Rewriting Your Relationship with Money.. From Scarcity to Abundance: Re-Authoring Your Life Story Part 3

What shapes your financial decisions more deeply than budgeting apps or investment strategies? Your emotional money story – the unconscious narrative inherited from family, culture, and early experiences that dictates not just how you spend, but how you value yourself.

Money isn't merely currency; it's an affective object charged with feelings of security, freedom, shame, and pride. When people say they don't have "enough," they often mean "I don't feel like I'm enough." This profound insight explains why millionaires can experience scarcity while those with modest means might feel abundant. Your relationship with money functions as the producer of your life story – not determining the plot, but setting parameters for what's possible.

The podcast offers transformative practices for rewriting your money narrative. The Producer's Ledger helps align spending with values, while Resource Mapping reveals your wealth beyond finances. Abundance Anchors – those cost-free experiences that remind you of your worth – create internal reference points signaling that not all needs require spending.

Equally important is your role as casting director in relationships. Our earliest connections create "affective predictions" – embodied forecasts about how relationships work that determine not just whom we choose, but how we show up. Four default scripts often operate unconsciously: the Sacrifice Script (love means losing yourself), the Independent Script (needing others is weakness), the Romantic Salvation Script (the right person will complete me), and the Family Loyalty Script (blood trumps wellbeing).

By recognizing these inherited patterns in both money and relationships, you gain power to rewrite them. This isn't about blame but reclaiming agency – becoming the conscious author of your financial and relational life rather than following scripts you never chose. Ready to transform your relationship with money and others? Subscribe and take the free self-discovery snapshot at scottcomright.com.

Chapters

• 0:00 Your Body Holds Memories
• 19:33 ] Four Default Relationship Scripts
• 26:16 Money as Life's Producer
• 34:22 ] Becoming an Intentional Casting Director

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:02

Hi, I'm Dr. Scott Conkrytht. What if your body is holding memories your mind can't access? We explore how early relationships shape your nervous system and how healing begins through relationship, not just insight. Tune in now. Your body has something to say. If meaning is the screenplay of your life, then money is the producer. It doesn't determine the story, but it dictates what can be funded, how long a scene can run, and which risks you can take. Your relationship with money is often inherited like a script passed down without edits. Early experience, class narratives, cultural messaging, and emotional associations shape it. In art, we view money not just as currency, but as an affective object, charged with feelings of security, freedom, shame, desire, guilt, and pride. Money activates our sense of agency. It gives us the ability to accomplish things, to take action, to say yes or no. But it also activates our shame scripts. When people feel they don't have enough, they often really mean I don't feel like I'm enough. Scarcity can be more than just a financial state. It can be a felt sense of insufficiency. Abundance isn't just about wealth, as it can provide a sense of expansiveness and possibility. People with millions can still feel a sense of scarcity. People with modest means can feel rich. Your emotional story about money, the one you may not even know you're telling, shapes your actions, relationships, and self-worth. But understanding this narrative gives you the power to rewrite it, to take control of your financial life and your future. Ask yourself, what was said about money in my household growing up? What feelings do you associate with spending? Saving, earning? When do you feel most anxious about money? When do you feel most powerful? What do you believe money can and cannot do for you? Explore how shame shows up in your financial life. Do you hide your income or your debt? Do you apologize for your success? Do you spend impulsively to avoid discomfort? Do you delay investing in yourself out of guilt? Do you question whether or not you deserve to invest in yourself, in your projects, in your vision? Here are some practices for rewriting your money narrative. First one is called the Producer's Ledger. Draw a line down the middle of a page. Label the left column where my money actually goes, and the right column where I want it to go. This isn't about guilt, it's about clarity. Pretend you're funding your life the way a thoughtful producer would back a film. Is your spending aligned with the life you want to be making? Now look closely. Is your disposable income feeding your growth or just keeping you distracted? Are you easing momentary discomfort such as boredom, stress, emptiness with delivery apps, impulse buys, or yet another subscription? Hey, no shame about this, we all do it. The question is at what cost? There is nothing wrong with treating yourself, but sometimes indulgence becomes anesthetizing. The producer's ledger helps you identify where your funds might be quietly bleeding out dollar by dollar, penny by penny, in ways that postpone your more ambitious goals. If the gap between your two columns feels wide or emotionally loaded, you may want to speak to a financial counselor trained to navigate the terrain between money, mood, and meaning. Our spending is rarely just practical. It's also psychological. The next tool is resource mapping. Inventory all your forms of capital, real or metaphorical. These can be, among others, financial, relational, emotional, and spiritual. What are you rich in? What do you need to invest in? Start by drawing four quadrants on a piece of paper, labeling each one with a type of capital. Financial includes income, savings, or access to support. Relational includes your circle of friends, family, colleagues, and community. Emotion encompasses resilience, self-awareness, and the ability to regulate and express feelings. Spiritual might include faith, purpose, awe, or practices that connect you to something larger. Another tool is spending with intention. Not every purchase needs to be a moral referendum. However, if you're aiming to change your relationship with money, and by extension, with yourself, it helps to pause at the threshold of certain spending choices. A good rule of thumb. Before making any purchase over a self-defined amount, I don't make something up, let's say$100, ask this question. Is this aligned with my values, or is it helping me avoid something? That question does more than assess the item's usefulness. It puts you in a relationship with your inner world. Are you buying this because it aligns with your sense of purpose, fosters your growth, or brings you joy? Or are you trying to silence discomfort, distract from boredom, or soothe a shame narrative that whispers, you deserve this because today was hard. Again, there's no judgment here. Avoidance spending is common and often effective in the short term. However, when repeated, it trains the nervous system to expect relief from the purchase, not the presence. This is how money becomes a tool of dissociation rather than a means of expression. Turn the tide. Try these three micro practices. Name the impulse. Is it excitement? Envy? Fear of missing out? Naming begins the process of integration. Check for congruence. Does this purchase bring you closer to the life you say you want? Or does it momentarily fill a gap you haven't named yet? Delay 24 hours. If the urge fades, it was likely avoidance. If it deepens in clarity, it's likely value aligned. You're not just spending money, you're shaping your story one choice at a time. And in this process, there's the potential for growth, the potential for transformation, and new, more empowering relationships with money. Here's an expanded and deepened version of abundance anchors, drawing out both its emotional significance and practical power while remaining grounded in your voice and your model. The mind is wired to scan for what's missing. This kept our ancestors alive, but it doesn't help much with feeling whole. Modern life, especially under capitalism, thrives on the perception of scarcity. And when scarcity becomes a script, enough is never enough. That's why we need abundance anchors, concrete personal reminders that enoughness, the feeling of having in being enough, already exists in our lives, even if we've been conditioned not to notice it. The practice is simple. Name five things in your life that cost nothing, but consistently remind you of your worth, your joy, your rootedness. These aren't aspirational. They're already here, already yours. Recognizing and appreciating these moments of abundance can bring a sense of gratitude and contentment to your life. Here are some examples The laugh of somebody who really knows you. The warmth of morning light on your skin. The satisfaction of finishing something you care about. A tree you pass by every day that's been standing longer than you've been worrying. The feeling that comes after a good cry, one that's finally moving through you and getting out. Write your five. Don't just think of them. Put them where you can see them, on your bathroom mirror, your phone lock screen, your debit card sleeve, wherever. Why? Because money isn't the only way we measure abundance. Why? Because money isn't the only way we measure abundance. But it is the one we're most often manipulated into equating with self-worth. This practice gently pushes back. It creates an internal reference point, a signal to your nervous system that not all wealth is financial and not all needs require spending. This is about restoring your attunement to sufficiency so you're not endlessly chasing what can't be bought. Here are some case studies. Eli, a 49-year-old software engineer, grew up in a family that prized saving. He had financial security, but felt paralyzed to use it. In therapy, he traced this back to a belief that pleasure is wasteful. When he began investing in travel, music lessons, and donating to causes he cared about, his sense of vitality surged. It took a while in therapy to get him to be able to take a look at this and not have that guilt. Several months, actually. But we got there. Naima, a freelance designer, often felt ashamed of her inconsistent income. She described it as, in her words, failing adulthood. But I encouraged her to journal, and through that she realized she was equating structure with safety. She began building systems that respected her creative rhythm and provided stability without compromising flexibility. Over time, her finances did improve, but so did her self-trust. Your relationship with money is not just about numbers, it's about affective congruence. Does your use of money reflect who you are and what you value? Money is not the story, but it funds the telling of the story. It should serve the plot, not drive it. We've now come to pillar four, our relationship with others, your role as the casting director. So finally, there's our relationship with others, not just intimate partners, but all the significant connections that give our lives texture and meaning. These relationships don't exist in isolation. They're profoundly influenced by how we managed the first three relationships. When Rachel began to understand this interconnected web, she realized why her attempts to fix her relationship without addressing the other foundational areas had felt like trying to build a house, starting with the roof. Rachel often felt disconnected from her partner and friends, a distance she tried to close by doing more, like organizing outings, initiating conversations, and working to strengthen these bonds. However, her efforts felt hollow because she approached these relationships from a place of obligation rather than authenticity. When she strengthened her relationship with herself, clarified her sense of purpose, and redefined her relationship with money, her relationships naturally began to shift. She showed up in them with more vulnerability, clarity, and intention. What makes the ladolescent perspective on relationships unique is the recognition that they're not static. They evolve as we do. Early ladlescence often begins with questioning. Do the ways I've managed my relationships still serve me? This questioning isn't a sign of failure, it's a natural part of growth. For Rachel, it meant learning to prioritize relationships that supported her evolving values while gently releasing those that no longer felt aligned. If you are the lead actor, meaning is your screenwriter, and money your producer, then your relationship with others makes you the casting director of your own life story. This role requires discernment, courage, and the wisdom to know not just who belongs in your story, but what role they should play and for how long. Before we can cast our lives consciously, we must understand the invisible blueprints that have been shaping our relational choices. These patterns, formed in our earliest relationships, continue to influence how we connect, what we expect from others, and where we locate our sense of safety and worth. Our first relationships create what art calls affective predictions, embodied forecasts about how connections work. These aren't conscious beliefs, but felt expectations encoded in our nervous system. A child who experienced consistent attunement learns to predict that relationships can be safe and nourishing. A child who faced unpredictable caregiving learns to scan for danger even in loving relationships. These predictions shape not just whom we choose, but how we show up. The person who learned that love comes with conditions may unconsciously perform in relationships, working to earn affection rather than trusting it can be freely given. Someone who experienced early abandonment might keep one foot out of the door even in committed partnerships, preparing to leave before being left. Consider James, a fifty one year old architect who came to therapy after his third marriage ended. Each relationship followed the same pattern, intense initial connection, gradual emotional withdrawal from his partner, and eventual dissolution when his partner felt shut out. Through our work together, James uncovered an early prediction. If I let them see the real me, they'll leave. His father had been critical and emotionally absent, his mother, while loving, was overwhelmed and often unavailable. James learned to present a competent, low maintenance version of himself, a strategy that worked in childhood but sabotaged adult intimacy. Shame doesn't just influence how we see ourselves, it shapes how we show up in every relationship. When we carry unresolved shame, we approach connection from a defensive position, either hiding our authentic selves or compulsively revealing everything in hopes of being accepted despite our perceived flaws. In art, we understand shame as an interruption of positive affect that signals disconnection from others or from our own aliveness. This creates relational armor, protective strategies designed to prevent the exposure that triggers shame. The perfectionist who never shows weakness, the comedian who deflects with humor, the caretaker who focuses on others' needs. These roles may earn approval, but they prevent genuine intimacy. The tragic irony is that the very strategies we use to avoid relational shame often guarantee the disconnection we fear. When we hide our authentic selves, we remain unknown. When others respond to our persona rather than our person, we feel unseen, confirming our deepest fear that we are indeed unlovable as we are. Emotions are contagious and relationships are affective ecosystems. The person who carries chronic anxiety will often find others becoming anxious around them. The individual who has learned to suppress joy may unconsciously dampen the enthusiasm of their companions. This isn't intentional, it's neurobiological. Understanding affect contagion helps explain why some relationships feel energizing while others feel draining. It also reveals why working on your own affective patterns is crucial for relational health. When you develop greater capacity for interest, excitement, and enjoyment joy, you don't just feel better, you become someone others want to be with. When you learn to metabolize shame rather than projecting it, you create safety for others to be authentic. Just as we inherit meaning in money scripts, we also absorb templates for how relationships should work. These cultural and familial narratives can provide guidance, but they can also limit our capacity for authentic connection if left unexamined. I'm going to describe now four default scripts that shape connections. The first is the sacrifice script, wherein love means losing yourself. This pervasive script teaches that true love requires self-erasure. You demonstrate care by suppressing your needs, avoiding conflict, and making yourself smaller so others can be comfortable. While this can look like generosity or selflessness, it often stems from a deeper fear that your authentic self is too much, too difficult, or simply not worth loving. People following the script often attract relationships with those who are comfortable taking up space, creating a dynamic where one person gives endlessly while the other receives without reciprocating. The giver feels virtuous but eventually becomes resentful. The receiver, meanwhile, may grow uncomfortable with the imbalance, but feel trapped by the expectation of their partner's constant accommodation. Maria, a forty-eight year old nurse, lived this script for decades. She prided herself on being the understanding one in her marriage, never expressing frustration when her husband worked late, always accommodating his family's demanding schedule, constantly anticipating and meeting his needs before he even expressed them. When she finally entered therapy, it was because she felt like a ghost in her own life. I don't know who I am anymore, she said. I've been his wife, their daughter in law, everyone's caretaker, but I can't remember the last time someone asked what I actually wanted. Through our work together, Maria discovered that her self sacrifice stemmed from childhood shame around being too much, too emotional, too needy, too present. Her mother, overwhelmed by her own struggles, had praised Maria for being such a good girl when she disappeared into helpfulness. As an adult, Maria had to learn that taking up space wasn't selfish. It was necessary for genuine intimacy. The second script is the independent script, the one that says I don't need anyone. The cultural mythology of self-reliance has created a counterscript where needing others is seen as weakness. This narrative often develops as a protective response to early disappointment, betrayal, or inconsistent caregiving. If you can't rely on others, the logic goes, you can't be hurt by them. While healthy independence is valuable, this script can become a prison. People following it may achieve external success, but struggle with profound loneliness, emotional isolation, and the inability to receive support or love. They mistake self-sufficiency for strength, not realizing that the capacity for interdependence is actually a sign of emotional maturity. I'm thinking of Thomas, a 45-year-old entrepreneur who built a successful consulting firm but always felt hollow inside. His relationships were cordial but superficial. He prided himself on never asking for help, never showing vulnerability, never burdening others with his problems. This strategy had served him in childhood, where emotional needs were met with criticism or neglect. But as an adult, it left him isolated even when surrounded by colleagues and acquaintances. In therapy, he had learned that vulnerability wasn't a weakness. It was the price of admission to intimacy. His journey involved small experiments, asking a friend for advice, sharing a disappointment with his brother, accepting help when it was offered. Each act of interdependence felt terrifying at first, but gradually his relationships began to deepen. The third script is the romantic salvation script. Quote, the right person will complete me, unquote. This script promises that romantic love will heal all wounds, provide missing meaning, and transform life from ordinary to extraordinary. It turns partners into saviors and relationships into spiritual experiences rather than human ones. While the initial intensity can feel transcendent, it inevitably leads to disappointment when the other person reveals their humanity. The salvation script is particularly seductive because it contains a grain of truth. Intimate relationships can be profoundly healing and transformative. Love does expand us, challenge us, and invite us into new versions of ourselves. But when we expect others to provide what we haven't cultivated internally, we burden them with an impossible task and rob ourselves of the opportunity for genuine partnership. Angela, a 43-year-old writer, had lived the script through multiple relationships. Each new romance began with euphoric intensity. Finally, she found the one who would understand her completely, heal her childhood wounds, and provide the love she had always craved. But inevitably, reality would set in. Her partner would reveal flaws, needs of their own, or simply the ordinary humanity that comes with prolonged intimacy. Angela would then feel betrayed and begin searching for the next savior relationship. Through therapy, she learned to differentiate between the healing that comes from being loved and the healing that must be done internally. She discovered that when she stopped expecting her partners to complete her, she could appreciate them for who they actually were, rather than who she needed them to be. Her current relationship, while less immediately intoxicating than the previous ones, is also more stable, mutual, and genuinely intimate. The fourth is the family loyalty script. The blood is thicker than water script. Family relationships carry unique intensity because they're often our first experience of love, safety, and belonging. The family loyalty script suggests that these relationships should be maintained regardless of their impact on our well-being, that we owe endless patience and forgiveness to those who share our DNA or early history. While family bonds can be deeply meaningful, this script can trap us in dynamics that no longer serve anyone involved. It can prevent us from setting healthy boundaries, addressing harmful patterns, or sometimes creating necessary distance for our own growth and healing. The loyalty script often operates through guilt and obligation rather than genuine affection. But she's your mother, he's family. You only get one sister. These phrases invoke duty rather than desire, suggesting that blood relation trumps all other considerations, including personal well-being. David, a fifty year old teacher, maintained a relationship with his volatile, narcissistic mother out of obligation for years. Family gatherings left him depleted for weeks, but he couldn't imagine setting boundaries without being a bad son. His mother would alternate between cruel criticism and emotional manipulation, keeping him locked in a cycle of hope and disappointment. Through art, David realized that his attempts to manage his mother's emotions were actually preventing both of them from having a real relationship. He began limiting contact to what felt sustainable brief monthly phone calls instead of weekly visits, leaving situations when they became abusive. Initially, his mother escalated her behavior, but over time she began to respect the boundaries. Their relationship became much smaller, but more honest. David discovered that he could love his mother without sacrificing his own well-being. Understanding the emotional undercurrents of relationships is crucial for conscious casting. Each person we invite into our story brings their own affective signature, their capacity for joy, their relationship with anger, their comfort with vulnerability, their response to shame. Learning to read these patterns helps us make conscious choices about connection. Interest excitement and enjoyment joy, the most alive relationships are those where both positive core affects can flow freely. Interest excitement draws us towards novelty, growth, discovery together, the spark that keeps relationships dynamic and engaging. Enjoyment joy creates the warmth and satisfaction that sustains connection over time. The contentment that makes being together feel like home. When these affects are present and mutual, relationships feel effortless and energizing. Conversations flow naturally, comfortable silences arise organically, and both parties leave interactions feeling more alive than when they entered. These are the Relationships that deserve prominent roles in your life story. Pay attention to how you feel during and after spending time with different people. Do you find yourself more curious, more creative, more optimistic? Or do you notice your energy contracting, your enthusiasm dimming, your sense of possibility shrinking? Your nervous system is constantly providing this feedback. Learning to listen to it is crucial for conscious relational choice. Negative core feelings, negative affects, aren't always problems to be solved. Sometimes they're just information to be heeded. If you constantly feel anxious, drained, or distressed after spending time with someone, your nervous system may be detecting something your conscious mind hasn't yet recognized. This doesn't mean ending relationships at the first sign of discomfort. All meaningful connections involve some degree of challenge, growth, and occasional friction, but chronic negative affect in relationships, especially when accompanied by subtle signs of shame or diminishment, often indicate fundamental mismatches in values, communication styles, or life direction. Susan, a 46-year-old marketing executive, noticed that she felt anxious before and during visits with her oldest friend Claire. On the surface, nothing was obviously wrong. Claire was entertaining, successful, and had been part of Susan's life for over 20 years. But Susan consistently left their interactions feeling smaller, more self-conscious, vaguely deflated. In talking to me about it in therapy, Susan realized that Claire had a pattern of subtle competitiveness and one upmanship that kept Susan in a defensive posture. Claire would ask probing questions about Susan's personal life, then offer unsolicited advice. She would share her own achievements in ways that diminished Susan's, and would also find ways to point out Susan's perceived shortcomings while framing her observations as helpful. Susan learned to trust her nervous system's feedback. She didn't end the friendship, she restructured it. Shorter, less frequent interactions in group settings rather than intimate one-on-ones. The relationship became lighter and more sustainable when Susan stopped trying to force a depth that wasn't actually there. Anger is often the emotion that alerts us when something important is being violated. Our values, our boundaries, or a sense of self. In relationships, anger can be valuable information that something needs to change, whether it's a behavior, a dynamic, or the relationship itself. However, many people have complicated relationships with anger, either suppressing it completely or expressing it destructively. Learning to feel and express anger cleanly, without shame or aggression, is in my opinion essential for maintaining authentic relationships. It allows us to address problems before they become a resentment and to advocate for our needs without attacking others. Clean anger says this doesn't work for me. Or it simply says, I need something different, rather than you always do this or you never do that. It focuses on impact rather than on intent. It focuses on specific behaviors rather than character assassination. When expressed skillfully, anger can actually deepen intimacy by clearing the air and creating space for more authentic connection. Moving from unconscious relational patterns to conscious choice requires both self-awareness and practical skills. Here are some tools for becoming a more intentional casting director in your own life story. So be sure to subscribe and follow along. And if you're curious where you are on your own growth journey, take the free self-discovery snapshot at scottcomright.com. You can also join our newsletter for weekly insights and learn about upcoming therapy, meetups, and live workshops. Till next time, be kind to the part of you that felt everything first.