For the past couple of months, I’ve been jobless. It wasn’t entirely without motive - I’ve been hyper-focused on securing funding for next year, which means my typical steady income has been on pause. Because I knew I’d be taking time off to focus on funding applications, I had built up a healthy little savings pot. I benchmarked enough money to easily see me through this transition period.
But once you’ve mentally earmarked money as “savings,” it’s incredibly hard to break out of that mindset.
As soon as I left my job in February and started dipping into that account, a wave of unease hit me. Even though I had saved this money specifically to act as a temporary income, when it came to actually relying on it... I found it really hard to spend.
To make matters worse, I had made a promise to myself before this started: I would still go out for coffees, I would still take weekends away, and I would continue to live a nice - slightly less expensive - life. These savings weren’t a last-resort emergency fund; they were a direct replacement for my monthly pay check, and I had every right to use them. Yet, the guilt remained.
I think I’ve always had an interesting relationship with money. It’s never really been the driving force behind my decisions. Like most people, I associate money with success, but reputation and doing meaningful work have always outweighed my need for a massive pay check. I’ve also always been quite frugal. I live within my means, so I’ve usually felt like I’ve earned “enough” - even when my pay was low or I was freelancing.
Sounds like a healthy mindset, right?
Yes and no. The flip side is that I genuinely find it hard to spend money. I almost hate it. Saving gives me a sense of pleasure and freedom - the comforting idea that I can do whatever I want with that money at a later date. Except, when that “later date” actually arrives, I fuss so much over spending it that the joy gets completely drained.
Sometimes, my frugality makes sense. I’d genuinely rather stay in a cheap hostel than a five-star hotel, and I prefer buying second-hand clothes over brand-new ones. Those are just personal preferences. But then there are the simple things - like going out for a coffee - that actually bring me genuine joy, yet I find myself fiercely resisting them. For what? Just to see a number in an account stay the same?
This whole internal monologue has come to a head because my relationship with money has had to completely transform. I recently won a massive $66,000 scholarship, and ever since, I’ve been hunting down top-up funds to cover the rest of my tuition costs for a Filmmaking Masters in New York. We’re not just talking about a few thousand pounds here; I needed a significant amount of money to cover international health insurance, tuition, and hefty living costs. Suddenly, the personal savings I was so proud of felt like a drop in the ocean. My old monthly salary felt like pocket change, and I had to pivot entirely to the world of high-stakes funding.
I’ve now managed to secure a few grants, and it’s a bizarre feeling. Receiving a lump sum of £15,000 is surreal - realistically, when I was freelancing, that was close to my entire annual take-home pay. Wrapping my head around money as massive, sporadic lump sums rather than a predictable monthly pay check is a total mind-bend. And at the same time that I’m securing these funds for the next academic year, I’m still eating into my personal savings. I have to keep reminding myself: that is literally what they’re there for.
I’ve learned that the only way to survive a saving mindset without losing your mind is to declare certain things "frictionless." There are a handful of monthly costs that aren't strictly necessities, but they keep me sane - so I’ve made a deal with myself not to think about them. My gym membership gets me out of my small flat. Spending £9 on two lattes so I can work in a cafe keeps me inspired. Saying yes to dinner with a friend, or filling up my car tank so I can escape for a drive - these are no longer up for debate. I've built them directly into my baseline routine. They might not be essential for survival, but they are essential for my life.
But the harder question to answer is: how do you learn to spend beyond this?
I’ve been reflecting on this a lot because this past month was exceptionally expensive. I went away on holiday, celebrated multiple birthdays, and had to travel to London for a funding interview (which wasn’t reimbursed). On top of that, I love treating my friends and family when I see them. Gift-giving isn’t my love language at all - in fact, buying physical gifts just stresses me out - but I love paying for a dinner, buying a round of pints, or treating the people I love to an experience.
Looking back at the bank statement for the month gave me that familiar sting of anxiety. But as I sit with it, I’m trying to reframe how I look at my finances.
Money is an energy; it’s meant to circulate, not just sit in a digital vault gathering dust. Yes, saving gives us security, but what is the point of security if we don’t allow ourselves to actually live? The money I spent this month went toward memories with family, investments in my future career, and moments of hard-earned relaxation. It’s okay to spend money. In fact, sometimes you have to spend it to build a life that actually feels good to live. I’m learning to let go of the guilt, take a sip of my takeaway coffee, and trust the process x