Dating : It’s All About the Money

Money is not money. It is energy. It is a dynamic. A relationship. An exchange. Even when it isn’t.

I wrote an article called Fighting Fyre with Fire almost two years ago and had a small (rather big, in fact) rant about materialism and pop culture.

I’ve since come to understand that if there is a rant of any sort it is not a rant at all, but a major trigger and now use my “righteous indignation” as a part of my own personal journey of healing the things that hold me back.

Or, if I’m too far gone to make a connection, cause rants (which are time consuming, tiring and too often get me into more trouble than they are worth).

I don’t like lots of money. And I don’t particularly like people with a lot of money. Prejudice, right there and I am now trying to figure out why, because this has not always been such a thing for me. Also, I try my utmost to be non-judgemental. Major practise. Often unsuccessful — depending on how shit I feel about myself. Which is why I’m into this. I’m also anti little boxes and classifications of most types. Plus I heard a great share once that sold me on it in full.

Judgement separates us. And we are divided enough as it stands.

But I don’t like people who are “rich.” I have always thought this, anyway. I’ve had a bit of money. And I was a dick when I had it, to be honest. I had no idea of how privileged I was, in fact. But recently I have realised that I don’t detest it. It just scares the hell out of me and I have been sitting and trying to figure out why this is so, recently, due entirely to an interaction I had last year, that has repeatedly haunted me ever since, left me with a lingering regret and a feeling that there is a sorry that needs to be said (which always sucks).

I have never dated a man “with money.” Ever. Not once to be clear. Which says enough about what an issue this has been for me on an ongoing basis. Not for lack of offers, mind you. I have always run in a variety of circles, both the wealthy elite and the misfits and rebels with absolute ease and without judgement of any kind. But if you have a wallet full of cash and you ask me out on a date you had better have nerves of steel, a major recovery plan, and a decent therapist on hand. And I have yet to understand, in full, why this is so.

I assumed, for most of my life, that it was because I was anti-materialism and consumerism. That it was because I was encouraged, from very since I can remember, to marry a “wealthy husband” (the idea of which irritates the hell out of me, since every woman in my family who offers this sage advice is an entirely independent human and all of them have, in fact, supported their men financially almost in full — myself included for the most). With my new understanding of multi-generational trauma and fucked up family dynamics, this alone is worth considering and mulling over for an extended period of time.

What I am saying is that no — it isn’t quite as simple as singing Mr Wendal and sighing at society’s loss of direction, or telling my kids to follow their passion and to not buy into mainstream dictates regarding bizarre ideals of “success.”

(Although I believe this too and have been a Fight Club gal, since the get go, and forever will be, because hell — he got it early and he said it well).

To be dismissive of respecting humans purely due to the amount of money in their bank accounts (which I am generally because, let’s be honest, money seems to buy respect where it is often not due and affords people endless licence to get away with abhorrent behaviour at best — and murder at worst), is entirely different from actually feeling threatened by it and too afraid to go out on a date with a pretty nice human, who one actually finds interesting and attractive — merely because he has it. That is strange, no? That reeks of trauma to me and I believe I am becoming somewhat experienced with the workings of trauma.

I’m not going to share. It is an intricate and strangely woven web of a ton of beliefs and principles that I need to sift through to figure out and eradicate, keep or rewrite until I get this one. What I do know, is that a part of it is the shit that I have had to carry for general society’s stereotypes and the lack of ethics of certain humans with vaginas that pisses me off a lot.

I have a brain. In fact, I have a decent brain and I have spent a lifetime pretending that it was less decent to pander to men’s fragile egos (early family conditioning and mainstream society’s ongoing conditioning) so that I would be more “attractive” and less threatening. I have dulled down my intellect. I have been convinced to pursue more feminine professions. And I am still pissed that I was never told to go and study law, an MBA or medicine because I feel, in all honesty, that this was entirely because I had boobs.

I was encouraged to study Fine Art (with a capital A). But to be fair, my father was very adamant that we should follow our passions to find our purpose and fuck the money — this even though he was massively successful (including financially) at the height of his career. I won the prize for art in Matric (small a intended), and he thought that this was a pretty cool achievement. I only won that prize because I was competing heavily with a boyfriend who was into art at the time, btw, and also — I won.

Good intentions by my father, but never was there a discussion about what I could be when I grew up. A doctor. An astronaut. A lawyer. Such things were the sole possibilities for humans with penises in my family.

This with a father who was anything but mainstream and a mother who was getting thrown into jail some evenings for fighting with the Apartheid regime for human rights violations and who has never been “taken care of” by a man in her life. Still — the concept that I should some day be “taken care of” was passed on by osmosis. Even though they clearly didn’t believe this themselves. Or did they?

I have never been “taken care of” financially in my life. Ever. Not even when I became a mother. Twice. I have chosen partners who were financially irresponsible, and even outright takers. I think entirely due to this financial “trauma” as well. It gave me a sense of control. And of being needed. Necessary. And even worthy, I guess. More to unravel. But I would think that this works the same for a lot of men out there as well? Money is not money. It is energy. It is a dynamic. A relationship. An exchange. Even when it isn’t. There is emotion attached to it. There is power attached to it (don’t say no — you know it is true). And, quite frankly, I don’t get it at all. I don’t know how it works. And I don’t know how it fits into a “relationship” with all of this stuff that comes along with it.

What I do know.

Men have mostly offered me nice things because they want something in return — power and control

I am back on Tinder and frequently see profiles of men stating things like “I am not your wallet, so if that is what you are looking for swipe left.” (So this must be a thing, right?)

I am sick to death of being assumed to be like other women — and have gone as far as to wonder if I am gay, simply because I don’t seem to fit into the role of a “woman” that is, generally, considered “female”.

I now wonder if all of us that consider ourselves outside of the the “normal” gender spectrum aren’t, in fact, just not stereotypical.

It’s that bad and it’s that ridiculous. What the fuck is a “normal” woman anyway — and yes — god help you men if this is what you think we are.

By assumed to be like other women I mean: out for money and to be taken care of; slightly dim and a bit girly and ditsy (how cute); dramatic or to have issues if I don’t agree to fit into your stereotype; okay with being objectified because that is why we make ourselves pretty, right? It goes on. And again — I am sure our male counterparts feel very much the same way (Don’t say no — I have seen it on your Tinder profiles!)

God. Money, huh? Yes. I have always thought I hated it. For the assumption that I can be bought (I can’t — even when I have to go hungry instead — do your best — and some of you have tried). For the way that it encourages people to be less of the person that they could be. For how it protects the corrupt and malevolent. For how it is used to control, manipulate and degrade the many who don’t have the luxury of saying no. For the segregation is causes in our society that is already fractured beyond what looks like repairable. For the way it enslaves people to a system that is bent on keeping them trapped and feeling worthless — addiction again. There is a lot to not respect.

Why I give it away, never ask for enough of it even when I know what I am doing work wise, feel guilty for having it and am actually terrified to be around those intimately that have it, remains to be fully understood. It’s mostly about control. Long sad story and I’ll save it for the book that may never be written.

I am, and always will be, a free woman and I strongly believe that this is how love stays. Need kills desire. Choice encourages mutual respect and trust. Real intimacy. Real friendship. Endurance. A relationship less ordinary. Not weird. Perhaps how it should have been all along. They lied to us. Again.

But to the cool human (s) who I have met along the way, who have (too much) money and who I actually did like I say this: I hope you had a good therapist on standby and I am truly sorry. It wasn’t you. It was me. That’s my shit and I judged you. I was prejudiced. And I had an easy go — mostly because I was afraid and my go to is the fight response when I am frightened. Oops. My bad. I am on it now and figuring it out because I’m into non-judgement and I am judgy as fuck when it comes to money. I hope that you understand that my intentions were entirely good, if the execution a bit executionary.

Also — don’t tease a sleeping dragon just because she looks like a princess. That’s your stuff and you pulled my hair first.

To the women out there who are out digging the gold. Fucking stop it. You’re ruining it for the rest of us, and our daughters to boot, and I am tired of carrying your legacy of shameful behaviour and entitlement. You are worthy. Let it go.

To the men out there who are making it because they think it is going to make them feel okay. It won’t. Trust me. I’m an expert.

If you are doing it for this reason alone it is going to bring you endless misery and, possibly, destroy you in full. You are worthy. Let it go.

It’s actually not about the money. We know it. So why even? I will tell you why. Fear. It’s a necessity. It’s not worth what we attach to it, though, too often. Myself included, of course.

More to follow on how really letting go of the material is a vital part of finding full recovery from addiction and / or toxic relationships — true story — if I can find the time because, right now, I am so broke that it is actually funny (at times) and guess what — I am surprisingly better and more at peace than I have ever been before. Is that weird? I think not.

I had some choices to make and I made the right ones. For my recovery and healing. For the people around me that I cared about. For the strangers met briefly on the road, who had no part in the shit-storm that was unfolding. And for some of the answers to the questions that I had been asking for quite some time.

It took stepping out of my comfort zone and going it completely and utterly alone, without any of the facades and crutches that I had been using for most of my life, to receive the understanding — experiential learning.

I could not have done it without losing “everything” first. But I am extreme. And I’m keeping that.