Today, I was making a tuna sandwich for lunch when a thought hit me: Why do I feel bad for having this? Do I feel bad for having enough? It wasn’t fancy or extravagant—just a simple meal—yet this pang of discomfort sat in my gut like I didn’t deserve it.
It’s not a feeling of guilt but something harder to define. I wasn’t questioning whether I deserved to have food in my kitchen, a paid-off mortgage, or financial stability. I knew I did. I had worked for it, sacrificed, and struggled more than most to get here and having enough is my reward. But still, there was this strange, lingering feeling. Not guilt—more like an inability to fully appreciate it. It was like my brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that I no longer had to struggle. And I realized—I’ve been carrying this feeling for years.
Giving to My Kids, Even When It Hurt
It could be because I wasn’t thinking about myself for most of my life.
My kids didn’t have as much growing up as others, though they still had more than some. They always had the necessities of life—a roof that didn’t leak over their heads, a little something on the table, and clothes that fit. And now and then, I ensured they got something extra: an occasional weekend trip, a small getaway to break up the routine.
But those extras came at a cost. I often had to increase my debt to give them a moment of joy. I wasn’t reckless with money—I was making calculated choices, knowing full well that it would mean pushing my needs further down the line.
And I would do it again.
Part of the reason I struggle to appreciate financial stability now is that I was in the mindset of giving to others first for so long. I never hesitated if there was a choice between them having what they wanted and me having what I needed. And when you live like that for long enough, it’s hard to switch it off.
The Scarcity Mindset That Lingers
Even though I no longer have to stretch every dollar to its limit, part of me still acts like I do.
When you’ve spent years weighing every purchase—asking yourself if it’s necessary, running mental calculations in the grocery store, deciding what you can cut so your kids don’t have to—you don’t just wake up one day and think, Oh, that’s over now. I can relax. Having enough can actually feel weird.
It stays with you. It shapes your thoughts about money, security, and what you deserve. Even now, when I no longer have to stress about whether I can afford groceries, a part of me still hesitates, questions, and struggles to enjoy what I have thoroughly.
And it’s frustrating because I know I’ve earned this. I know I worked for it. And yet, something inside me still whispers: Are you sure?
It’s Not Survivor’s Guilt, But It Feels Close
I think about the people still struggling—the ones standing in front of that same grocery store cooler, trying to decide if they can afford cheese. And that’s when my heart hurts.
I remember what that feels like. I remember the mental math, the sacrifices, the quiet stress of never feeling fully secure. And now that I am safe, part of me feels like I shouldn’t get to enjoy it.
It’s not precisely guilt—I don’t feel like I don’t deserve it. But I think the weight of knowing what it’s like to go without. And that makes it harder to sit back and enjoy something as simple as a tuna sandwich.
Relearning How to Appreciate Stability
But here’s the thing: denying myself doesn’t help anyone.
Feeling bad about finally having enough doesn’t put food on someone else’s table, erase the years I spent struggling, or undo the sacrifices I made.
And it doesn’t mean I stop caring. It makes me more aware. It makes me want to do more—not out of guilt, but because I can. Having enough would change your life.
The real challenge isn’t just earning stability but learning how to appreciate it. I need to allow myself to have a simple meal without overanalyzing it. I need to accept that I don’t have to struggle anymore, which doesn’t make me a bad person. I need to shift my thinking from survival mode to something healthier.
Instead of guilt, the right feeling is gratitude.
Not the forced, I-should-be-grateful-because-others-have-less kind of gratitude. But the kind that lets me exhale. That allows me to recognize that I did what I had to do, and now I’m in a place where I don’t have to fight every day. And maybe, just maybe, I can use that stability to help others—not because I feel like I owe it, but because I genuinely want to.
Because I know what it’s like. And because, after everything, I deserve to be here.