Men, Money, and Shame

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I am about to share something that is very scary for me. To be completely honest, I had all of these ideas running through my head until I sat down at my computer, and then they all went away. Why? Because I am afraid of being judged and I am afraid that, while I know I am not the only one who deals with what I am going to share, I still have a fear that it really is just me. My hope is that those of us who share this struggle will see that we are not alone, and those who judge us for struggling will gain some compassion and understanding.

I am a man who has struggled with money for a long time. While I know many if not most of us share this, I am also someone who has had an immense amount of shame around this subject. As a man who has been told by many women that what they value most are emotional intelligence and heartfelt love, the louder message is that my checkbook comes first—although few say this outright. I get it though: security is very important. And since most of us are living in survival mode, the reasons are obvious why one form of security may be seen as more important than another.

I have always worked. My first job was as a Sunday School teacher’s assistant when I was 13. Then, a couple of years later, I got a job flipping burgers at the iconic “Tail O’ the Pup,” in Los Angeles. I made good money for a high-schooler, and as I moved into my first career in the music business, I got another job working for Goodman Music—the major competitor to Guitar Center in the late 80s and early 90s. I loved working, I loved earning and I was learning about the equipment I would come to use as a professional musician. I went to music school but did not finish because the band I was in began recording and talking of touring. I played and recorded music for the next 15 years as a performer, songwriter, and composer. Somewhere along the line, I began acting—as a musician, I was cast to be in several music videos, then someone discovered I could act as well, and so I made a living as a professional actor for the next 17 years. At the time I was married, I was earning good money as an actor, had health benefits for my kids, my wife and myself, and I was working casting jobs for additional funds. While the downside to all of this was that both jobs were freelance, the reality was that I was earning more than I would have been with a traditional nine-to-five. Even with that, there was shame.

The shame I felt around being a freelancer in the entertainment industry came from believing at a core level that I was not good enough: If I were good enough, I thought, I would have steadier gigs, be cast as a lead or series regular on a show, or at least be making “more” money. Whatever level of money, it was never enough and with every job booked, the excitement was followed immediately by “where is the next job going to come from?” I was good, I worked enough to keep going and so I persisted—persistence is something I have always been good at.

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There was another level of shame, though, which came from my earnings and status being compared to that of my wife at the time. Despite my best years, she always made more. What I earned was never seen as good enough. There was always that comparison of who was earning more and who was “working harder.” Because “we are all supposed to work our fingers to the bone.”

The shame continued: My plumber-cousin loved to say that I “never worked a hard day’s work in [my] life,” even though he had never spent 18 hours on a film set or taken a script from a concept to distribution. But then again, the TV shows, films, and music we use for our entertainment are not seen as valuable, even though we invest so much of our earnings in those things for our pleasure. Even athletes are not valued or given consideration for what it actually takes to compete at a professional level. Somehow, the entertainment of the masses comes with the judgment that they don’t matter as much because we aren’t a part of “the daily grind.” We are; our daily grind just looks different.

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Following the housing crises in 2008 and my divorce in 2012, I found myself being a father of three, needing to support my family while living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I was fortunate to find a very affordable apartment, thanks to one of my close childhood friends, yet, I was still struggling. There was no “lifestyle I had grown accustomed to,” there was a drop in mutual income and a need to sustain my family. I reluctantly turned to the welfare system and was able to qualify for SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) benefits, which used to be called food stamps. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I would pay at the grocery store, always trying to hide the bright yellow card that I was using, and then there were those horrific moments that the SNAP system was down and I couldn’t pay for my groceries at all.

It wasn’t until I went into the benefits office one day and saw a parent from one of my kid’s schools sitting there, or the time I met with an employment services counselor who told me of the film editor and the lawyer he was assisting who had gone from making over $300,000 per year to being in the system because of industry changes and depression from the loss of a family member respectively, that the shame began to diminish. Seeing from the inside, and knowing I was not alone, gave me a sense of relief. And yet, out in the world amongst family and in my career where I was coaching, consulting and writing, I felt this was something I still needed to hide. The messages that dominate our culture, have always been some form of: “If you aren’t making enough money, there is something wrong with you.” That “something wrong” could be anything from having a poor work-ethic to the wrong mindset to a faulty consciousness. There is a huge industry of mindset coaches who sell programs around unblocking your money issues. And while that can be great, the downside is that there is still the persistent idea that “there is something wrong with you if you are not succeeding.”

I don’t think anyone wants to be poor. I don’t really think anyone loves to struggle. My clients come to me for relief from all of this, and through that relief and by having my support, things shift for them—which often results in more money coming in. The thing that is important to be aware of as we move more into a realm where we are dismantling systems and ideas that have kept us stuck, is that we are all different. We all have different skillsets and dispositions. We all have different vocational strengths and styles. Sometimes, industries shift and people get laid off. Sometimes, we haven’t quite found “our purpose” yet. Sometimes, we have gone through such a traumatic series of events, that we can’t just “pick ourselves up by our bootstraps.” Yet, if we can learn to give each other some space and a whole lot of compassion, we will all be much happier and things can get better.

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