only to be foiled by a blank screen.
I’m not short on money.
I just have an aversion to all things financial.
I don’t balance my checkbook.
I’m baffled by investing.
I’m afraid to look at my billsI can’t even open them.
So I was relieved to learn that my fiscal dread isn’t totally freakish.
A survey done by the University of Cambridge in England found that one in five people has financial phobia.
Other telltale signs: ignoring bills and bank statements and handing responsibility for your finances to a partner.
“Neither was I,” acknowledged my mother ruefully.
I shot her a look, then said, “Neither was I.”
Clearly, I need an intervention before I lose my cable, too.
“With time, you’ll be less anxious and avoidant,” she says.
I feel skeptical but set off to confront my demons.
(Why be reminded of how often I come here to finance my caffeine habit?)
For me, paying attention to the balance often means watching it go down and down.
The ATM, I conclude, embodies all the instability of my professional life.
That way, we’re living on a budget and not incurring senseless withdrawal fees.
It’s a cold day in hell.
No, actually, it’s not.
Instead, after hesitating for several agonizing seconds, I blurt out, “Sure.”
(What if she gets mad at me?)
That’s tough given my chronic fear of going broke.
Plus, I’m stricken with Sally Field syndrome (“You like me!")
whenever a new editor calls, which tends to cloud my judgment.
A month laterAnother editor calls and offers a not-great rate.
This time, I push myself to ask for more.
“I’m trying to treat my writing as more of a business,” I say, apologetically.
“So I need to ask for more to cover the time I put in.”
(Wish I sounded more forceful!)
She says she’ll get back to me.
No wonder it’s so hard.
This could get addictive.
I’ve asked my husband to open a retirement account statement.
Now he wants to know why my nest egg is tied up with a risky tech stock.
Do I know how much I’ve lost?
(Um, no.
And don’t tell me.)
“Dump it,” he says, “before you lose more.”
I want to plug my ears and hum but promise to call and sell it right away.
No problem, he says.
Total time: about seven minutes.
And something like five years.
But who’s counting?
And here’s my revelation.
A month laterMy husband won’t rest until the retirement fund check arrives.
And it hasn’t.
So I do nothing.
This fear is a work in progress.
I grab the day’s mail, which happens to include our credit card bill.
I put it, unopened, straight into my husband’s pile.
There’s an easy remedycook more.
I can do that.
I actually like cooking.
I feel butterflies but count that as progress.
Plus, using the new strategies we’ve adoptedcooking, especiallywe are keeping our credit card under better control.
It helps to tell myself that, as with exercise, the pain will eventually lead to a reward.
Maybe that’s the answerbring my bills to the gym and open them on the treadmill.
Get myself in better shape and put my money fears behind me in one fell swoop.
Sounds like a plan I can live with.
Photo Credit: Kate Powers
