Financial abuse is when money is used as a tool of control, punishment, or humiliation. It can be restricting someone’s access to funds, forcing them to work under unfair conditions, sabotaging their career or ability to earn income, or making them feel guilty for spending even on essentials. It can also look like what I’ve lived: being shamed for the cost of food, being harmed over not having enough, or being told you should be grateful for bare minimum resources because you’re “less deserving.”
Psychology tells us that trauma activates the survival brain. Financial trauma does the same thing. It can keep you in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn mode. Making clear decisions, planning ahead, or feeling confident about money can become challenging. It’s not laziness, irresponsibility, or a bad attitude. It’s your brain protecting you from danger — danger that feels real because it is real.
For some of us, money isn’t just numbers on a page. It’s safety, survival, and sometimes, the very thing we’ve been abused over.
 |
| Artwork by Steve Taylor Art. Photographed at Art in the Park in Boise, Idaho. |
I want to be clear: people have helped me. Some have gone above and beyond, and I’m grateful. Their support has meant a lot, especially in the past year. But PTSD isn’t about whether a few people are kind. It’s about how repeated abuse, neglect, and mistreatment get wired into your mind and body. That’s what sticks, and that’s what shapes how you respond to stress - including managing your finances.
Abuse tied to money has been a theme in my life for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it was direct, like being physically harmed over not being able to afford an event. Other times it was more subtle, but just as damaging: being made to feel worthless because someone had to spend money on me, or because they had to do things for me at all. I was often told I should be grateful for the smallest gestures, even when those same things were done for others daily. I saw that I was treated less than others, and that's when I started thinking, "Huh. Something isn't right here."
If someone cooked a dinner for me, it was framed as a huge favor. That I should be endlessly thankful for. But, the same meals were prepared for other people without making it seem like it was a big deal. If others got big parties, for me it might be a small dinner, presented as extraordinary, when really it was just ordinary. The message was always the same: I was undeserving, a burden, not worth the same effort, attention, or money that others received without question.
In college, I worked three jobs just to pay my way through ten years of schooling. While my peers had support from their families, I was told that if I really wanted it, then I would struggle. As if it were a choice rather than a reflection of the disadvantages I was forced into. The "forced to struggle" thread has been strung throughout my life. That, too, was a form of financial abuse.
Even now, I see how poverty changes the way people treat me. I’ve had people tell me flat out, “Your transportation issues aren’t my problem,” as if being able to get to work isn’t essential. Others have said, “You can’t go out and do anything because you’re poor. You should just stay home by yourself.” I was told to "get my sh** together" after my 12-year relationship ended, and I had to start over with nothing. I wasn't offered help. I was offered judgment and criticism. I’ve been made to feel like I don’t deserve success at all, as if financial struggle cancels out the right to joy, dignity, or opportunity.
Over the past two years, I’ve been sent to eviction court five times. Five times. Each time, it wasn’t just a legal problem. It was a trigger. My body went straight into survival mode: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. The stress was so extreme that I couldn’t sleep, think clearly, or focus on anything else. Living with the fear of losing your home over and over again isn’t just stressful. It's retraumatizing. In addition to this, I still had all of the other traumas I had to recover from. It was like being retraumatized over and over again. I would lie on the couch for hours staring at the wall or wondering where the hours had gone because my brain was trying to make sense of it all.
One of the ways the financial trauma I experienced shows up now is with my bills. I struggle to sit down and focus on them because I was yelled at so much about paying bills and money in the past. When I try to deal with my finances, my brain almost freezes. I know I need to pay them, but the constant pressure ignites my PTSD. I go into fawn or freeze mode and feel completely overwhelmed. This is actually a symptom of PTSD. When trauma triggers your survival response, it can make ordinary tasks feel impossible, even when you know they’re necessary. Having someone constantly pressuring me over money or any financial issues isn't helpful to me. I can do it when I feel relaxed and supported.
This is why PTSD isn’t just about the past. It lives in the present, in eviction notices, unpaid bills, and the constant stress of trying to survive. Financial abuse and instability are central to understanding it.
Even though financial trauma and PTSD can feel overwhelming, it doesn’t have to define your life. Healing is possible, step by step, and finding support. I primarily use self-care, educational tools, and community resources. They are slowly helping me reclaim my power and rediscover my voice.
Your traumatic experiences don’t have to hold you back forever. There are ways to create stability, confidence, and joy again. If you’re looking for tools or guidance on navigating life’s challenges, my books and resources are designed to help you take that next step toward a brighter future.
Comments
Post a Comment