Financial binging vs. financial anorexia

How fear of too much has me keeping people, money, and food at a distance

Jan 23, 2024

Settling into a corner of our small town café to savour a small drip coffee, I set the mug to one side, open my laptop, and pull up two tabs: One, my bank account. Two, my budgeting software.

Before so much as a sip, I verify the precise amount I’ve just paid, review my account balance, and categorize the coffee and tip under “Groceries.”1 Each time I spend any amount of money on anything, I do the same.

Since 2017—during a winter of being left and divorce and the sort of scarcity that comes with a tenuous hold on keeping the heat on—I have meticulously tracked every cent in, every cent out. Within hours of spending or receiving money, I log in and record it. Next, I record all tax-related earnings and expenses using elaborate DIY spreadsheets displaying dates, locations, prices, taxes charged and paid, etc. I then file tax-relevant invoices and receipts in a system of digital folders organized by category.

This isn’t a New Year’s thing, tax-season thing, quarterly thing, or once-in-a-while thing. It’s a thing I do immediately upon earning or spending—no matter how much.

Then, each December, I replicate the current year’s spreadsheets and folders so that everything’s ready to go for the new year. I also log into my accounts at least once daily to make sure everything’s in order and there are no odd or unaccounted for charges.

And guess what? I still struggle with debt, I still struggle with scarcity, and—at almost 49 years old and with two advanced degrees—I have zero retirement savings, live month to month, and worry deeply about how in God’s name I’ll figure out tax season.

But wait—let me share a few other details.

I own fewer than thirty items of clothing in total—socks, underwear, outwear, and shoes included. I own two bowls, no plates, one fork, one spoon, and one mug. When I move houses, countries, or coasts, everything more-or-less fits in my two-seater MINI.

I eat two simple meals a day consisting of the same foods on repeat. I don’t eat out. I don’t drink or spend money on alcohol. I do spend too much on food for my cats. But, hey, what can you do? They mean the world; I’m a reclusive, middle-aged sober person without any kids.

I don’t travel much further than the nearest city and do that rarely—staying in “boarding house situations” instead of hotels. I’ve stripped software subscriptions and business expenses down to the minimum. I don’t have streaming services or pay anything for entertainment, really, outside of Substack subscriptions.

To many, this way of living might sound like punishment or self-flagellation. But I’ve been a material and digital minimalist my whole adult life: I find it freer, lighter, more spacious. It’s not about deprivation. It is about the sense of clarity that having less brings. It’s also about appreciation—I prefer to have less, and to only have things I fully appreciate.

Judging me yet? Just remember: I still struggle with debt, I don’t own a home, I don’t have retirement savings, and I live month to month. All this scrimping and I still struggle with scarcity. Not with scarcity of things, but of money. Not scarcity of money so much as security. I have next to none, really: things, money, security.

I’ve always made it through but have never stopped treading water. I’ve set myself up to live precariously in a country where inflation is running wild and a cost-of-living crisis is upending many, many people in a similar boat.

Part of this I’m proud of. Specifically, I never chose financial security and stability at the cost of my life. By “life,” I mean my sense of meaning, my deep inner joy, my freedom, my recovery, my values, my ethics.

And, part of this leaves me feeling embarrassed, ashamed, stupid, and flawed.2

Black-and-white image of author in her 20s, unclothed, crossing arms over chest, looking serious, maybe angry — Me today, holding a picture of me in my twenties (c. 1999)

Fear of Not Enough or Fear of Too Much?

Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes I’m envious of the over-spenders. Also the overeaters and over-drinkers. Not because I want that particular brand of pain or think their path is easier. But because—since my own patterns and pathologies lie elsewhere—I have their version of medicine (and they mine).

I take things literally. I take discipline to extremes. If I see a thing that needs cutting or reducing, I create a rule and uphold it.

When someone lives with Fear of Not Enough—when they fear having not enough food, love, booze, other drugs, or anything else—they pull towards overconsumption. In an effort to fill a void, soothe a wound, or get a need met, they say: Yes, please. Give me more. And MORE. (Even when “more” is a harmful stand-in for what’s really needed.)

Those folks—the ones struggling with Fear of Not Enough—aren’t broken or bad. They’re human. They’re coming from a place of heartbreak, loss, and the pain of our human-ness. Their medicine usually involves a bit more of the exact stuff I’m good at.

Meanwhile, I exist within Fear of Too Much. I fear too much coming from within or without. Whether we’re talking about food, love, or anything else, I pull towards elimination, deprivation, restriction.

Those offer momentary relief and illusory control. Those keep the waves of anxiety from dragging me under. In an effort to fill a void, soothe a wound, or get a need met, I say: No. Keep out. More is anything but safe. More equals chaos. (Even when “more” of something might be helpful and needed.)

Those of us here—in the Fear of Too Much realm—aren’t broken or bad. We’re human. We’re coming from a place of heartbreak, loss, and the pain of our human-ness. Our medicine usually involves less of the stuff I’m good at… and more of its opposite.

But—and here’s the rub for people like me—while it may have been straightforward to quit alcohol, drugs, social media, and TV, I can’t quit money or food or people. I must exist in intimate relationship with the exact material of my addictive, unhelpful patterns.

Where to from here? I don’t know just yet—I’m still in the midst of it. But I do know this: Whether you exist in the Fear of Not Enough circle or the Fear of Too Much one, I can pretty much guarantee that the same pattern (whether overconsumption, overdoing it, and going too far… or underconsumption, elimination, and restriction) is playing out in more than one area.

As the saying goes: How we do one thing is how we do everything. And as the other saying goes: One person’s medicine is another one’s poison.

Black-and-white image of author, unclothed, in her 20s, holding hands over breasts, looking upwards — Me today, holding a picture of me in my twenties (c. 1999)

Make the subconscious conscious.

I’ve managed my Fear of Too Much in anorexia recovery, but less so elsewhere. Sometimes consciously but more often subconsciously, I distance myself from the things that feel out of control and the things that still scare me—money and financial abundance included.

To start addressing and changing this pattern, I’ve found identifying my default is helpful. Identifying my default helps me take what worked in one area (recovery from anorexia, for instance) and apply similar principles and practices to others (such as money and finances).

Like many or most humans, my fear-driven strategies have their origins in childhood. Faced with chaos and having next to no control over situations surrounding me, I figured out what I could control. Things like: working nonstop, getting straight A’s, starving my body, exercising to excess, and minimizing not just belongings but relationships. I found that exerting control in these ways calmed the panic, soothed the heartbreak, brought relief.

Not that the relief lasts, of course. Whether we’re over-consuming and overdoing out of Fear of Not Enough or under-consuming and restricting from Fear of Too Much, we’re chasing a promise that can never be kept.

We’re trying to fill a void, soothe a wound, or get a need met, all while causing harm to self and others, reinforcing the origins of the problem, and repeating the same painful pattern.

Driven by fear, we can’t see clearly. Chasing that promise, we won’t claw our way out of an unhelpful cycle.

So, here I am: Seeing this. Sitting with it. Examining the overlap in how, moving from a fear-based place, I’ve distanced myself from food, belongings, people, and financial abundance.

Distancing myself from food (back when I was addicted to anorexia) was easy to spot and more-or-less conscious. Distancing myself from belongings is conscious as well (I’m an extreme minimalist largely by choice). Distancing from people? Half conscious, half subconscious. Distancing from financial abundance? One hundred percent subconscious! (At least until lately.)

Seeing this—laying bare this pattern that has long been hidden—fills me with hope. Why? Because I’ve experienced again and again: When we make the subconscious conscious, we set change in motion. Through seeing and naming, we transform ourselves and redirect the trajectory.

There is no area in my life where this has played out differently. Meaning, I have full confidence that by getting honest, taking accountability, and being courageous, right action and healing have solid footing to stand on. This is perhaps the greatest gift of sobriety. This is perhaps the number 1 thing that getting sober has taught me.

Now, I will say that with money, specifically, the “Fear Model” gets a bit nuanced:

On a conscious level (as well as a subconscious one), I do fear not having enough money! Next to losing loved ones, this is my greatest source of everyday dread. It also explains my obsessive tracking of every cent in, every cent out.
BUT, “working on finances” from that angle has never brought different results. I’m still living month to month. I still have no savings or retirement. I’m still in debt and still fear unexpected and even expected expenses.
So (even as I continue the fastidious tracking and bare-minimum spending), I’m panning out and looking at my wider patterns—including how they surface in other areas: food, belongings, people. From this place, I remember what my subconscious is up to. I remember that Fear of Too Much underlies pretty much everything.
Applying this to finances begs the question: Why do I fear having more money? Sounds ridiculous, I know! But here’s at least part of it: I’ve never had enough or more than enough money. Having more is unfamiliar and thus, on some level, uncomfortable and a little bit scary. What if I lack the capacity to handle it? What if I get it and lose it? What if I mess the entire thing up? What if, in messing it up, I prove my inner critic and external critics correct? What if, in other words, I’m just “bad with money” and a finance-world fuck-up?
Fearing Too Much, my subconscious does what it thinks keeps me safe. Until I address that part, all those things that I’m doing consciously (budgeting software and spreadsheets galore) will never work. I will always feel like I’m still treading water. The first step in changing this is bringing it into the light. The first step is clear seeing held with compassion.

Let me ask you.

Look, I don’t have any quick fixes for this—whether you’re beset by Fear of Too Much, Fear of Not Enough, or some conscious-subconscious combo. But my hope is that walking you through my own exploration (pretty much in real time!) might offer insights into your patterns and how they play out.

From there, big or small shimmers of clarity arrive. Clarity is healing. And, on my own path at least, clarity is essential for sobriety and the opposite of addiction. It’s also the first step to changing our relationship to food, booze, money, other people, or anything else.

So, let me ask you:

If you had to pick one, what most fully captures your relationship to money: Fear of Not Enough or Fear of Too Much?
Are your conscious and subconscious aligned in this realm? Meaning, do your conscious patterns around money accurately and fully reflect what your subconscious is up to? Or is there another piece? Is there some other thread to pull or some dark room to explore?

I realize this can all feel a bit tangled. I mean, it is a bit tangled! But I’d love to hear anything you’re willing and wanting to share around your own relationship with money: How it shows up for you. How you show up for it. Etc. (Just please keep it about you; no unsolicited advice, please.)

PERFECT HUNGER

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