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E very year, many of us begin with genuine intention. We decide to be better with money. More disciplined. More organised. More intentional. We set goals, make plans and promise ourselves that this time will be different. And yet, for so many capable, thoughtful people, those resolutions quietly unravel. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes slowly. It leaves us asking ourselves why it feels so hard when we know what we should be doing. The answer isn’t laziness, lack of motivation or

I was working with a client this morning who has recently moved to Australia. For 12 months they have been contributing a large amount of the small income they earn to household expenses, preventing them from investing in things that will increase their income. Rather than discussing this with their partner, they have been quietly trying to maintain things. All just to keep the peace. On the outside, they look generous, dependable, selfless. But on the inside, there’s a quiet

Each of us has unique money beliefs, behaviours and patterns. And often, we’re completely unaware of them. The  Martyr  money type [1] is generous and compassionate, but can also carry guilt, resentment and shame beneath the surface. Do any of these internal dialogues sound familiar? If I don’t help, I’ll lose them Yes is easier than awkwardness or conflict It’s on me to fix this I feel their pain as my own I shouldn’t have more than them Their needs matter more than my own

Last year, I stood beneath the towering sequoias of California’s Sequoia National Park. It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to look up at something that has stood for thousands of years. Silent, steady, and magnificent. These ancient giants have witnessed centuries of change, yet they endure. As I wandered through the trees, craning my neck to take it all in, I realised something simple but profound. Their strength isn’t just in their enormous trunks or lush canopi