I’ve been renovating my flat since I moved in four years ago. It’s not even nearly finished. It’s exhausting and exciting and all sorts of other words I can’t currently think of because my brain’s so focused on waiting for an email from the builder who came over earlier today, made a sucking noise through his teeth and gave me such a long list of things which need to happen that I can only remember about 50% of them.
This year I came to the startling conclusion that I’m actually not bad with money. I’ve always been told I’m terrible at managing my finances, and I’ve always believed that to be true because until about four years ago I never felt like I had enough money to live on. This was even the case when I was working in advertising and earning a pretty fat pay cheque.
However, a few months ago I was discussing life with my therapist, and she asked about money. I told her I’m bad with it, and she asked why, and we talked about my current habits. “They sound very healthy,” she told me when I explained that I earn enough to live on comfortably and have a reasonably well-stocked savings account. “But I’m bad with money,” I replied, “I always have been. Everyone I’ve ever lived with has told me I’m bad with money.”