Your bank balance is a number — not the measure of your soul. This essay (part one) explores how shame, social comparison, family stories and even the layout of our homes can entwine money with identity. I offer practical rituals, evidence-backed insights and gentle prompts to begin unhooking self‑worth from net worth, and invite you to a deeper journey of healing.
This first section opens the wounds, offers immediate practices and sets the lantern: a gentle way out of money‑shame toward permission and peace.
Is your bank balance really the story of who you are?
Have you ever felt measured by a single screen, a salary slip or a screenshot?
I have sat in rooms where the conversation about money quietened every other voice. People lower their tone as if money were a fragile thing — not to be spoken of loud. That hush is not only politeness; it is a protection that keeps shame alive. I write as someone who sits daily with those quiet stories and who believes that language, ritual and small practical changes can uncoil a lifetime of being measured by numbers. 🕯️ With this, the blog becomes a sacred sanctuary for healing love, longing, and loneliness.
Isn’t financial trauma just about not having enough?
Most people imagine financial trauma as a simple arithmetic problem: more in, less out. That story is too neat. Money‑related trauma usually begins with lack — a job loss, an eviction, a bill that arrives like a test you did not study for — but it rarely stops there. What keeps people trapped is a quieter, sharper currency: shame. Shame turns a temporary hardship into a permanent label: “I am late on the rent; therefore I am late in life.”
I remember a client who kept apologising for every cup of tea she bought outside the house; the apology wasn’t for the tea but for the tiny permission of spending anything at all. That apology carried an inherited script: a family mythology that equated frugality with moral worth and spending with weakness. Those stories lodge inside the chest and begin to steer decisions — not the logic of budgets, but the nervous system’s craving to avoid humiliation.
We now have clearer empirical signals that money trouble and mental health are tangled. Longitudinal and systematic reviews in public health show a bidirectional relationship between debt and common mental disorders: debt increases risk for depression and anxiety, and mental health problems increase vulnerability to financial difficulty. That means the solution cannot be arithmetic alone; it must address shame, narrative and practical stabilisers.
So what to do first? Name the story. Say it aloud in a private notebook: “I feel ashamed because…” Naming weakens secrecy and secrecy feeds shame. Next, choose one small practical action — an item to log, an account to check — and do it without commentary. This tiny factual act (not an achievement fanfare, only a matter of fact) begins to shift the nervous system from hiding to noticing. If you are ready, a short paid consultation can map practical next steps and help you find language that shifts blame into curiosity.
How does youth culture and social media make money a wound?
Young people now grow up in a constant scoreboard. Where my generation compared a house or a car, the young compare curated lives — the holiday, the houseplant, the graduate photo with the perfectly framed caption. I once coached a twenty‑three year old who described her feed as a continuous exam she’d never signed up for: every scroll a grade she didn’t deserve to receive. That continuous comparison becomes an ache; it shapes identity by implying that to be is to have shown off.
There is growing research that links upward social comparison on social networking sites to envy and depressive symptoms. Systematic reviews over the past decade show repeated correlations between social media comparison, envy and worse mental health outcomes. In plain terms: looking at other people’s highlights tends to make ordinary life feel thin, especially when youth face economic pressure like precarious work or student debt.
Where does that leave hope? For the young person I mentioned, we tried a three‑step experiment: (1) curating the feed — unfollowing accounts that triggered shame and following two accounts that taught useful skills; (2) a weekly “reality list” — three facts about their actual life (paid rent, friend called, healthy meal cooked); (3) a ritual of a two‑minute “settle” at night — deep breaths and naming a single fact of sufficiency. The experiment reduced the pull of the feed and rebuilt a private sense of enough.
If you want a longer read about youth and the stress to perform, I wrote a reflective piece called Youth curry that speaks to this generation’s ache and the work of reclaiming space from constant comparison.
Why do we so often conflate worth with wealth?
It is easier to wear a number than carry a question. The number gives a neat answer — to others and sometimes to ourselves. In my counselling room I often find that money and moral worth have been stitched together by family stories: “We don’t waste,” or “We worked for every rupee.” These lines make sense as ethics but warp into identity when children take them as the measure of who they are. As adults, we carry that inherited scale and use it to weigh decisions, relationships and even love.
The psychology is straightforward yet cruel. When you price your work low, you are often negotiating with a childhood script that equates low price with virtue. When you price high you might hear a new voice — often a shadow of internalised criticism — whispering that you are greedy. That inner friction is a moral tug‑of‑war disguised as business maths.
Practical work here starts with re‑naming the implicit rules. Ask yourself: “Where did I learn this rule about money?” Trace its shape. Then ask: “Would honoring my time and labour harm other people or would it allow me to serve better?” For many, re‑framing pricing as a sustainable ethic — "sacred pricing" — helps. Sacred pricing is pricing that protects your craft, your rest and your family. It is not greed; it is the dignity of sustainability.
If you are pricing your offerings and feel the tug of shame, be kind to that tug — and then price from a practical list: cost of time, cost of materials/overhead and a number that allows for rest. If that number stings, practice saying it aloud in a mirror until the sting dulls.
For readers who love reading as a way to reorder life, see my thoughts on the importance of reading — books were my shelter when I needed to imagine a different relationship with worth.
Could vastu and hidden spaces be mirrors of financial shame?
It is curious and true: the places we hide things physically often mirror what we try to hide inside. People stash cash under mattresses, fold receipts into old diaries, or shove letters into the backs of cupboards — small acts that say, silently, “abundance is not to be trusted.” I once helped a client who literally kept the money drawer locked behind clothing. Freeing that drawer felt like a permission she hadn’t given herself before: to keep, to count and to be seen keeping.
Vastu, broadly understood, is a language for how a home holds life. It is not a magic formula; it is a set of ideas about orientation, light, function and care. From a pragmatic perspective, clearing a “money corner” so that bills and receipts are accessible rather than hidden does two things: it reduces avoidance and it trains the nervous system to register money as something that can be looked at without terror. Environmental psychology supports the claim that surroundings shape behaviour: clutter and hidden spaces increase stress and reduce clarity. Clearing a drawer may therefore be both symbolic and functionally restorative.
If you cannot face your money drawer yet, try a smaller beginning: move the wallet to a visible dish at the end of the day for a week. Notice what it feels like to see it and not to avoid it. Often the body says what the mind won’t: seeing is permission.
Note: Vastu suggestions are cultural and practical. Treat them like a supportive companion to therapy and financial planning, not a replacement. If you want a gentle, low‑cost space audit, I run short paid consultations where we look at what your home is already telling you and direct tiny shifts that feel possible.
Which rituals actually help reset money identity (mirror + mantra work)?
Rituals are not conjuring tricks. They are small scripts that a nervous system can learn and repeat until a different shape of expectation becomes normal. Experimental research shows that rituals can reduce anxiety and improve performance; simply framing a sequence of actions as a ritual increases its psychological payoff. In lab settings, participants who enacted rituals reported lower anxiety and better task performance compared with those who performed the same actions described as non‑ritualistic. Another line of research finds rituals lower the brain’s response to personal failure — essentially making setbacks less catastrophic.
Because rituals build perceived control, they are especially useful where money generates helplessness. Here is a short mirror + mantra ritual you can try tonight. It is not showy; it is a private measure to teach your body a new grammar:
- Light a candle (or a lamp) and place it where you can see your face in a mirror.
- Look into your eyes for thirty seconds. Breathe slowly. If shame appears, don’t argue with it — label it: “shame.”
- Repeat a short line three times: e.g., “My worth precedes my wallet.” Make the phrase simple and true.
- Close by naming one small financial fact aloud (paid a bill, opened an app, checked a balance). End with one small gesture — a folded palm to your heart — and blow out the candle.
Do this for a week and notice the subtle changes: how you speak about money, how quickly you avoid checking, whether your chest unclenches. Rituals do not change bank balances overnight but they change what your nervous system expects. Small expectation shifts make a different set of choices feel possible.
If you want a guided version of this ritual (where I lead you through the language and timing), I offer brief paid ritual sessions and combined sessions that pair space tweaks with ritual practice. For those who prefer reading first, my book Burn the Old contains stories and practices that walk you through the gentle work of reorientation.
Key sources: debt & mental health review; social media & upward comparison review; experimental research on rituals reducing anxiety; environmental psychology on clutter & stress; financial infidelity prevalence surveys.
How does financial trauma pattern our relationships?
I remember the woman who told me, with her hands wrapped around a chipped mug, that money had become the secret language of her marriage. They never spoke about their debts the way they discussed the weather—light, casual, and meaningless. Instead, they left a room each month where receipts accumulated like unread letters: one partner paid the household bills; the other hid credit card statements under a mattress. That hiding was not stealthy rom-com mischief. It was grief disguised as secrecy.
Financial trauma often rewrites the script of intimacy. When you’ve been shamed about money—whether as a child (“we can’t afford that”) or as an adult (lost job, mounting bills)—your default becomes protection. Protection takes many forms: control, secrecy, aggression, avoidance. Each protects the nervous system in the short term but corrodes trust in the long.
Studies show how common and corrosive this problem can be. For example, research and surveys repeatedly find that financial deceit (sometimes called “financial infidelity”) affects a large share of relationships — one large U.S. study reported that roughly two in five adults admitted some act of financial deception, and a large majority of those said it harmed their relationship. Financial secrecy is not a quirky footnote; it is a major relational wound.
Practically, this shows up in arguments about small things: the price of dinner, who forgot to log a transaction, why “we” don’t speak of retirement. The dynamic looks like this: shame causes hiding → hiding causes secrecy → secrecy breaks trust → broken trust deepens shame. I find that naming this loop aloud in a therapy room often diffuses its power: the shame loses its secrecy and therefore its sharpest edge.
If you recognise this pattern in your relationship, there are small, immediate practices that reduce harm. One is the “receipt ritual”: once a week, sit for ten minutes together with a cup of tea and share one line: the highest expense, one small win, and one uncertainty. No blame, no problem‑solving—only naming. It’s modest and boring and therefore useful; rituals that are unromantic often last.
If talking about money feels like crossing a minefield, a guided consultation can help you design a simple, safe conversation structure.
How do we price our work as sacred rather than second‑rate?
The moment a friend asked me how I set my fees, I realised pricing was always a boundary disguised as a number. I grew up in households where charging "too much" felt like stealing and charging "too little" felt like betrayal—of self, of craft, of future stability. To claim a fair price feels scandalous at first because it forces you to declare a value for what you bring into the world.
“Sacred pricing” is a phrase I use to describe an attitude: price as an ethical act, not a grasping one. It means pricing so that you can deliver well, rest, and invest in your craft. Sacred pricing is the opposite of doing free work until exhaustion; it is pricing that protects your time and teaches clients to value your labour.
From a psychological perspective, pricing is entangled with identity. Impostor feelings—“Who am I to ask this?”—often show up as underpricing. Business and marketing research show that pricing shapes perception: customers often infer quality from price, and the psychology of pricing is well established in the literature. Charging what you deserve is a practice in internal re‑education as much as a business decision.
Practically, I recommend a three‑part sacred pricing check:
- Cost of craft: What does it actually cost you (time + overhead)? Don’t guess—track.
- Market sanity check: See what similar practitioners charge, not to copy but to avoid chronically underpriced offers.
- Permission price: Pick a number that covers your needs and allows you to say “no” without anxiety.
When people ask whether charging more will make them greedy, I ask them: would serving poorly for free be more loving or less? Sacred pricing is often the kinder choice—because it ensures your presence is sustainable.
If you’re stuck between two numbers, a short consult (paid) helps untangle which beliefs are driving your low fee.
What does space activation for income confidence look like?
There is a client I think of when I speak about space. He kept his laptop on the floor; not out of poverty but out of habit—everything temporary, everything transient. We created a small ritual: we moved the workspace to a desk, uploaded three important files to a visible folder, and put a plant beside the monitor. He later admitted that the desk felt like permission to act differently. It sounds trivial until you see the way the body shifts.
Space activation borrows from Vastu, Feng Shui and somatic practice. The idea is not mystical: arranging light, function and visibility changes behaviour. In practical terms, the money corner (if you keep one) should be accessible, not buried. Your bill‑folder is not a confession to hide but a tool to be read. Opening blinds, adding a lamp to a workspace, clearing clutter — they all send signals to the nervous system: “It’s safe to operate here.”
While cultural traditions like Vastu give a framework, evidence from environmental psychology backs the claim that our physical surroundings affect mood and productivity. One practical rule I offer: if an area helps you make decisions (bills, invoices, deadlines), design it for clarity. If it hides, it will keep hiding your income story too.
If you want a very small exercise to try tonight: choose one drawer where you habitually hide receipts or cards and empty it. Name the three things you find. Then create a simple folder (physical or digital) labelled “Money – This Month.” Place those receipts inside and set a five‑minute weekly timer to review. Doing this weekly converts shame into habit.
If you'd like bespoke Vastu or space activation tips, I offer short paid sessions focusing on simple, affordable shifts. See the gentle examples in my blog post on boundaries and leaving painful systems behind: Is it time to walk away?
Why are we addicted to validation‑through‑wealth?
Validation is a currency older than money. We were built to seek approval because it meant survival; communities that belonged had food, shelter and mates. Money is a modern shorthand for many of those survival signals. Likes on a paid‑for photo, a promotion announced on LinkedIn, a new car—these are modern applause.
The result is a behavioural feedback loop that can become addictive. You succeed, you receive social proof (applause, increased standing), your nervous system registers safety, and you repeat the behaviour to chase the same biochemical reward. Over time, this becomes a chase for external proof rather than internal permission. The social media research on upward social comparison is relevant here: exposure to other people’s highlight reels increases envy and depressive symptoms for many people, especially younger cohorts. If your sense of worth follows applause, you will always feel behind.
Breaking the addiction to validation‑through‑wealth is not about moralising consumption. It’s about building alternative reward systems. For instance, I encourage clients to create an “internal scoreboard”: three concrete non‑financial markers they will honour for a month (sleep, two kind acts, one hour of learning). When those markers light up, celebrate them privately—no posts required. The brain learns what we consistently reward.
There is also a political and cultural dimension. Consumer culture sells scarcity and status. When we step back, we see that the urge to measure self by wealth is as much an advertisement’s doing as a family rule. Naming that helps.
If you want a guided exercise to replace external applause with internal permission, book a short session. Also, my reflections on leaving suffering behind and making kinder choices may be helpful: Stop suffering in silence — is kindness.
What if true wealth was simply permission to be at peace?
One of the cleanest stories I hear is when someone says, quietly, “I want enough to feel calm.” Not to be rich, not to be famous—just enough to remove that fretful ache. If there is a core reclaiming here, it is the permission to be at peace.
True wealth, in this framing, is not a number but a state of relaxation about money. It is the ability to sleep when a surprise bill arrives and to make decisions from values rather than fear. Some people will get there via savings and planning; others will get there through therapy, relationships, or energetic work. For most people it is a mix.
Evidence suggests a direct relationship between financial stress and mental health outcomes such as depression and anxiety. Systematic reviews find that financial strain correlates strongly with poorer mental health across demographic groups; that correlation does not mean money solves everything, but it does mean that reducing financial stress reduces psychological burden.
Practically, you can take one small step today: write down the three things that make you feel calm about money (e.g., “I have a rainy‑day fund,” “I know who to call for help,” “I review my budget monthly”). Keep that note where you see it. Repetition builds a new nervous system habit.
If you want a structured plan to move from anxiety to permission, I offer a paid consultation where we blend practical finance habits with ritual and space activation. For stories about returning from greed‑driven choices into steadier living, see The greed trap.
- Isn’t financial trauma just about not having enough?
- How does shame act as the hidden currency of poverty?
- What does the research say about debt and mental health?
- How does youth culture and social media make money a wound?
- Why do we compare incomes like earlier generations compared houses?
- Which stories help young people need healing rather than hustle?
- Why do we so often conflate worth with wealth?
- Which family, religious or cultural stories stitch money to identity?
- How does impostor syndrome show up in pricing our work?
- Could Vastu and hidden spaces be mirrors of financial shame?
- How does hiding money match hiding rooms or corners?
- Can re-arranging a space shift your money story?
- Which rituals actually help reset money identity (mirror + mantra work)?
- Are rituals just superstition or psychological tools?
- What simple mirror + mantra practices can I try tonight?
- How does financial trauma pattern our relationships?
- What is financial infidelity and how common is it?
- How can couples create safe money conversations?
- How do we price our work as sacred rather than second-rate?
- What is sacred pricing and how does it honour boundaries?
- How do I ask for a fair fee despite shame?
- What does space activation for income confidence look like?
- Which practical Vastu tweaks support financial clarity?
- How can a workspace ritual boost conversion and calm?
- Why are we addicted to validation-through-wealth?
- What emotional payoffs keep the addiction alive?
- How do we replace applause with inner permission?
- What if true wealth was simply permission to be at peace?
- Who would you be if your worth didn’t depend on money?
- Where do you hide your desires because of shame?
- Which small exercises can begin to break the income-identity loop?
- 7-day money journaling practice
- Accountability conversation script
- When should you seek therapy versus energetic work?
- Which red flags demand clinical help?
- How can therapy and ritual work together?
- How do I build boundaries that allow both money and gentleness?
- What does a sacred contract with a client look like?
- How to convert freebies into paid offers with integrity?
- What immediate resources and links will help me now?
- What final reflection will you take with you today?
- Five closing prompts for the next week
Would you like a companion for this work?
I wrote Burn the Old to walk beside you in the gentle unravelling of money‑shame. If you're ready for practical rituals, stories and structural shifts, buy Burn the Old and let it be a guide while you do the inner work.
Frequently Asked Questions?
Can rituals actually change my bank balance?
Rituals themselves do not deposit money, but they change your nervous system, your decision-making and your consistency—factors that influence financial behaviour. Think of ritual as changing your inner thermostat: calmer decisions, better boundaries, clearer follow-through.
When should I seek therapy versus energetic or Vastu work?
Seek a licensed therapist if you have pervasive anxiety, depression, trauma history, suicidal ideation, or if money worry fundamentally blocks daily functioning. Energetic work, rituals and Vastu can complement therapy—especially for embodied habits, space cues and ritual frameworks—but they are not substitutes for clinical care when clinical issues are present.
How do I start sacred pricing without feeling greedy?
Start with a cost breakdown (time + overhead), pick a permission price that sustains you, and practise saying the number aloud. Frame pricing as service sustainability, not greed. Seek a short consultation to unpick the beliefs that keep you underpricing.
Which immediate practice can reduce money shame tonight?
Try a seven-night mirror + mantra ritual: look into your eyes, repeat a single phrase (e.g., “My worth precedes my wallet”) and name one financial fact aloud. Simple, private, stabilising.
Ready to do this work with guidance?
I offer short paid consultations that combine counselling, ritual design and simple Vastu tips to break the income‑identity loop. Book a session at tusharmangl.com or message me via the site.
Tushar Mangl is a counsellor, Vastu expert and author of Burn the Old, Map, I Will Do It and Ardika. He writes on food, books, personal finance, investments, mental health, Vastu and the art of living a balanced life — blogging at tusharmangl.com since 2006.
“I help unseen souls design lives, spaces, and relationships that heal and elevate — through ancient wisdom, energetic alignment, and grounded action.”
Note: For more inspiring insights, subscribe to the YouTube Channel at Tushar Mangl or follow on Instagram at @TusharMangl.
Comments