Let’s tell the truth most people won’t say out loud:
When you see someone else win—land the deal, book the client, buy the dream house—do you ever feel like something’s been stolen from you?
Maybe it’s not jealousy, exactly.
It’s stickier than that. Resentment? Envy wrapped in shame? A gnawing sense of not-enough?
Most of us won’t admit to feeling it.
Not to others. Not even to ourselves.
But I will.
Because I’ve been there. And I know some of you have too.
And if you haven’t? Bless you. But for the rest of us? Let’s go deeper.
I’ve read thousands of books in my lifetime—and more than a few of them featured dragons. 🐉
Ancient, awe-inspiring beasts hoarding gold in high mountain caves.
Protective. Territorial. Legendary.
They don’t just guard treasure—they become the treasure.
And they’ll scorch the earth before letting anyone take what’s “theirs.”
For a while, I treated money the same way.
My dragon phase.
Money was something I hoarded. Feared. Raged at. Protected.
It was the gold and the fire.
Useful when controlled, dangerous when not.
And the more I tried to dominate it—to prove myself worthy of it—the more it slipped through my fingers or turned to ash.
Until I asked the question that changed everything:
“What could feel better than this?”
One answer landed so clearly, I had to sit down:
A friend. A true friend.
Someone who shows up when I can’t hold myself.
Someone like Samwise to my Frodo—devoted, present, quietly powerful.
What if money didn’t need to be a dragon?
What if money could be a friend?
Most of us have played out a version of the wounded relationship with money:
The absent father: distant, unpredictable.
The toxic ex: thrilling but unstable.
The needy child: always demanding more.
The critical parent: never satisfied.
The god who must be appeased.
But a friend?
That felt… revolutionary.
So I started small.
A check-in here and there. A spreadsheet update. A quiet prayer.
At first, it was awkward.
Like any new friendship, I was trying too hard—tiptoeing around, second-guessing myself, hoping to impress.
I realized I wasn’t just asking for trust—I was trying to earn approval.
I was performing worthiness.
Until one day, the rage bubbled up.
I grabbed my journal and let it out. Every last drop of shame, fear, anger, and desperation. My pen tore into the paper. I screamed. I cried. I bled onto the page.
And then something miraculous happened.
Money wrote back.
“I’m sorry. I took you for granted.
Your strength fooled me into thinking you didn’t want me the way I wanted you.
You deserve more. You deserve better.
Tell me how to show up.
There is no such thing as too much.
Everything—everything—is what I want to give you.”
I’ll never forget that moment.
It cracked me open. And it healed something ancient.
So now I ask you, beloved:
✨ What if it’s okay to feel bitter? To want more? To ache for what others have?
✨ What if your longing doesn’t make you greedy—it makes you ready?
✨ What if rage is just the alarm bell ringing, telling you it’s time to come home to yourself?
✨ Reflect & Reclaim:
💥 When you think about money, what role does it play in your life right now? Is it the tyrant? The ghost? The trickster? The dragon?
💥 What would it mean to let Money be your friend—and not your master, monster, or mirror?
💥 What old money wounds are asking to be heard, raged at, rewritten?
💥 If Money could write you a love letter, what would you most want it to say?
💥 Where are you still trying to prove your worth instead of trusting your wealth?
💬 Call to Conversation:
Drop a comment if this stirred something in you. Rage, tenderness, permission, possibility—it’s all welcome here.
We don’t heal by hiding. We heal by hearing ourselves out loud. Let’s talk about the money stories we’re ready to rewrite.
You don’t have to tame your dragon.
You just have to listen to what it’s really trying to protect.
Let your rage speak.
Let your longing lead.
Let your money story evolve.
And then ask, one more time, with love in your voice:
What would feel even better than this? 💕
PS: Raging, receiving, and rewriting your financial truth? That’s not rebellion. That’s restoration.
In a world that thrives on your scarcity, choosing overflow is radical. Profit is protest.
Song of the Day: Take Me In by the War and Treaty
Aching for something more, while loving what I have. I’ve always thought of money as “difficult” and “fickle” and told myself a story of having to muscle through by the strength of spirit and never-give-up determination.
Thank you for giving a different voice and way to consider.