing on the people around you — which is what actually matters — it turns into obsessing over that number in your bank account 💸. The dollar signs become the main character, and everything else just plays a supporting role.

Seriously, any little financial bump would make me the happiest person alive, just like that. A bonus, a salary increase, my stocks ticking up, scoring 10 bucks on a scratch card, or heck, even finding a loonie on the sidewalk (that’s our Canadian $1, eh? 🍁). Pure joy every time. It was almost laughable how my entire mood rode on… numbers. NUMBERS! 🔢One email, one bank update, one tiny uptick in my portfolio, and suddenly my day was saved. One missed refund or a surprise fee and I’d spiral into full‑on “my life is over” energy.

Money Vision 🧐💰

I was — and okay, I’m still kinda this way sometimes — super laser‑focused on my finances, but not in a healthy, productive way. Have you ever opened the fridge like five times a day, hoping food magically appeared even though you didn’t grocery shop that day? That’s me with my banking apps. I’d check it multiple times a day, right there in the palm of my hands. When my screen time for finances beats out social media, you know something’s off, right? 📱

I wasn’t just checking my balance; I was doing full‑on financial audits of myself. “Did I spend too much on groceries this week?” “Was that lunch a little too expensive?” “Should I feel guilty about that one Uber?” Everything became a tiny moral test. My worth felt tied to how well I managed that little green number.

Let’s be honest — who wants to grab dinner with someone nitpicking every menu price or quietly judging their friends’ choices? Unfortunately, that was me, and looking back, I totally get how annoying it must’ve been. I’m honestly surprised my friends still want to hang out with me. The menu wasn’t “Pho Ga” anymore — it was just “$15.99” screaming at me. The price tag picked my food, not my taste buds. Apps or drinks? Never in my vocabulary. “Just water, please.”

And those servers busting their butts for tips? They got my automatic 10%, sorry! 🫠 I justified it by telling myself I “couldn’t afford more,” even when I technically could. I was so focused on saving that I forgot how much it costs to feel human in a room full of people. I was emotionally tip‑starved while worrying about a few extra dollars on a bill.

Savings Obsession⚠️

I’m talking clearance‑aisle gold here — the kind of thrill that makes your heart race when you find a red sticker deal. And trust me, I still love a good bargain. But wow, did I used to take it too far. I’d grab 50%‑off meat even if it looked a little… questionable in color 🥩 (I swear it just needed “better lighting,” right?). Those Lululemon shorts for 25 bucks at 75% off? Too small? Whatever — deal’s a deal! I convinced myself I could diet my way into them, forcing myself to wear them uncomfortably just because I’d paid for them. They went straight to the Salvation Army donation pile a few months later. Money saved? More like money wasted 💸.

For the longest time, I built my identity around being “the one who never overspends.” But somewhere along the way, I forgot to ask if I was spending well. Sure, I avoided splurges, but I was still mis‑spending — filling my space (and brain) with clutter, guilt, and regret. Every “cheap” win felt good in the moment, like I’d outsmarted the system, but really, I was just chasing the high of the bargain hunt. I wasn’t buying for joy, I was buying for validation. And ironically? I fell right into the “buy twice, not buy nice” trap — spending more in the long run on replacements, fixes, and frustration. 😢 Sometimes cheaping out can be just as expensive as indulgence.

Risk Tolerance Yo-Yo 📉

Shoutout to my parents’ classic money advice: save every penny and avoid investing because “it’s basically gambling.” So my cash sat in my chequing account for years, collecting dust while opportunity costs piled up 🧊. I’d glance at my “safe” balance, pat myself on the back, and totally ignore how inflation was quietly eating away at my efforts. Eventually, I opened a TFSA (yay, progress!), but the money just sat there again — same story, different account. No tax savings, no growth, just vibes. 😐 I honestly didn’t know better.

But later? Greed snuck in, dragging me into wild day trading, crypto chaos, and margin mishaps. I went from zero risk to full‑on YOLO mode, trying to make up for “lost time.” Epic fails — my most expensive lessons by far. I over‑leveraged, over‑hyped, under‑thought. A tad embarrassed, but hey, I soaked up the wisdom 🦉. I learned that both extremes — total fear and total recklessness — are just scarcity wearing different outfits. I talk more about that messy chapter in Shameful Dough 🥖.

Money First, People Second💵💰

For years, I convinced myself that staying on contracts was the smart, disciplined choice. No perks? Who cares — I was getting that sweet 4% vacation pay on every paycheque, and at the time, that felt like winning the financial game. 🌕 My logic was simple: if more work meant more money, then working always came first. Unpaid days off? Absolutely not. I treated rest like it was irresponsible.

So even on our trip to Vancouver to visit family — I couldn’t disconnect. I was up at 6:00  am PT, laptop open, chasing emails and back-to-back meetings. By the time I finally logged off around 2:00  pm PT/5:00 pm ET, I’d slap on a smile, join dinner half‑awake, and crash by 1:00 am, only to start over the next day. Total zombie mode 👻 — half present, half panicked, pretending I was “balancing” both worlds.

The irony — I was chasing “financial safety,” but in the process, I was emotionally bankrupting myself. I thought I was protecting my future, stacking stability like currency, when really, I was spending the most non‑renewable resource I had: time. The people I loved most were right there, laughing and living, and I was too busy calculating security to notice I already had it.

It hit me much later that protection without presence isn’t protection at all. All the money in the world doesn’t matter if you’re too tired, too distracted, or too “busy being responsible” to feel the joy it’s supposed to bring. The accounts I was safeguarding would’ve meant nothing if the people I worked for — my family — weren’t actually there to enjoy it with me. ❤️✨