For Love or Money
An epiphany quietly tapped me on the shoulder this week: the way I receive love is the way I receive money.
As it turns out, I’m not great at either.
This realization arrived as I closed the chapter on a two-decade partnership, while simultaneously staring down the self-created barrel of building my own business from scratch. The cap I’ve placed on my ability to receive has suddenly made itself clear in both arenas:
In my relationship: I had a marvelously difficult time accepting—or frankly, even expecting—caretaking and support from my partner.
In my career: I could easily build businesses and profitable programs for other people, yet I found myself frozen when looking at my own.
If you were looking at my life from the outside, you probably would have caught onto this long ago. But it has taken me more than four decades to recognize it for myself: my ability to sit back, confidently in ease, and simply receive from life has been majorly shut off.
This realization has strangely rocked my world. I’ve found myself moving through the stages of grief as I understand, at deeper and deeper levels, how little I have expected for myself, despite how much I have given to others.
There is a profound grief that comes from self-abandonment. For years, I did my best, in earnest, to be so useful, loving, and kind that the lack of reciprocity from others wouldn’t deter me from trying. I took notes, I read the room, and I learned early on that to be okay, I needed to control the atmosphere by caretaking everyone else. It was a survival strategy, and I was a stellar student.
I feel no shame for how I have operated in this world. I will always consider myself a lifelong member of the Givers Club.
But now, that giving extends to me, too.
It lives in how I care for myself, and how I sit with my inner child when she feels tempted to give away everything she has to her own detriment. We don’t do that anymore. Not because we are closing our hearts, but because we love ourselves just as deeply as we love others. We are learning to receive, because giving is only one half of the breath, and because we, too, deserve to feel joy.
My new archetype for this chapter is Tarot’s Empress—specifically the Pamela Colman Smith version, which is rich with symbolism:
She is reclined: Not rushing, chasing, or striving.
She wears pomegranates: Her loose gown is patterned with fruits representing fertility, abundance, and growth.
She is crowned by stars: Her crown represents the zodiac, connecting her intimately to the natural cycles of time and nature.
She rests by the shield of Venus: A reminder that her true power comes from pleasure, love, and emotional vulnerability.
She is surrounded by wheat: The harvest at her feet reminds us that abundance comes when we are receptive to growth.
As I look at the Empress card sitting in the frame beside my bed, I recognize the assignment for the second half of my life. It is about stepping out of the striving, and finally trusting what life and love are waiting to offer me—if only I am willing to receive it.
