My therapist once asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks. She said, “Who are you without money?” 

At first, I laughed — because how do you even begin to answer that? It felt impossible to separate who I am from what I earn, what I can afford, or how well I’m managing things. Money touches everything. But after I left that session, the question followed me home. It sat beside me at my desk, on my couch, in every conversation I had about work or worth. Because if I wasn’t my income, or my savings account, or the next thing I was working toward, then who was I?

Unlearning the Measure of Worth

From an early age, I learned that hard work earned praise. As a young adult, I always worked multiple jobs. Not because I had to, but because I felt proud to. I liked being the reliable one, the responsible one, the girl who could handle it all. The more I worked, the more I was valued. And without realizing it, I built my self-worth on output. 

In psychological terms, that’s called contingent self-worth. It’s when your value depends on achievement or performance. I see now that my early financial behaviours were shaped by this belief: that being productive equalled being worthy. Money just became the scorecard. 

For most of my adult life, money has been a mirror. It reflected my success, my discipline, my ambition — or, on bad days, my mistakes. It became the way I measured whether I was doing “enough.” When my career grew, I felt like more. When it slowed, I felt like less. That’s a dangerous loop many of us fall into, especially in a culture that moralizes money and glorifies hustle. 

The question — who are you without it — forced me to sit with the discomfort of not having an answer. It made me realize how much of my identity had been built around productivity and providing, instead of simply being. Without money, I’m still ambitious. Still kind. Still funny and creative. Still someone who loves to build, nurture, and connect. Those things don’t disappear just because my balance changes.

Redefining ‘Enough’

For years, I treated money like a measuring stick for control and safety, and to an extent, it worked. But there’s a difference between feeling secure and being driven by fear. I used to believe that if I could just earn more, save more, or build more, I’d finally feel at peace. But that peace never came, because what I was really craving was emotional safety — not financial certainty. 

Psychologically, this is where our nervous system gets tangled up with our bank account. When we’ve lived in survival mode for too long, our bodies learn to associate money with calm. But money can’t regulate your nervous system; only awareness can. Once I started to see myself beyond the numbers, my relationship with money softened. I stopped trying to fix every emotion with a financial solution. I stopped needing to “earn” rest or justify joy. I began to see money as something that supports my values — not something that defines them. 

Because when you know who you are without money, you start to understand what “enough” really means. Enough isn’t a number. It’s a feeling. One that comes from safety, self-trust, and connection.

Now, whenever I make a financial decision — whether it’s saving, spending, or saying no — I pause and ask: What version of me is showing up right now? The one who’s scared? The one who’s curious? The one who’s grounded? That reflection has become a compass, guiding me toward choices that feel aligned, not just “smart.”

A Question Worth Asking

Everyone deserves to know who they are without money. Because once you strip away the pressure, you’re left with something more valuable than any paycheque: a sense of self that can’t be bought or lost. That’s what true financial wellness looks like to me — the confidence to know that no matter what’s in your account, you’re still you. The numbers may change, but your worth never does.