Money, Meaning, and the Moving Goalpost

Reframing success, stability, and why it never feels like enough

After signing my first lease out of college with my girlfriend, I found myself doing the math, wondering if my first paycheck would land in time to cover rent.

Until that moment, I hadn’t thought much about money.

I grew up in a typical middle-class household where my needs were always met. I never had to worry, which meant I never really paid attention. I worked a few part-time jobs through high school and college but rarely made more than a few thousand dollars a year. Most of it slowly disappeared without much thought or structure.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever really learned how to manage money, or at least not in a meaningful way. School certainly doesn’t teach us, and no one ever explained the emotional or psychological side of it. But money isn’t just math. It’s a reflection of how we think, what we fear, and whether we believe stability is even possible.

Our early childhood environment not only impacts what we believe and who we eventually become, but it also shapes our financial mindset more than we realize. And yet, we’re rarely taught how to question the stories we inherited. As Morgan Housel encapsulates in The Psychology of Money,

Managing your money and investing is mostly about psychology. Personal Finance is 20% head knowledge and 80% behavior. Doing well with money has little to do with how smart you are and a lot to do with how you behave and what you believe to be true about the world.

Before I ever picked up a book on personal finance, my mindset was simple: spend what you have now because the long term felt too far away to matter. And underneath that belief was a quiet sense of privilege—the assumption that somehow, things would just work out. It wasn’t intentional. It was inherited.

We all have different money stories. The question is whether we’ve taken the time to understand them—or if they’re quietly shaping our lives without us even knowing.

Money Scripts and Inherited Beliefs

Money was a complex topic at home. From my perspective as a kid, my brother and I always had what we needed—but the atmosphere around money shifted depending on the season. My mom left her corporate job to raise us, and we relied on my dad’s sales income. Some years were strong. Others were tighter. You could feel the tension when money wasn’t as abundant.

Both of my parents are incredibly hardworking, and I’m grateful for the sacrifices they made. Their work ethic shaped mine. But the financial environment I grew up in also normalized debt and required strict budgeting. Without realizing it, I inherited the idea that debt was a part of life.

Before I ever made my own money, I believed things like money is the root of all evil, and you shouldn’t chase it. Find something you love, and everything will work out. But that belief has been harder to live out than it sounds. What if what you love doesn’t pay the bills?

Even now, I notice those early scripts showing up. I’m cautious with risk. I haven’t taken big investment or business swings yet, partly out of fear. I was told student loans were “good debt.” I didn’t fully understand the long-term weight of that choice, and I’m now working to pay down the $30,000 I have left from an original $44,000.

That’s the thing about money stories—they’re often written before we know we’re learning them.

Money and Identity in Your 20s

The years after college are emotionally and financially disorienting. In school, life felt predictable. Everyone was on the same path—classes during the week, weekends out, shared stress over finals. It was easy to feel like you were moving forward.

But after graduation, the comparison game hits harder. Suddenly, you’re looking over your shoulder. Who landed the best job? Who’s getting promoted? Who’s already buying a house or getting engaged? It’s hard not to feel behind—even if you’re objectively doing fine.

Some days, I feel grateful for how far I’ve come. I’ll open up my bank account, see the progress I’ve made over the last 18 months, and feel genuinely proud. Then I’ll scroll through social media and see someone posting about a big milestone, and suddenly that voice in my head starts whispering, you’re not doing enough.

It’s exhausting. It’s irrational. But it’s real.

The pressure to look successful is everywhere. It’s easy to assume everyone has it together—especially when people only show the highlight reel. But when you look under the metaphorical hood, a lot of people are just trying to figure it out.

I still have good days and bad days with money. But I’m learning that financial stability isn’t just about numbers. It’s about working through the inner dialogue—the one that ties your identity to your income, your worth to your title, your peace to a number on a screen.

It’s a process. And it takes time.

The Emotional Side: Shame, Fear, Guilt

Money is often talked about in spreadsheets, budgets, or charts—but rarely in terms of how it makes us feel. And yet, it quietly shapes the way we live, the way we think, and too often, how we see ourselves.

For me, anxiety around money comes in waves. Not because I’m living paycheck to paycheck—I've built a solid foundation. I have a fully funded emergency fund. I’m investing. I’ve made progress.

But even with that stability, I still carry fear. Not greed. Not obsession. Just a constant hum of what if it’s not enough?

It’s confusing. Eighteen months ago, I had almost nothing to my name, and yet I remember feeling genuinely happy. Today, many of the boxes are checked—but the inner tension hasn’t disappeared. That’s what makes this so difficult to talk about.

It’s the moving goalpost.

How do you stop chasing a version of success that never feels like enough? I don’t know yet. And I won’t pretend to.

This is the work I’m doing now, unlearning the belief that my worth is tied to my salary, my title, or my ability to save. Trying to see money not as a scoreboard, but as a tool. Something I can use, but not something that defines me.

Some days are harder than others. Some thoughts are louder.

But I’m learning to listen, to pause, analyze, and respond with intention. Financial wellness isn’t just about what’s in the bank. It’s about what’s going on in your head.

Before getting lost in the weeds of personal finance, optimizing accounts, debating the best investment strategy, I think the most important thing I’m still learning is how to quiet the voice in my head.

Some days, it tells me I’m doing great. That I have it figured out. Other days, it tells me I’m completely lost and nothing I’m doing is enough. Both voices can be loud. Both feel real.

From a numbers standpoint, I’m doing well. I’ve built a budget that works. I automate my retirement savings. I invest in low-cost index funds. My savings rate hovers around 50%, and I’m on track to improve my net worth by six figures in two years.

But do I feel drastically different? Not always.

I don’t idolize money, and I try to live a balanced life—one grounded in health, relationships, meaningful work, travel, and growth. Still, the topic of money never quite disappears. It’s always there, in the background, whispering: Are you sure you’re doing enough?

The first step is acknowledgment. The next, for me, is learning to build a life where each day can feel whole on its own—where I don’t feel like I’m constantly deferring the present for some imagined future.

That’s the version of financial peace I’m working toward. Not just security in the bank, but calm in the mind.

I don’t think it’s a destination. I think it’s a daily practice.

In Closing

When I think back to that first month after graduation doing mental math, hoping my paycheck would hit in time, I realize now it wasn’t just about rent. It was about stepping into the unknown, financially and emotionally. It was about realizing that no one was coming to do it for me. That I’d have to figure it out myself, one decision at a time.

Since then, I’ve made a lot of progress. But what I’m still learning is that money isn’t something you “master” once and for all. It’s a relationship. And like any relationship, it takes work, self-awareness, and patience.

The numbers matter, of course. But they’re not the whole story. It’s not just about earning, saving, or investing. It’s about understanding the beliefs that drive us, the emotions that shape us, and the mindset we carry with us, even when the bank account looks fine.

Financial peace, for me, isn’t about perfection or performance. It’s about being able to sit with that voice in your head and not let it define you. To choose presence over panic. Intention over impulse.

If you’re somewhere in this process too, still figuring it out, you’re not alone. Most of us are.

So be patient. Track your progress. Question your scripts. And when the voice shows up again (because it will), meet it with curiosity, not shame.

We don’t need to have it all figured out. We just need to keep showing up.

What’s your money story?
I’d love to hear how your upbringing, identity, or beliefs have shaped your relationship with money. Leave a comment, share your reflections, or reply directly.