The Personal Money Stress You Don’t Talk About
The Weary Heart #21
I don’t think we talk enough about money. Not the shiny, curated side of money of job promotions, investments, “look at my new car.” Instead, I mean more of the stress it plants in your chest, the late nights you lie awake wondering how you’re going to make it through the month, and the quiet calculations running in your mind while you smile at your children. Relatable?
Well, money is a silent pressure. Its weight can put burden and stress on our hearts and minds. It shapes marriages, friendships, and even our relationship with faith. Yet most of us only whisper about it, if at all. We tell the world “I’m fine” while privately drowning.
And if I’m honest, I’ve been there too.
I know what it feels like when income is unpredictable. Some months, it’s high enough that you breathe with relief. Other months, it dips so low you wonder how you’ll stretch it. As someone self-employed, I don’t have the stability of a fixed monthly salary. I have four children to raise, a wife and two ageing parents to care for, and while I wouldn’t trade that responsibility for anything, I’d be lying if I said it was always easy.
The truth is, money stress isn’t just about numbers. It’s about what those numbers do to your heart.
In the past few months alone, I’ve spoken to several people who lost their jobs. Some of them were sole breadwinners. Some had children still in school. And the struggle they faced wasn’t just in trying to secure a new job, though that alone was already exhausting. It was the extreme worry of not knowing how they were going to provide for their families in the coming months, with so much uncertainty hanging over their lives.
When your ability to provide is stripped away, it hits you in the deepest part of your identity. I’ve had people confess to me that they considered ending it all. That’s how dark it can get when a person feels like they’ve failed their loved ones.
You see, it takes so much to keep going in those moments. Because you need hope. All of us do. A ray of sunshine to tell you that everything’s going to be OK. Sometimes that hope comes from faith, sometimes it comes from the people around you believing in you, and sometimes it comes from someone simply offering support in the smallest way. But hope is necessary. Without it, money stress becomes not just a financial burden, but a spiritual and emotional one too.
And even for those who still have jobs, the rising cost of living has become its own silent storm. Groceries, transport, healthcare, and education - everything costs more. Every trip to the supermarket feels heavier. Every bill that arrives seems bigger. You swipe your card and pray it clears. You fill up your car with petrol and wonder what you’ll cut back on next.
I’ve felt it too. I’ve felt it when I pay for school fees and quietly rework my budget in my head. I’ve felt it when I try to plan family outings that are both fun and affordable. I’ve felt it when the month stretches longer than the money does. And that fatigue, the fatigue of trying to keep afloat in waters that keep rising, is a weight many of us know but don’t admit.
Today, more and more people carry hidden debt, like credit cards, loans, “buy now pay later” schemes that once looked convenient but now feel like shackles. Nobody wants to announce that they’re drowning. Instead, we mask it. We keep up appearances, even while the late fees pile up in the background. Debt is not only financial; it’s emotional. Each repayment is a reminder of decisions we regret, each bill is a quiet shame we carry in silence.
And then there’s the “sandwich generation.” That’s me, and maybe it’s you too. I have four children who look to me for guidance and provision, and I have two ageing parents whose dignity I want to preserve. Some days it feels like being pulled from both sides, stretched thin and thinner still.
It’s noble, yes. It’s rewarding, absolutely. The Qur’an reminds us to care for our parents, and the Prophet ﷺ praised those who provide for their families. But noble acts can still feel heavy when you’re exhausted. Some days it feels like I’m building a future for everyone else while losing sight of my own.
And many of us go even further. I know a number of people who quietly support their siblings or extended family members financially. Outwardly, others may see us as “comfortable.” But behind the smile, we’re juggling obligations that nobody else knows. Our Prophet ﷺ said, *“The best of you are those who are best to their families.”* And I believe in that deeply. But I’ve also seen how constant demands can break the strongest of hearts. Because when you begin to resent the very people you’re helping, and then resent yourself for resenting them, it becomes a painful cycle.
Marriage, too, is not immune from the weight of money. I’ve seen relationships falter not because they lacked love, but because they lacked honesty about finances. What happens when the wife earns more than the husband? What happens when the expectation of nafkah becomes an argument instead of an act of love? What happens when resentment creeps in, unspoken, over “who paid what”?
As a husband and father, I know that pressure. When income dips, I ask myself whether I’m providing enough. And when I can’t give as much as I wish, it tests not only my finances but my sense of worth. Sometimes it’s not money that breaks a marriage. It’s the silence around money.
And for parents, one of the sharpest pains is the shame of not being able to provide “enough” for our children. Enough for the school trip. Enough for the toy they want for their birthday. Enough for the tuition class that could give them an advantage in school. It’s not about the “item” itself. It’s about the heartbreak of seeing disappointment in their eyes, the feeling that you should’ve done better - but you failed them.
I’ve felt that shame. But I’ve also learned to remind myself that,
Allah doesn’t measure us by the things we couldn’t provide.
He measures us by the love in our effort.
Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said: “It is sufficient sin for a man that he neglects those whom he is responsible to sustain.” Notice - neglect, not inability. If we try, even if it’s not “enough” by worldly standards, it is still seen by Allah. Keep striving and doing your best, even in the “dry seasons”.
There’s another kind of pain we don’t talk about: the silent resentment money breeds. Sometimes the hardest part isn’t the bills, but the tension that builds between people. A spouse who feels unappreciated. A sibling who feels used. A family member who never says thank you. Money may merely be numbers on a screen to many, but the emotions tied to it are deep. When left unspoken, they poison love and erode trust.
Islam insists on clarity in financial matters for this reason. From inheritance shares to business contracts, from mahr to zakat, transparency protects hearts. Silence corrodes them.
But here’s what gives me strength, and maybe it can give you some too: I was never the Provider. Allah is. I was never meant to control it all. Allah does.
When my income dips and the anxiety rises, I remind myself: my children’s rizq isn’t in my hands. My parents’ rizq isn’t in my hands. Even my own rizq isn’t in my hands. And sometimes, Allah allows our finances to tighten so our hearts loosen towards Him.
Our Prophet ﷺ beautifully gave us an analogy to remind us on how important it is to have tawakkul (surrendering and complete reliance in Allah) in our lives:
“If you relied upon Allah with true reliance, you would be provided for as the birds are: they leave hungry in the morning and return full in the evening.”
Birds don’t sit in their nests waiting. They go out. They try. And Allah fills them.
Our job is to try. His job is to provide.
So if you’re reading this with unpaid bills on the table, with job offers that haven’t come, with silent money arguments hanging in the air, please know this: I see you.
But most importantly, Allah knows. Allah sees. Allah provides.
Keep that reminder close to your heart.
You may not be able to give your family everything you dreamed of. But you can still give love, faith, and exemplary resilience. You can still give them the memory of a parent who prayed and kept going through hardship instead of breaking under it. You can still give them hope, even if it’s fragile.
And that legacy will outlast anything money could buy.
Money will always be part of our lives. It will test us, stretch us, humble us. But it will never define us. Your provision is written. Your dignity is intact. And your worth is not up for negotiation.
So keep trying. Keep trusting. Keep remembering that when Allah says:
“And whoever relies upon Allah - He is sufficient for him” (Surah at-Talaq 65:3),
He means it.
The personal money stress you don’t talk about? You don’t carry it alone. I don’t either. And maybe that reminder, that we are not alone, is the first step towards breathing again.
May Allah ease our affairs and expand our sources of blessed rizq. Aameen.
MW
Only tears could continuously flow in agreement to your writing. Keep writing cos I think it speaks to many. It helps many to overcome struggles which they can’t put into words. It helps many feel understood.
Aamiin Aamiin YRA