I grew up in a house where money was never discussed but always worried about.
My mom would clip coupons on Sunday afternoons, methodically organizing them by expiration date. My dad worked overtime every holiday. They never said “we can’t afford it” out loud, but I could feel it in the way they hesitated before saying yes to anything. New shoes. School trips. A birthday dinner at a restaurant that was not Pizza Hut.
By the time I was old enough to earn my own money, I had internalized a weird belief: wanting money made you a bad person. Rich people were greedy. Spiritual people lived simply. You had to choose — purpose or prosperity.
So I chose purpose. I worked in nonprofits. I volunteered on weekends. I felt morally superior and financially terrified at the same time. I would judge friends who worked in finance while secretly envying their ability to go out for drinks without checking their bank balance first.
## The year everything fell apart
In my late twenties, I hit a wall.
I was 28, living in a shared apartment with a roommate who had a hamster that was louder than both of us. My car had 180,000 miles on it and a check engine light that had been on so long I stopped seeing it. I remember driving to work one morning and realizing I was hoping the car would just break down completely, because at least then the decision would be made for me.
I was doing “meaningful work” and I was broke. Not artist-broke. Not cute-broke. Real broke. The kind where you put groceries back at the checkout counter. The kind where you say “I already ate” when a coworker invites you to lunch because you have $12 left until payday.
One night I sat on my bathroom floor and did the math. Rent. Utilities. Minimum credit card payment. Loan payment. I subtracted them from my paycheck and got a number that was not zero, but felt like zero. At my current savings rate, I would never own a home. I would never be able to help my parents. I would never feel safe.
That was the night I realized: my relationship with money was not noble. It was broken.
## How I stumbled into a different perspective
A few weeks later, a friend came over. She noticed a little altar I had set up — just a candle, a feather, some stones I collected from a hike. My small attempt at bringing spirituality into a life that felt increasingly hollow.
She asked if I had ever heard of Taoist wealth talismans. I had not. She showed me one on her phone — a small piece of yellow paper with red ink markings. It was simple. Ancient. Nothing flashy. Frankly, it looked like something a kid might draw in art class.
“It is not about making you rich,” she said. “It is about reminding you that abundance is already moving around you. You just have to stop blocking it.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. I had heard too many Instagram influencers say similar things while selling courses. But she was the most grounded person I knew. She had a savings account. She did not panic when an unexpected bill arrived. She moved through life like she trusted the world would provide for her.
I ordered one from [Gentlwish](https://gentlwish.com/product/wealth-prosperity-talismans/) that night. Not because I believed it would work. Because I did not know what else to try.
## What happened when I stopped pretending
When it arrived, I almost laughed. It was tiny. Handwritten on yellow paper, folded neatly into a triangle. I put it in my wallet, behind my debit card, and forgot about it.
For the first few weeks, nothing magical happened. I did not get a raise. I did not find money on the street. No mysterious checks arrived in the mail.
But something shifted in how I saw things.
Every time I opened my wallet, I saw that yellow triangle. At first it just annoyed me. Then it made me pause. Instead of immediately feeling anxious about money, I started asking myself different questions. Not “how do I make more” but “where is abundance showing up today that I am ignoring?” Not “why am I always broke” but “what am I holding onto that is blocking the flow?”
I started noticing things. A freelance opportunity I would have dismissed because “I am not qualified enough.” A friend who owed me money and suddenly paid back — out of nowhere, the week I needed it most. An unexpected tax refund I had forgotten about. Small things that were always there, but I had been too scared to see because I was so focused on lack.
I also started noticing where I was blocking myself. I was afraid to ask for a raise. I was giving my skills away for free because I felt guilty charging. I was treating money like something dirty instead of something neutral.
Six months later, I was not rich. But I was not broke anymore either. More importantly, I stopped being afraid of money. I started seeing it as energy, not evil. Something that flows in and out, that you can learn to work with instead of fight against.
## What I tell people when they ask
People notice the yellow paper when I pay for things. They ask what it is.
I tell them the truth. It is not a lottery ticket. It is a reminder. A Taoist wealth talisman drawn by hand, blessed with intention, carrying a tradition that goes back centuries. Some people call it a prosperity charm. I call it a small piece of paper that helped me unlearn a lifetime of scarcity thinking.
If you grew up like I did — thinking wanting money made you less spiritual, less good, less pure — I get it. That belief is hard to shake. It is woven into the way you see yourself. Letting go of it feels like betraying your values.
But here is what I have learned: abundance is not the opposite of purpose. Scarcity is.
I still work in a field I believe in. I still volunteer. I still choose meaning over money in most decisions. But I also let myself want things. A stable home. Help for my parents. A car that does not sound like it is dying. A life that does not feel like a constant negotiation with fear.
And I keep that yellow talisman in my wallet. Not because I believe it will make me rich. Because it reminds me I am allowed to receive.
[Gentlwish Wealth & Prosperity Talismans](https://gentlwish.com/product/wealth-prosperity-talismans/) are hand-drawn on traditional paper, infused with the intention of flow and protection. Small enough to carry anywhere. Quiet enough to let you find your own way back to abundance.