The Astonishing Reality of Being A Broke Adult

Unpacking financial trauma and how money can heal our invisible wounds

A fellow stressed out black woman

Since birth, I have never known financial stability, let alone abundance. Imagine my disappointment when becoming an adult didn’t change that reality. Growing up, money was always stretched thin, and being raised by a single mother accustomed me to surviving on very little. I couldn’t wait to grow up, believing that adulthood would be the door leading straight to the money that always felt so inaccessible to my family and me.

In a world where money is the axis around which everything revolves, we rarely acknowledge how much life one can miss out on due to the lack of it. Being poor often means missing out on a life rich in experiences. I’ve missed out on weddings and significant milestones of loved ones. And when I did manage to show up, it was almost always empty-handed because I rarely ever have more than R200 in my account. This consistent lack brought me a deep sense of shame.

Money sadly also confers value to people, acting as a determinant of who has value and who does not, and in turn, changing how we feel about ourselves too. There is something about not having money that makes you shy away from life, causing you to become more reserved and shrink from interactions, even if it’s not always a conscious choice. It’s as if money is the currency we use to cement our existence, creating a sense that without it, we don’t fully belong in this world.

I remember my best friend suggesting a girls' road trip from Johannesburg to Durban during a particularly challenging time for both of us. She only asked me to help plan with her friend and cousin. I nearly pulled out because I couldn’t contribute financially. Despite her reassurances that it was her treat and they would all pool their resources for my share, the reminder of my financial limitations stung.

This is what troubles me about internalised capitalism. It leads us to see our financial instability as a personal failure—believing we’re not trying hard enough, not working enough, or not entrepreneurial enough. The truth is, that the system is structured to favour a few while disadvantaging the rest. Being poor is not a personal failing but a failure of the system in which the world operates.

Flatlay of News Headline, “Record numbers going broke”

Money has always felt elusive. No matter my efforts to acquire it, it rarely ever finds me, or if it does, it doesn’t stick around. I watched my mother and grandmother struggle despite having decent jobs. Inheriting the same burden terrifies me.

Financial insecurity leaves deep scars. It whispers anxieties, makes you feel powerless, and constantly reminds you of what you lack. But what if acquiring some financial security wasn’t just about material wealth but about healing those old wounds? What if having a safety net allowed you to finally breathe and say, "I'm okay. I don't have to live in constant fear anymore"?

Sometimes money can be a healing mechanism. While it has often been a source of great stress, it can also offer significant healing. That’s why acquiring it is important to me, despite my resentment that money is so necessary in this world. If it were up to me, I would prefer to live simply, indulging in life’s small joys without constant survival concerns. The truth is, not everyone knows how to make money or inherently desires to live in constant pursuit of it, and capitalism takes away that choice. You are forced to be part of the system and work it.

Money may not be a cure-all. However, living with the constant panic of financial instability—when being broke is your norm—creates a perpetual sense that your needs will always outweigh the resources available to meet them. Money can provide the space to address that panic. It can help unpack financial scars and rewrite the narrative that scarcity defines your worth. Perhaps it means finally affording therapy for childhood money trauma, choosing a job you love even if it pays less, or simply having the peace of mind from knowing you have a buffer against life’s unexpected storms.

Growing up poor meant missing out on many experiences, and this sense of deprivation has continued into adulthood. At times, it feels as though I’m merely a spectator in life. This is why I see acquiring money as a form of healing. It has the potential to help us reparent ourselves and provide the experiences we missed due to our impoverished backgrounds. It opens doors to opportunities and spaces that support our growth beyond mere survival. My deep hope is that we acquire enough of it, not only for ourselves but to also share with others.

Ultimately, the weight of being a broke adult is more than just a lack of money; it profoundly affects how we see ourselves and our place in the world. Growing up with financial insecurity has shown me that money's role is not just about survival but is deeply intertwined with our emotional well-being and sense of worth.

While financial struggles can feel like a personal failure, they are, in fact, reflections of a broader systemic issue. Truly internalising this has shifted my perspective from self-blame to a more compassionate understanding of my struggles and those of others.

Money might not solve everything, but it can offer a reprieve, a sense of security, and the possibility to reclaim the dreams and experiences that were once out of reach. Because being poor imposes a penalty on an individual’s life that is rarely openly articulated.

So, as I navigate these challenges, I hold onto the hope that financial stability will not only provide refuge from life's uncertainties but also enable me to fully embrace and enjoy the life I’ve always wanted and dreamed of.

Because sometimes, the most valuable things money can buy aren’t things at all. They’re feelings—feelings of safety, security, and the quiet confidence that whispers, "You are worthy. And you deserve a life that feels a little less scary."

---

Reflection prompts:

• What would financial security allow you to heal from? The constant feeling of being on the edge? Fear? Anxiety?

• What do you imagine a life of abundance to feel like? How differently would your heart and spirit move through the world if abundance were your constant companion?

• If the weight of scarcity was lifted, what dreams would you dare to nurture? What joys would you finally allow yourself to embrace?

• How can you cultivate peace in the moments that feel like scarcity has you pressed in a corner?

---

How You Can Support Heart Canvas

Heart Canvas is a free publication, and as an African-based Substack creator, I’m unable to offer paid subscriptions on this platform. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read and would like to support my creative journey, here’s how you can make a difference:

🤎 Paypal me: Your contributions directly support my work and allow me to dedicate more time to creating.

🤎 Buy Me a Coffee: A small gesture of support helps fuel my passion and keeps the creative energy flowing.

🤎 Spread the word: