I’m 61 years old and just last week, I had a panic attack in a Wells Fargo parking lot because I couldn’t remember if I’d moved money to cover the mortgage. Turns out I had. Three days earlier. But there I was, hyperventilating into a Starbucks bag (empty, thankfully) because my money mindset is still stuck in 1987.
You’d think after six decades on this planet, including building a successful career, surviving divorce, and managing to keep three kids alive and educated, I’d have my money stuff figured out. Spoiler alert: I didn’t. Not even close.
It took Curtis almost dying, a therapist who didn’t let me BS my way through sessions, and reading my bank statements at 3 AM like they were horror novels to finally face the truth: My money beliefs were older than my kids and about as useful as a flip phone at an Apple store.
Belief #1: “Good People Don’t Care About Money”
This gem came straight from my mother, who grew up during the Depression and thought wanting money made you morally suspect. In her world, good people were content with “enough” and never, ever talked about wanting more.
For 50 years, I believed that caring about money made me greedy. I’d literally apologize for getting raises. When I started making good money as a CFO, I felt guilty. I was making more than my ex-husband, more than my siblings, more than my parents ever dreamed of. And instead of being proud, I was ashamed.
The breakthrough came during a particularly expensive month when Curtis needed medical treatment. I was stressed about money, and my therapist asked, “What would happen if you cared about money as much as you care about Curtis’s health?”
Mind. Blown.
Money isn’t evil. It’s not even moral or immoral. It’s a tool. Like a hammer. You can build a house or hit yourself in the thumb. The hammer doesn’t care. Neither does money.
Now I care about money openly. I track it, plan for it, talk about it without apologizing. Turns out, caring about money doesn’t make you greedy. It makes you responsible. And at 61, with retirement staring me down like an angry cat, responsible feels pretty damn good.
Belief #2: “I’m Bad With Numbers”
This is hilarious because I’M LITERALLY A CFO. I manage millions of dollars at work. I can read a P&L statement like it’s a grocery list. But my personal finances? I convinced myself I was “bad with numbers” when it came to my own money.
The truth? I wasn’t bad with numbers. I was scared of them. My personal bank statements felt like report cards, and I was terrified of failing.
The story I told myself: “I’m creative, not analytical.” “I’m a big-picture person.” “Details aren’t my thing.” All lies I used to avoid looking at my credit card statements.
What changed? I started treating my personal finances like I treat work finances. Would I ever not look at the company bank statements because I was scared? Hell no. I’d be fired.
So I fired myself from being the household CFO who never looked at the books. Now I have a monthly “money date” with myself. First Sunday of every month, coffee, spreadsheet, and brutal honesty. No judgment, just numbers. Turns out I’m actually excellent with numbers when I’m not hiding from them.
Belief #3: “Talking About Money Is Tacky”
Another gift from my upbringing. Nice people don’t discuss money. It’s crude, vulgar, inappropriate. You know what else is inappropriate? Being 61 and not knowing if you can afford to retire because you’ve never talked about money with anyone.
This belief kept me from:
- Negotiating salaries (lost probably $200K over my career)
- Discussing finances with Curtis until after we were married
- Teaching my kids about money (they learned from YouTube, God help us)
- Asking for help when I needed it
- Sharing strategies that could help others
The Wells Fargo parking lot incident? That happened because I hadn’t told Curtis I was anxious about money. I was trying to handle it alone, silently, like a “lady.” You know what ladies in parking lots having panic attacks need? Communication, not silence.
Now Curtis and I have weekly money talks. Not romantic, but necessary. We discuss everything – spending, saving, fears, goals. My kids know what I make, what I owe, and what I’m planning. My friends and I share investment tips and budget hacks.
Talking about money isn’t tacky. You know what’s tacky? Pretending everything’s fine while you’re drowning in financial anxiety.
Belief #4: “There’s Never Enough”
This is the scarcity mindset special, served with a side of anxiety and topped with panic sprinkles. No matter how much I had, it never felt like enough.
Making $30K? Not enough. Making $60K? Not enough. Making six figures? Still not enough. The number changed but the feeling didn’t.
This belief turned me into a money hoarder. Not saving responsibly, but hoarding out of fear. I had seventeen different savings accounts (I’m not exaggerating) for different catastrophes I imagined. The “what if Curtis gets sick again” account. The “what if I lose my job” account. The “what if the car explodes” account.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t living. Date night? Too expensive. New shoes to replace the ones held together with prayer? Can’t afford it. That art class I wanted to take? Definitely not.
The shift happened when I did the math. If I actually needed all my catastrophe funds simultaneously, I’d have bigger problems than money. I was preparing for an apocalypse while missing my actual life.
Now I have three accounts: Emergency (6 months expenses), Goals (vacation, home improvements), and Fun (because joy isn’t optional at 61). That’s it. And you know what? It’s enough. More than enough.
Belief #5: “I Don’t Deserve Wealth”
This was the deepest, ugliest belief. Somewhere in my psyche, I believed I didn’t deserve to be wealthy. Comfortable, maybe. Secure, hopefully. But wealthy? That was for other people. Smarter people. Better people. People who didn’t grow up in a duplex with a single mom.
This belief sabotaged me in ways I’m still discovering:
- I’d give away money I needed because others “deserved it more”
- I’d undercharge for my services
- I’d make risky financial decisions that ensured I’d never get “too comfortable”
- I’d feel guilty for wanting nice things
The moment this changed: Curtis and I were at a fancy restaurant for our anniversary. I was looking at the prices, doing mental math, feeling guilty about the cost. Curtis said, “Honey, you’ve worked your ass off for 40 years. You deserve lobster if you want lobster.”
I cried. Right there over the bread basket. Because he was right. I did work my ass off. I did sacrifice. I did earn this.
Deserving wealth isn’t about being perfect or special or lucky. It’s about recognizing your value, your contribution, your right to enjoy the fruits of your labor. At 61, I finally believe I deserve financial security, nice things, and yes, lobster when I want it.
The New Money Mindset at 61
My new money beliefs, tested in the real world:
Money is a tool for freedom, not a measure of worth. My bank balance doesn’t make me good or bad. It makes me more or less able to choose.
I’m capable of managing money well. I run million-dollar budgets at work. I can handle my personal finances.
Talking about money is healthy and necessary. Silence breeds anxiety. Communication creates solutions.
There is enough, and I can create more. Abundance isn’t about having millions. It’s about knowing you can handle whatever comes.
I deserve financial security and joy. Both. Not either/or. Both.
What This Actually Looks Like
These aren’t just pretty affirmations I say to my mirror. Here’s what changed:
- I negotiated a 20% raise last year (first time in a decade I asked)
- Curtis and I created a real retirement plan (not just “hope for the best”)
- I started investing beyond my 401k (index funds, nothing fancy)
- I bought the good coffee maker (life’s too short for bad coffee)
- I stopped lending money I couldn’t afford to lose
- I hired someone to do my taxes (accepting help isn’t weakness)
- I enjoy spending on things that matter without guilt
The Work Continues
Changing money mindset at 61 isn’t easy. These beliefs had 60 years to dig in deep. Some days I still check my bank balance seventeen times. Some days I still feel guilty for wanting more. Some days I still panic in parking lots (though not Wells Fargo – I switched banks).
But most days? Most days I feel something I never felt about money before: Peace. Not because I have “enough” (whatever that means) but because I finally understand that my worth isn’t determined by my net worth.
Money is important. It’s security, opportunity, freedom. But it’s not who I am. I’m valuable with or without it. I deserved good things when I was broke at 25, and I deserve good things now at 61.
The only difference? Now I believe it.
P.S. – Last week I bought a $30 candle without checking my bank balance first. Didn’t have a panic attack. Didn’t feel guilty. Just enjoyed the damn candle. If that’s not growth, I don’t know what is. Although Curtis did ask if the candle was made of gold. It wasn’t, but it smells like victory over money shame, which is priceless.
