Why Do We Hate Talking About Money?
by Nicole Pirshafiey
On paper, I am a perfectly serviceable adult.
I have a career, a family, a mortgage. I can read a map and call an electrician and assemble furniture by myself. And I’m a pretty open book, too. I try to be honest about my flaws and my shortcomings, as much as I’m aware of them. If you would be so bold as to ask, I would unflinchingly tell you how much I weigh, the issues I’ve worked on in therapy, my fears and frustrations, and my endless struggle with managing facial hair.
But the thought of telling you how much I make, or my credit score? NO! THANK! YOU!
And it’s not like I have anything to be particularly embarrassed about? Like I said—career and mortgage. I’m fine. But I would rather give an impromptu public speech in the nude than speak to a financial adviser. Fun fact, I have filed two tax extensions in two years because the thought of dealing with a CPA and receipts and tax forms gives me a bellyache, so I just punt that shit like Thomas Morstead and go about my business, deferring the inevitable unpleasantries until the absolute last minute.
To be clear, this isn’t just about “bad” financial conversations, either.
I don’t even want to talk about “good” money issues, like how much I should be paid.
Please allow me this opportunity to humbly brag about myself—I’m good at my job. I can pitch to a room of executives and keep my wits. Five rounds of interviews? No problem. But when it comes to salary negotiations or setting rates for myself? I actually turn into this:
It’s undeniable. I am weird about money.
And certainly, I’m not alone. I would venture to guess that most—all?—people, at least the non-sociopaths among us, get at least a little squeamish at the thought of opening up about finances. Perhaps the degree is unique to me, but certainly not the concept.
Why is that?
I have a theory.
You ready for this? I think...we’re all weird walking amalgamations of complicated overlaps of cultures and experiences and moments that inform who we are.
“we’re all weird walking amalgamations of complicated overlaps of cultures and experiences and moments that inform who we are.”
I think we are weird about money because of our personal experiences either having money or not having money.
For me, I’m certain that my weirdness about money comes from a perfect storm of financial experiences and cultural norms that have made this such a difficult topic for me to open up about. Being a woman and a first-generation American is a sure-fire combo for feeling some kind of way about how I define my value, and how that ties to actual financial value.
The corollary to my borrowed (fine, stolen) theory is this: even after we are out of stressful financial situations, it is so easy to carry weird reactions and patterns with you.
Case in point: I am financially comfortable in my life now. I can pay my bills and do a healthy amount of quarantine-induced online shopping therapy without checking my bank account to make sure I can cover it, which is a ~departure~ from my financial standing in the past. (Just to be clear, this isn’t because I’ve gotten better about money. It’s because I make more of it, and I have a joint bank account with my husband, which holds me accountable so I don’t spend down to the dime like I did when I was single.)
Even so, when I get a bill I wasn’t expecting, even if I can afford to pay it right away, I will stick it in the “mail sorter”—aka the decorative anxiety collector in my kitchen—for way too long. Because I just…don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think about it, I just ignore it. And then I check my credit and realize a stupid medical bill has gone to collections (again, for no reason other than my sheer paralysis at handling my financial shit) and I have to call the collections agent who is invariably shocked that I am proactively reaching out to pay a bill in full.
Let me ask you this: have you ever been in line to make a purchase and frantically checked your available balance to make sure that you have enough to cover said purchase?
It’s wild to me that people exist who don’t know that anxiety. Who have never swiped a card and just held their breath until APPROVED pops up on the pin pad. Those people are not my people. And even though I don’t have to worry about not having enough available balance now, I still hold my breath and sweat while I wait for that blessed APPROVED to pop up.
This is an abrupt shift, but all roads lead to passing go and collecting $200 so stay with me.
I met my husband when I was 16. He wasn’t my husband yet, obviously. He was the cute transfer student who showed up to Mrs. Paulson’s APUSH class looking like a snack. (Do the kids still say that? I haven’t been, or even seen, a youth in a very long time.) We started dating that spring, and that was it. We never broke up, never took a break, even when I went away to a different college. This year, we hit our milestone anniversary: 17 years together. We’ve officially spent over half our lives as a couple. And not to brag, but we’re great together. We have the same sense of humor, the same principles, and we look enough alike that our kid came out cute.
I’m telling you all this not to be gross and gushy. I’m telling you this because I also want to tell you about the biggest recurring thing we argue about, and that being together 17 years is not something that would have been feasible for us without a solution to that recurring argument.
I mean, by now you obviously know what it is. Money.
Don’t get it twisted, we are both generous and neither one of us is a stingy bill-splitter. We never fought about who should pay which bill. The problem was that if it was my turn to cover something, and I didn’t have the funds, UGHHHH I sure didn’t want to talk about it. And don’t get me started on having to call my dad to ask for money while I waited for a paycheck to clear. THE WORST.
(Please note that in both instances, I was the only one making this situation shitty for myself. I’m fortunate enough to be surrounded by people that are happy to share what they have when they have it. This rested squarely on my own fucked up relationship with money and shame.)
Even though my husband and I still fight about money, we've gotten better. We have a shared bank account, and we've tried to make it a regular, casual thing we check in with each other about. But still, my weird relationship with money hasn't gone away. Talking about it, even with my husband, just feels so gauche.
Complaining about other anxieties or concerns is a huge part of my brand. My Twitter feed and IG Stories are chock full of me sharing ~relatable~ fuck-ups like burning the shit out of dinner, starting my period in the middle of an important presentation, or just a good ol’ fashioned “mom fail.” But sharing “oops my credit score dropped because I ‘forgot’ to pay my bill”? NEVER. GONNA. HAPPEN.
So, without further ado, here is my unproven and absolutely not endorsed by any official financial expert blueprint I’ve used, to help dig myself out of my money shame-spiral. It has helped me. A lot. Maybe it will help you:
1. Talk about your salary. I’m going to say it again. Talk. About. Your. Salary. I cannot tell you how many women I know who have been able to negotiate better (i.e., fair and equitable) salaries for themselves after having an uncomfortable conversation with a colleague who shared how much they earn.
Talking about this stuff normalizes it and gives us the tools and language we need to improve our situations, while also giving us data that we need to understand if we’re being paid fairly or if we need to fight for a raise or promotion. Spoiler alert: women are paid less than men. It’s just a fact. The Economic Policy Institute breaks this down and it’s clear that the wage gap exists. Women working full time make 80 cents on the dollar to what a man earns. Not only that, but the EPI finds that Black and Hispanic women experience the biggest pay gaps of all. So if you are a woman, and especially if you are a woman of color...guess what! You probably need to have this conversation!
This comes with the added bonus of creating deeper connections with our colleagues. I always feel closer to a coworker that I’ve talked about money with. We let our walls down and confide in each other, and it’s positive reinforcement to keep having those awkward conversations until they’re not awkward anymore.
“we let our walls down and confide in each other, and it’s positive reinforcement to keep having those awkward conversations until they’re not awkward anymore.”
2. Talk about your expenses. Like I said earlier, it seems that for so many of us, money is tied to shame. Shame of not having enough. Shame of overspending, or bad credit. Shame of debt, or calls from collection agencies. Shame at overdraft fees, or maxed out credit cards. Brené Brown refers to shame as “the swampland as the soul.”
Pretending there isn’t a problem doesn’t get rid of the problem. But opening up to your partner or roommate or best friend or neighbor about how high your bills are can open the door to getting some hot tips from others.
When it comes to shame, Brown says “it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and judgment. The two most powerful words when we're in struggle: me too.” Giving yourself the opportunity to vent and be validated and to know that other people struggle with money too is, well, invaluable.
3. Be honest about how much you can afford. So many of us feel like we have to “keep up” with our peers. If a friend suggests a bougie brunch spot that is out of your price range, say so. I promise you, any friend worth having will appreciate it.
And it’s good for friendships to be vulnerable that way.
Bringing a friend into your financial confidence will only deepen the friendship. It is so liberating to say out loud “I’d rather not go to lunch there, it’s too pricey and I’m trying to save money right now.” Try it! Treat yourself to not treating yourself!
4. Know your value. Literally. I encourage all women to read Mika Brzezinski’s book, Know Your Value. A former boss (one of the most inspiring, hardworking, boss-ass women I’ve ever met) recommended this to me when I was struggling to find my voice and power at work. She saw that I had potential but was holding myself back, because I was afraid to ask for what I was worth.
Invest in yourself and spend time understanding how much money you deserve. How much you need to live on, how much you want to save, how much you want to blow on a splurge at the nail salon or a trip to Honolulu. Do your research, make a budget, and give yourself the opportunity to talk about that budget with people you’re close to. Remove the shame from the equation and have those conversations out in the open.
As The Gottman Institute so beautifully puts it, “We spend our lives swimming in a sea of moments that sculpt our financial dreams and fears.”
We can either struggle silently and alone in that sea, or we can reach out a hand and sync up with our nearest and dearest like little otters holding hands, floating in a calm sea of validation and understanding.
In a world of sunken ships, be an otter.
Nicole Pirshafiey is a writer, a mom, a Webby Award-winning social media "professional," and a chronic multitasker—never in that order. Her last name is impossible to pronounce. You can find more of her articles here.
