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.