Let’s Get This Bread (With Ease)
A Journey of Trust, Scarcity, and Redefinition
Money as a Mirror
I’ve been avoiding this conversation with myself for years. It’s the kind of thing you stuff in a drawer, hoping it’ll sort itself out while you focus on everything else.
But today, I’m cracking it open—my relationship with money.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen money as the root of all problems. It always felt like an uphill battle, a source of struggle and tension.
Growing up, I watched my parents pour everything into making ends meet—long hours, sleepless nights, sacrifices I could never truly repay. It wasn’t just money; it was their health, energy, and dreams they handed over to make sure we had what we needed.
As the oldest, I carried that awareness.
Field trips? Only if they were under $30.
A new iPod? Not for me—how could I ask for something that might stretch them thin?
Instead, I internalized a vow: I’ll never be a burden. I’ll figure it out myself.
And I did.
I worked two jobs in college, paid my own tuition and bills, moved cities without asking for help, and sent money home whenever I could. Even when I was barely scraping by, I’d dip into savings or take on more credit card debt because the thought of saying “I can’t help” felt unbearable.
But here’s the truth I’ve only recently started to unpack: I’ve spent years giving to others without ever asking, “What about me?”
The Scarcity Mindset: A Silent Companion
For so long, money was my toxic ex—the one I’d run back to in times of need, convinced things would be different this time. I saw money as a means to an end: If I get money, then I can do XYZ. It was never about desire or abundance—it was survival.
This mindset created a weird push-and-pull dynamic. I’d either hoard every penny, afraid it would run out, or spend recklessly, trying to meet immediate needs and put out fires. The idea of building wealth or using money as a tool for growth? Foreign.
A Generational Shift
What cracked me open was a conversation with my mom. This woman—who once balanced every checkbook down to the last penny and made sacrifices I’ll never fully understand—spoke about money with a sense of ease and trust.
She told me, “Money is a tool, and Allah provides. Even when I look at my account and it’s less than I expected, I remind myself that we’ve always been provided for.”
Hearing that broke something in me. For years, I’ve chased a safety net I already had—my family, my faith, and my ability to create and persevere.
Redefining the Narrative
This year, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what I want my relationship with money to look like. Not as something to chase or fear but as a tool to build the life I desire.
I’ve realized:
Money isn’t the end goal; it’s a means to expand. My creativity and intellect are my currency. Money simply amplifies what I can do with them.
It’s okay to pour into myself first. I can’t help others if I’m running on empty. Taking care of my own needs isn’t selfish—it’s necessary.
I don’t have to trade time and energy for money. I’m committed to building a life where my ideas, words, and creativity are my income—not my hours.
I’ve started letting go of the guilt around wanting more for myself. It’s not about greed; it’s about alignment. The kind of life I want—a life of freedom, creativity, and impact—requires resources.
Trusting the Process
For the first time, I don’t feel shame when my bank account dips low. I trust that I’ll figure it out. I trust that Allah knows my intentions and will provide what I need when I need it.
Money is no longer my enemy or my savior. It’s a tool, a partner, and a reflection of the energy I put into the world.
Moving Forward
I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still figuring out how to balance desire, trust, and action. But what I know now is this:
My worth isn’t tied to my bank account.
Building a life aligned with my values takes time and patience.
I don’t have to do it alone.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re running on fumes, chasing a goal that feels out of reach, or drowning in the noise of scarcity, I hope this reminds you that you’re not alone.
Trust the process. Pour into yourself. And remember, money isn’t the goal—it’s the tool. Use it wisely, and it will serve you well.
✨ Here’s to building lives of abundance and purpose—on our own terms. ✨
‘til next time,
Minhaj