I’m terrible with money.
I don’t save, I don’t have a pension, and I’ve only taken out a few insurance policies in my life – none of which are in place now. I’m aware that I’m flying out here alone, with very little security. I’ve sold my house to pay off debt and have had to start from scratch again. I also spend. I am your most generous friend. I will take care of everyone and everything around me – often to my own detriment. I always have. I believe that if you’re mean with money, you’re mean in spirit.
I’ve never relied on anyone for money. Ever.
That’s not to say I haven’t needed help. When my world fell in on me and I went bankrupt, my sister and her husband came to my rescue with a loan. But I’m self made. I’ve only ever had one man truly meet me where I am in life, and thankfully, I’m about to marry him.
Growing up was a double-edged sword. Until I was about nine years old, we had money of sorts. I come from a creative family. My father was a photographer and my mother worked a variety of jobs, alongside her work as a model and actress. She’s naturally creative too, but she ran the house and, I suspect, the budget.
I don’t think anyone in my family has ever been naturally good with money, although I’m certain they’re all better than me. My father and I shared a similar trait: we were both entrepreneurial. Maybe entrepreneurial is just a clever way of saying he knew how to hustle.
We used to call him the “Posh Del Boy”. Photography was his main job, but there was always something else bubbling away in the background. He was bringing computer-aided design over from Japan before anyone here really knew what to do with it. He was always starting things, borrowing money, losing money, making money, trying again.
I see so much of myself in that.
After my parents split up, there was no money. I watched my mum worry about it openly. She was a single parent with three children and worked three jobs. Even as a little girl, I remember looking at her and thinking, f**king hell, you’re really putting yourself out there.
She didn’t have a choice. She was the person responsible for keeping her children alive. Our lives changed overnight and we spent several years on benefits. Strangely, I remember that period as some of the happiest years of my childhood.
It was just my mum, my sisters and me, spending time together. She’d walk us through the park to school every morning and we’d have giant cornflake cookies for breakfast. We were so happy. Years later, we spoke about this time and she said she used to get home and sob about this. It was because she couldn’t afford the bus fare or to get us a real breakfast.
We didn’t live in poverty exactly, but we lived close enough to the breadline that I learnt how to live hand to mouth. When I talk to my sisters about it now, they put it perfectly. We were raised to value money, but because our father died so young – when I was 15 – we also learnt that none of it comes with us. Life is for living, you can’t take any of this with you, Have a good life. It’s reassuring to know we all came away feeling the same.
What we didn’t have was anyone teaching us how to save, invest or build wealth. I’m jealous of people who grew up with that knowledge. We didn’t have the guidance within our family to show us how to save or invest.
I left school on the day of my first GCSE, which was also the day my father died of cancer – and started working straight away. First in a design agency doing print work, then in a pub, then a little modelling. Before long, I found my forte. I spent three years apprenticing as a body piercer before qualifying and landing a well-paid job at Cold Steel piercing studio in Camden, while still modelling on the side. Before long, I was earning more money than any of my friends.
I moved out at 18 and could finally afford all the mod cons I wanted. Looking back, my relationship with money came from always earning it. I’d seen my mum carefully manage a budget, but I’d never had to do it myself. I knew there was a missing link somewhere in my build.
We have to factor in the fact that I’m incredibly ADHD and can’t read spreadsheets, budgets and financial planning. I genuinely think I have some form of numbers dyslexia. The moment I try to organise my finances, my brain starts whirring and I somehow make it worse.
It’s a bit like dieting. The second I decide I need to lose weight, I become a human dustbin and devour everything around me. The same applies to spending. The moment the shackles are on, my head spins off and I want to spend everything I have. I should be saving, but instead, the moment I try, my instinct is to splurge. Sometimes I think it’s because my brain isn’t made for this world. Other times, I wonder whether it’s simply being oppositional.
It’s not unusual for me to spend everything I earn in a month, although I have learnt one important lesson: save the tax. What I am exceptionally good at is finding money when I need it. Rent gets paid. Bills get paid. Somehow, even in my most destitute times, I always make it work.
Why aren’t we taught finances and tax at school? My life would have been exponentially better if I’d been given those skills earlier. Instead, I’ve spent years feeling thick and stupid about something my brain simply doesn’t compute.
People often ask me how I can take on so much work, write, be the creative chef director of Mare Street Market, and independently produce my own show, Messy Lunch, yet still end up in such pickles when it comes to money. All I can say is that my brain is only good at what it’s good at. I’m not naturally good with money or numbers, despite how hard I’ve tried.
I see my life as before losing my house and after losing my house. I was earning so well I didn’t believe I could lose it the way I did. But I still believe you have to spend money to make money. This new incarnation of myself is trying to be a bold businesswoman. The difference is that these days I’m spending what I earn on building a business rather than on holidays and cocaine.
I also have better people around me now. A huge shout-out to my boyfriend’s dad, Paul, who worries about my money far more than I do.
I’ve never had a problem making money. I have tenacity in abundance, but I do have a problem keeping it. I worry every day that I could end up back where I was. I fear I haven’t completely learnt my lesson, and never will. It’s because I’m built for other things – but if I mess up again, I’ll make it again and that is the only security I live by.
Hence then, the article about i have no house and no pension no one taught me how to save was published today ( ) and is available on inews ( Middle East ) The editorial team at PressBee has edited and verified it, and it may have been modified, fully republished, or quoted. You can read and follow the updates of this news or article from its original source.
Read More Details
Finally We wish PressBee provided you with enough information of ( I have no house and no pension – no one taught me how to save )
Also on site :