I want to make more money, but it’s like I’ve got one foot on the brake and one foot on the accelerator.
I’m 35 years old.
My business isn’t growing as quickly as I had hoped. There are things I could do to make more money, but it’s like I’ve got one foot on the brake and one foot on the accelerator.
Why is my foot on the brake? Don’t I want to make more money?
As if in answer, my memory takes me back 20 years…
I’m 15 years old.
My friend Rob wants to buy something that costs $50. He doesn’t have the money, and he asks me if he can borrow $50.
I have the money. I like to save up, but there’s nothing urgent that I’m saving for. I want to help, and I want to be a good friend.
And I have no reason not to let him borrow it, so I would feel guilty and selfish if I said no.
Rob never paid me back.
At some point, I stopped bringing it up because I didn’t want to nag or cause drama.
I’ve been running this pattern for the past 20 years.
I’ve carried this lesson with me since that day:
If I have money, people will want me to give it to them.
I’ll feel guilty if I say no when charities come knocking at the door. I’ll feel guilty if I say no when a friend asks for a loan. I’ll feel guilty not paying for dinner if I have more money than the person I’m eating with.
Guilty, guilty, guilty. Where does this guilt come from?
Ah. It’s my old familiar frenemy: I must earn others’ love because I’m not inherently worthy of love.
Is that really true? Nope. I’m worthy of love, just as I am. I place my hand on my heart and I feel it.
Holding this feeling in my heart, I imagine a friend asking me for money.
I imagine myself saying no, compassionately but not wishy-washily.
I anchor this feeling into my heart. It feels like love, and that surprises me.
I bring this new feeling into my business. I raise my prices. It feels like love, and that surprises me… but it surprises me a little less this time.
And I don’t mind if you want me to give you my money. It’s cool. But money and I have other plans.