What Happens When Scarcity Spends

I remember standing in front of a store in Yorkdale, the air smelling of expensive sandalwood and unspoken expectations. I had just closed a major agreement for my consultancy, a win that should have felt like solid ground. Instead, I felt a familiar, frantic vibration in my chest. My eyes were locked on a pair of shoes that cost more than my grandmother’s monthly pension back in the islands. I didn’t even like them that much, but at that moment, I felt that if I didn’t buy them, I was somehow failing the woman I had worked so hard to become.

I bought them, and the moment the receipt touched my hand, the dopamine vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow shame. We are taught that if we are smart, if we have the degrees, the titles, and the strategic minds, we should be immune to dumb financial choices. What I have discovered is that intelligence is no shield against an ancient nervous system. As someone who navigates the intersections of psychology and our cultural narrative, I know that for us, money is a language of survival, belonging, and the scars we carry from the journey here.

The sources tell us that under stress, our limbic system overrides our analytical neocortex. In Toronto’s high-pressure Afro and Indo scenes, this is a lived reality. When we feel the financial behind-ness that haunts 64% of our peers, our brains stop seeing a bank balance and start seeing a threat to our very existence. We treat market volatility or a low checking account as if it were a physical predator.

For many of us, this is rooted in a scarcity mindset inherited from immigrant parents or the collective memory of not enough. We hoard emergency funds, but are terrified to enjoy what we have earned, or we overwork ourselves into the ground because we do not believe the floor will hold. Conversely, we fall into status spending, using highlight reels on social media as performance reviews for our lives. We buy the car or the outfit to prove we have made it, seeking short-term relief from a long-term feeling of exclusion.

Shame is the primary driver of avoidance. We tell ourselves, “I should know better,” and that internal critic keeps us from looking at the numbers. But your habits are learned.

To interrupt this autopilot thinking, we must first identify our triggers. Was it a rough day at the office or a sixty-minute scroll through a perfect life that led to that impulse buy?. I have learned to implement the 24-hour rule; waiting a full day before any non-essential purchase to let my rational brain catch up to my impulsive heart.

We also need to create physical friction. I have removed my saved card details from my phone. That extra minute it takes to find my wallet is often enough time for the scarcity ghost to leave the room. Instead of shopping for relief, I have built a joy list, a walk through the park, a deep breathing session, or a call to a sister-friend, things that release dopamine without creating debt.

Finally, we must reframe our money story. Every week, I journal one scarcity belief, like the idea that I must look successful to be safe, and I counter it with the evidence of my actual progress.

We are healing lineages. When we choose abundance over performance, we are reclaiming our peace. You are worth more than the image you have been told to maintain. Be brave enough to be seen as you are, not just as you spend.