My History with Money Wasn’t Just About Dollars—It Was About Defeat
My relationship with money has been turbulent for as long as I can remember.
There were times when everything was organized, payments were on time, and I felt in control. But it never took much for everything to spiral. One unexpected expense. One missed bill. One forgotten task. That’s all it took to knock everything out of alignment. After that, I’d usually regress. Overspending would show up—not out of irresponsibility, but because it felt like the only way to soothe the mistake. I wanted to feel better. But it always came at a cost.
Budgeting With Executive Dysfunction Is a Different Battle
Managing money isn’t easy, even for neurotypical people. But for those of us with autism—especially those of us dealing with executive dysfunction—it can feel impossible. The basic, built-in tools that people are expected to have just aren’t there, or they don’t function consistently. Following up is hard. Getting started is hard. Finishing? Even harder.
What made it more confusing was that I wanted structure. I would hyperfixate on trying to build the perfect system—tracking everything, color coding, researching every financial tool and app. But that hyperfocus came at a cost too. It became overwhelming. I burned out. And then I’d stop. It felt like failure. It felt personal.
I Wasn’t Irresponsible—Just Unsupported
For a long time, I believed I just wasn’t good with money. That I was careless or incapable. But eventually, it started to click: this wasn’t about being irresponsible. This was about being unsupported. No one had ever taught me how to manage money. My mother couldn’t—she was a single parent, stretched thin, and hadn’t been taught herself. I was trying to figure out everything for the first time, alone, in real time—and the stakes were high.
I wanted so badly to have it all together. To know everything. To not mess up. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes… but I did. Lots of them.
There were entire afternoons, entire weeks, lost to financial anxiety. Agonizing over whether a purchase was the right decision. Trying to choose the “best” credit card. Spiraling into research about emergency funds, Roth IRAs, high-yield savings accounts—because a tax preparer once told me I needed one and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I tried to cram years of financial literacy into my head all at once. I thought that if I just learned enough, I could get ahead of the shame.
But the shame kept showing up. Especially when I looked around and saw peers—or even strangers online—my age or younger who seemed so much more “together” than me. They made it look easy. I felt stuck in place.
Looking back, I can see it clearly: it wasn’t that I didn’t care. I cared so much that it paralyzed me. I wanted to get it right. I wanted to do everything perfectly. And that desire—to be flawless—kept me from showing up for myself in smaller, more sustainable ways.
Internalized Ableism Was My Biggest Financial Obstacle
In order for me to begin to progress, I had to start first with my mental. For a long time, I did not think good thoughts about myself. On top of believing that I was stuck in generational financial illiteracy I’d never overcome, there was also the weight of internalized ableism. I wanted so badly to prove the world wrong—to show that I was capable. And in many ways, I never had a problem setting someone else straight for discriminating against me. But I didn’t protect myself from myself.
I let the negative thoughts creep in. I convinced myself I wasn’t mentally capable of getting my head above water. Looking back, it’s kind of ironic—because now I work in accounting, a field where numbers bring me comfort instead of dread. But before I got here, I had to face my own shame. I had to rebuild from rock bottom. And that meant owning the truth: I was in debt. My credit score was in the gutter. I felt like I had failed.
Financial Healing Started in the Most Unexpected Place
Healing financially started with finding safe spaces to talk about money. For me, that came from the kitchen—not metaphorically, but literally. I was working in the culinary industry in my mid-twenties, surrounded by older women, mostly in their 40s to 60s. The conversations about money came naturally—nothing like the intimidating, overly-polished advice I had read from Forbes or Nerd Wallet. These women had lived. They’d made mistakes. They were generous with their stories and wisdom.
Being able to talk with them—women of different ethnic backgrounds, different levels of success—made it feel real and possible. I could touch the future I wanted. And with that, I started healing.
Little Steps Meant Everything
I made small steps. I started celebrating every win.
- Checking my balance to avoid overdrafting? A win.
- Saving a few dollars here and there? A win.
- Paying down a credit card, even just a little? Huge win.
- Seeing my credit score go up, even by a few points? I threw myself a mini dance party.
I worked up the courage to ask questions. I saved up to buy my first car in cash—even though it was used and ten years old, it was mine. I talked myself out of impulse buys. And maybe most meaningful of all: I began passing what I’d learned on to my mom.
Budgeting Isn’t Just About Money—It’s About Energy
Then I discovered something that really changed everything: budgeting wasn’t just about money. There was such a thing as an energy budget too.
We all have a limited bank of energy each day—and sometimes it’s less than we expect. That energy gets spent in ways we don’t always notice: physically, mentally, emotionally. But it drains all the same.
So I stopped asking, “What can I afford financially?” and started asking, “What can I afford energetically?”
Sometimes the answer was: “Just five minutes with the banking app.” Other days, I’d sit down and plan out my bills for the next month. But whatever the task, I made sure to schedule energy breaks too. That might mean journaling, reading fanfic, playing music—whatever helped me reset after the overstimulation.
Another shift was learning how to mentally prep for tasks that would drain me. When I could anticipate it, I could manage it. I could talk myself through it. There was no rulebook—just the quiet promise I made to myself: finish what you start, even if it’s just one thing.
And little by little, I healed. My systems got softer. My inner voice got kinder. I stopped expecting perfection and started focusing on showing up.
Progress Isn’t Perfect. It’s Freedom.
In upcoming posts, I want to talk about what that financial toolkit can look like for you—because it won’t look exactly like mine, and it doesn’t have to. But if something I’ve learned can make your journey a little easier, I want to share it.
We’ll talk about the apps I use, the quirky systems that work for me (yes, there are lots of Post-it notes), digital reminders, automated payments, and energy-based routines. We’ll also get into fallback systems—what to do when you slip—and how financial self-care is a form of self-respect that autistic and neurodivergent women are absolutely capable of mastering.
Because this work isn’t about being flawless.
It’s about being free.