Once upon a time, there was a Canadian television show called, ‘Til Debt Do Us Part. Hosted by Gail Vaz-Oxlade, it was one of several shows the finance writer hosted and ran. ‘Til Debt emphasized the relationship issues that bad budgeting can create. The focus was all about reigning in spending and getting out of debt.

Not having enough money is hard. Having debt makes the money crunch feel worse. It puts a drag on everything, including relationships. Financial stress is one of the many drivers of divorce. It’s too bad that such an important subject is treated to so much silence.

Isn’t it odd how we mostly don’t talk about the important things?

I don’t like talking about my money or my financial situation with people. I didn’t like it in relationships either. I tend not to combine finances, and the one time I did, I was the one in charge of the family finances. Partly because I’m a control junkie, and I simply took over, and partly because I needed people not looking at my finances when my eating disorder was active.

It’s one thing to be broke because you’re underpaid. It’s quite another to be broke because you’re spending hundreds of extra dollars a week on bulimia.

Eating disorder math is a rather terrifying thing when you start drilling down. It’s ugly across more metrics than financial ones.

Eating disorders aren’t big on budgets or financial constraints. The reality of the money situation is less relevant than ensuring behaviours can continue. Eating disorders are interested in getting their needs met. Long-term financial planning and recovery come later when you’re thin.

Everything will work out once you’re thin. However, until that day comes, the eating disorder is happy to make do. Credit cards ensure that when the money runs out, one still has access to funds. Unfortunately, unless you’re very wealthy, the bill eventually comes due.

The expression, “failing to plan is planning to fail,” is particularly true when it comes to your finances. Money evaporates and debt reproduces unless you’re careful.

Little debt is easy. Big debt is terrifying. Especially when it’s big consumer debt with very little to show for the red ink. I ran up five-figure debts with my bulimia, and got myself into serious financial trouble on more than one occasion. My credit is looking pretty good these days, but that’s because they only keep the records for seven years.

I’d have preferred help and a repayment plan, but no one was much interested in that course of action. The first bankruptcy is the hardest, and the biggest blow to the ego. The second one bothered me less: thousands of those dollars owed were medical debt. Canada has universal healthcare, but that doesn’t pay for meds, or fix your teeth. Once savings and retirement funds are bled dry, “Life Takes Visa.”

I’m better with my money now that I’m in recovery, but it’s still a struggle to stay on budget. There are a couple of reasons for this. First off, I don’t make very much money. A disability pension is around half your working income, an amount mostly designed to keep you poor. That it leaves you feeling a bit desperate always is probably just a free gift.

We like to help, but not too much. We like to make sure our superiority is apparent when we dispense largesse: keeping people in near poverty serves that purpose. We’ll help, but not so much that people do well or improve their situation.

Secondly, the world is designed to make us feel like we’re missing out if we’re not acquiring. Financial constraints aren’t a good enough reason to not play, at least that’s how it feels in the world of one-click pay. It’s tricky sticking to a budget when we’re told our value comes from what we buy.

I stopped buying clothing and cosmetics some time back. I did a “fearless and searching inventory” of my stuff and found that I was fully stocked up for decades. I won’t need shampoo, conditioner, or moisturizer until next decade.

At first, not buying was hard. Shopping is a habit like any other, and we do dislike breaking habits. The lack of funds helped there. I don’t have to mentally calculate account balances if I’m not buying things for myself. Still, filling that time was a bit of a challenge.

Shopping is how we fill time.

I’m not rich yet, despite the non-shopping for myself. I spent December’s money on other people for the holidays and birthdays, and January’s extra went to car insurance renewal. But not shopping for non-essentials – and what’s that if not extreme budgeting – has changed my feelings about my buying. I enjoy it less now that I’m out of the habit. I update my ledger less frequently as well.

This is one thing I notice about many people and money. They don’t pay close attention to what they’re spending or how often. They don’t keep ledgers with account balances for credits and debits. They often don’t even keep receipts. But without records, people don’t have a sense of how much money is going. Debit cards make it easier to fritter the money away. Is it really spending if all you do is tap?

Once upon a time when, if you didn’t to the bank, you didn’t have money, and you didn’t buy. Cash was king – not everyone accepted cheques.

Gal Vaz-Oxlade is a fan of cash. She recommends an only-cash diet to people trying to get their spending under control. You take from the bank the money you plan to spend for the established period – much depends on people’s pay cycles as to whether that will be weekly, biweekly, or monthly. You then separate the money into different piles.

Ms. Vaz-Oxlade liked to use Mason jars, but labelled envelopes work fine as well. Any collection of containers will do. I used empty cottage cheese containers back in the day.

A good way to figure out the different category amounts is to take a look at your spending patterns over the last few months. This is the joy of digital banking and points cards. It’s possible always to see what you’ve been buying and where you’ve been spending.

Everyone’s jars look different. My current biweekly spending might look something like this: one hundred and fifty dollars in the grocery jar; one hundred dollars in the pet food jar; and four hundred dollars in the medication jar. Three hundred dollars dispersed between the utilities jars. Fifty dollars in the eating-out jar. There’s no jar limit. You can have as many jars as you have categories and counter space.

Separating money like this wasn’t a new system to me, though using physical jars was a new wrinkle. My parents managed their money this way, though they used bank accounts rather than jars. There’s the house insurance account. The car insurance account. The household bills (power, internet, etc) account. The boat account. The credit card account.

I remember my father bringing out that fat stack of bankbooks that my dad when he and my mom worked the books. These days he keeps track electronically, but the result is the same. The Visa Debit account is my favourite.

My parents paid for nearly everything on their credit card. Every time there’s a transaction, however, my dad transfers that amount of money into the payment account. At the end of the month, he sends it off to Visa and the bill is paid in full. No interest, and lots of travel points.

I run multiple bank accounts as well, and I hold them across several banks. It’s a good idea to keep your credit at a different bank from your savings and investments. Else they might grab that money should you have the misfortune to fall behind. This is a lesson I learned the hard way.

We don’t talk about the hard things. We’re a species that embraces avoidance. People treat money and budgeting talk like they treat conversations about sex and masturbation. We know these things happen, but we don’t bring them up all that often, and we mostly don’t hit up our friend circles for advice.

However, as is always the case, ignorance and silence benefit almost no one. We need to talk about all the Brunos.

I made a lot of banger calls as a parent. We try our hardest, and we do our best, but we’re not perfect. I still regret that decision to try to razor my son’s hair myself. Who knew the one-blade was the shortest, not the longest?

Mistakes aside, I did an excellent job of talking to my kids about money. I wanted them to do better by it than I had. They had bank accounts early. They had savings accounts early. They learned that when you get money, it’s a good idea to put ten percent into saving right off the top.

“Do as I say, not as I did,” is a big part of parenting.

They learned that “for sale” isn’t the same as “on sale, ” and that debt is an awful drain. I told them often – there might have been an element of nag – that the money you hang onto is almost always better than the thing you bought with the money.

Money is freedom. Money is choice.

I taught them that “need” and “want” are different things. That’s an important distinction many fail to appreciate. You want those concert tickets, but Fortis needs that payment, or they’ll cut off your supply of natural gas.

It’s okay to spend money. It’s okay to want and have and do things. I spend my discretionary income on books, while other people I know invest in travelling and experiences. All of these are all more enjoyable when you’re not worrying about the bill.

Not all income is discretionary, however. Learning that ugly truth, and making the responsible choice is often annoying. Adulting is all about personal responsibility. I’m not sure I’m a fan. I am, however, a fan of black ink.

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