You know that feeling when you check your bank balance five times a day, even when you haven’t spent anything? That was me. For years, I clutched onto every single dollar I earned like it was the last piece of bread on earth. I was drowning in fear, convinced that the second I relaxed, disaster would strike and wipe me out. This whole journey of figuring out how to actually live instead of just hoard started with a completely stupid, stressful afternoon and a card reading.
The Moment I Saw Myself in Cardboard
I was so bad with money anxiety, it started dictating things that were just ridiculous. A few months back, I needed new tires for my car. They were going to cost about $800. I had the money sitting in savings, clear and available. But when the mechanic handed me the bill, I literally felt my chest tighten. I fought him, asking if I could use used tires. I drove home shaking, postponing the essential purchase just because the thought of that $800 leaving my account felt like a physical injury.
I walked into the house that evening and dumped my keys on the counter. I felt sick. Why was I behaving this way? I grabbed my old tarot deck—the one I usually only pull out when I’m trying to solve someone else’s messy problems—and slammed it onto the kitchen table. My question was simple: “What is going on with my finances?”
I shuffled, I cut, and I pulled one single card. It was the 4 of Pentacles. Man, if you know that card, you know the drill. It’s the dude sitting there, hands wrapped around his coins, one on his head, feet firmly planted on two more. He’s rich, sure, but he looks absolutely miserable and completely stuck. He’s too scared to move or spend anything, even to enjoy what he has. It hit me like a sack of bricks. That was me, exactly. I wasn’t financially responsible; I was financially imprisoned.
The Hard Stop and The First Practical Steps
I stared at that smug little guy on the card for a long time. The realization wasn’t that I needed more money—I needed to release the feeling that money was my only shield against the world. I decided right then that I had to start practicing what that card was screaming at me: letting go.
The first thing I did was totally mundane, but revolutionary for me. I stopped checking my main savings account every two hours. I swapped the banking app’s widget on my phone screen for a weather app. Out of sight, out of mind, even if it was just for a few hours. That was step one—less data, less panic.
Step two was creating a system to consciously break the hoarding habit. I implemented a two-part plan:
- The “Worry Money” Fund: I opened a new, high-yield savings account and labeled it “Future Disaster.” I funded it with exactly six months of core living expenses. Once that money was in there, I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it, and more importantly, I wouldn’t worry about anything that happened outside of that fund. It was the ultimate security blanket.
- The “Flow Money” Rule: For everything else, I started viewing the money as moving water, not stagnant coins. If I earned $100, $20 of that had to go toward something that brought joy or growth, not just sit in an account waiting for permission to exist.
Consciously Opening the Hand
The real test came a week later when I finally went back and bought those damn tires. When the debit card swiped, I still had that physical reaction, but I immediately pulled up the image of the 4 of Pentacles on my phone. I told myself: “This is a necessary investment. It keeps you safe. It’s movement, not loss.” I drove away from that garage feeling weirdly light.
I started forcing myself to spend money on experiences. My wife and I had been putting off a weekend trip for over a year because I kept calculating the cost of gas, the hotel, the food, and deciding it wasn’t “worth the risk.” So, I booked it. I paid for the full bill without splitting it down to the penny and I refused to check my bank balance while we were there.
That weekend, walking on the beach, I realized something big. The financial anxiety wasn’t about the money; it was about control. When I was so desperate to control every cent, I lost control of my happiness and my present life. The tarot card hadn’t been a prediction of doom; it was a mirror showing me the prison I had built for myself.
Now, I still track my spending, but I look at my accounts maybe once a day, maybe less. I pay for the things I need immediately, and I allow myself to enjoy the things I have saved for. I understand that real financial safety isn’t in the size of the number in the bank, but in my ability to handle change and maintain perspective. The four coins are still there, but they’re scattered, ready for use, and I’m finally able to walk away from them without panic.
It’s messy, it’s a practice, but trust me, giving up being the 4 of Pentacles guy feels a hell of a lot better than being him.
