She and her sister each had piggy banks.

Ceramic. The real kind.

One day she walks into the dining room.

There on the sideboard — her piggy bank.

Open.

Empty.

She’s looking at the piggy bank. She’s looking at her parents. They’re counting out the money.

She could tell — they were desperate.

(Why else would they go into their kids’ piggy bank?)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, sorry. We just needed some money to pay the bills. But you’ll get it back.”

(They never got it back.)

She felt outrage. Like something got stolen. Taken. A violation.

“This is MY money. Why are you taking it?”

This was Germany. Before she was eleven.

It was 80 Marks. Maybe less.

(For a kid in the eighties? That was a lot of money. That was everything she had.)

—

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE

There was more.

Before things fell apart, her parents had started savings accounts for the kids. For school. For the future.

Then her father made an investment. A gamble.

Lost everything.

Sold the house.

Savings accounts: emptied.

Piggy banks: gone.

“As a kid, I never even thought about spending that money. I didn’t need to. It was just… there. Something I had.”

And then it wasn’t.

—

THE FEAR THAT MADE SENSE

She told me something else.

“I even had this crazy fear for a while that if I put money in a bank account, the bank would take it.”

(Not crazy. I told her that. Not crazy at all.)

“What if the bank shuts down? Everything is electronic now. What if there’s some kind of corruption? How much money do I even want to put in there?”

So she didn’t.

She put it into stuff instead. Things she could feel. Touch. See.

“I guess it makes sense that now my savings account is empty again. But I put it all into stuff. Which is here.”

And then the epiphany:

“I think that’s also why I like to turn money into experiences. Because nobody can take that away.”

I asked her to say it out loud.

“If I save my money… it will be taken away from me.”

That’s it. That’s the belief that had been running her for forty years. And she’d never once said it until now.

—

IT STARTED WITH HER DAUGHTER

We didn’t start with the piggy bank story.

We started with her daughter.

She’d been telling me about her kids. They’d been doing little jobs. Saving up. Family gave them cash for their new rooms. Maybe $300, $400 between them.

“Okay girls, we should open a bank account. We’re going to put 10% of everything you get into savings.”

One daughter: yes.

The other daughter: “No way. I’m not giving my money away. That’s MY money.”

Long pause.

“That’s so funny. I used to think about savings that way too. That’s my money. I’m not giving it away.”

(There it is. The thread.) 🧵

I pulled it.

“Walk me through. What changed your thinking?”

She told me about the books. Rich Dad Poor Dad. Think and Grow Rich. The Richest Man in Babylon. All saying the same thing: pay yourself first. Set aside 10%.

Slowly, it sank in.

“Savings is not the enemy. It’s not a bad thing. I’m not losing this money.”

But that mindset — savings as enemy — that was her whole life. Passed down from her family. They never had savings. Always two steps behind.

I asked: Do you remember a time — as a child — when someone took something away from you?

Quiet.

“Oh. There’s so many.”

And then she told me about the piggy bank.

—

BULIMIC SPENDING

There’s a term for this.

I didn’t make it up. Psychotherapist Donna Boundy coined it “bulimic spending.”

Money comes in. Money goes out. Back to broke.

Financial bulimia.

It’s not a math problem. It’s not a budgeting problem. It’s not even really a money problem.

It’s a safety problem.

—

THE VASE

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard a story like this.

Twelve years ago. Different client. Different object.

She broke a vase.

The way kids break things. A bump. A crash. The universal childhood sound of uh oh.

(I know a vase sounds cliché. But it really was a vase.)

Her father didn’t say it’s okay, accidents happen.

He said: “You’re going to pay for that.”

Walked over to her piggy bank. The one she’d been filling for years. Birthday money. Allowance. Little coins she’d drop in just to hear the clink.

Took it all out.

Bought a new vase.

Same pattern. Same underneath.

If I have money, it will be taken from me.

So she spent it first. Every time. Money in, money out. Before anyone could take it.

(I was only a few years into my practice then. I remember sitting there thinking: This is it. This is where it starts.)

—

THE LOGIC

Here’s what nobody tells you about patterns:

They make perfect sense.

On the surface, financial bulimia looks irrational. Why spend money the moment it comes in? Why earn $350K a year and still feel broke? Why sabotage yourself?

But underneath?

If I have money, it will be taken from me. So I’ll spend it first. At least I chose where it went.

That’s not crazy.

That’s a child trying to survive.

A little girl looking at her parents counting out her 80 Marks, deciding: never again.

The fear isn’t irrational.

The fear is learned.

And every scarcity mindset has a story underneath it. A money story you picked up long before you had the words for it — or the income to outrun it.

—

A TREASURE CHEST NO ONE CAN EMPTY

Her daughter — the one who didn’t want to “give her money away” — got a different frame.

“That’s not giving it away. That’s a gift for your future self.”

Once she heard it that way? Totally on board.

Same money. Same 10%. Completely different meaning.

“Putting money away used to feel like a loss. Until I changed my thinking about it.”

She replays her memories sometimes. Like a movie. 🎬

“That to me is the biggest treasure. A treasure chest I have control over.”

(That’s the healing. Right there. She found a way to hold onto something no one can empty out.)

—

$350K AND STILL BROKE

And here’s the thing: this doesn’t just affect people who are struggling.

I work with high earners. People who make good money — sometimes great money. And some of them can’t hold onto it either. Not because they’re irresponsible. Because the pattern runs deeper than the paycheck.

More income doesn’t fix the belief. It just scales the outflow to match.

Financial bulimia doesn’t always come from fear.

Sometimes it’s rebellion. Spending an inheritance because — in their words — “I don’t want your stinking money.”

Sometimes it’s identity. I’m not a person who can be trusted with money. Having it creates unbearable tension.

Sometimes it’s shame. Seeking the familiar feeling of I’m bad.

But those are another article.

Today I wanted to tell you about the fear.

The piggy bank.

The vase.

The logic underneath.

Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

It’s not crazy. It makes sense.

And once you name it, you can start to change it.

Avraham
Your Financial Coach

P.S. If any of this sounds familiar, hit reply to the email I sent you. I want to hear your version