By Melanie Kim Brockwell in My Daily Journal

Not My Money

27 April 2025

I know it’s a consciousness amplifier for some. That it’s a stand-in for God or for one’s initiation with god-self being awareness. And that’s all well and good, when you’ve gotten enough distance to find perspective.

I know that when I’m in the midst of things, feeling bodily sensations and finding my footing, I’m not thinking about ‘money’ per se. I’m not thinking at all. I’m feeling — energy up in my shoulders, heart palpitations, nausea and pain.

I have diarrhea and tinnitus. It’s difficult to hear what’s going on around me. I’m locked out of normal interactions; what’s normal for me, anyhow. I’m not worried about money, about bills and being homeless. None of that has ever really worried me. I was without a fixed address for over ten years, so it’s nothing new, and I’ve never been able to pay my bills, so who cares.

My anxiety, if you want to call it that, is in relationship. Being misunderstood. Being told one thing and being held accountable to something else. That’s where I get tripped up. There’s a kind of twilight zone, for me, in there.

When people tell me it’s okay and then take the rug out from under me and change their mind, I’m a little shell shocked. It takes me a minute to get back on my feet. To accept that this is the new normal, and that this is the new truth. I can get there. Depending on the size of the effect, it may take me a day or two or just a couple of quiet minutes alone to recover my equilibrium, to accept and acknowledge that this is now happening.

That’s all.