When we were in NY, V and I had a moment. 

A shopping disparage moment. 

His budget for shopping was X, mine was Y. 

In this case, X was three times smaller than Y. 
Generally speaking, we don’t have this discrepancy. 

We are usually agree on what things we like to spend money on and whilst it is different for each of us, it doesn’t cause a disagreement. 
Of course, the larger part of the issue was that I hadn’t been earning for a month. I’d recently sold my business and was taking some time out to figure out what I wanted to do next. Trust me, this state of confusion isn’t really a joy. It takes gratitude and patience and appreciation to really revel in this state. None of which I had in June. 
My point is. 

In my head, V could call the shots on money, since he was clearly the one bringing it in. 

So I felt like I didn’t have a say. 

(This emotion generated by own mind of course, not his). 
We solved the argument with a discussion on the benefits of purchasing items in America vs. Australia. 


(Yes, I would love to buy the perfect ankle sock or leather handbag in Australia, Australian made even. But it’s simply harder to find or doesn’t exist in the designs I love). 
So that solved the budgeting issue to a degree. 
But underneath it all. 

I realised. 
I like making money. 

Somedays more. 

Somedays less. 

On most days more. 
It gives me the power to choose. To choose more if I wish. Even if I don’t wish. 

I simply want to choose. 

And whilst V has never rendered me powerless to choose, I had. 
It still bothered me. 
I’m okay with him making more. 

I’m learning that it is possible for me to make more, so long as I actually believe it’s possible. 
But money is ego. 

It tells you (or rather you tell you) that your opinion is of value, where it is concerned. 

You earnt it. 
Tricky one that money thing….