“Depression is about self-esteem,” my therapist told me at our last session.

Really? I thought it was about dopamine and seratonin and synapses. Yes, it is biological but in my latest bout I played Russian roulette with my self-esteem. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I just don’t think I deserve much. And I’m cool with that. Or I thought I was cool with that until my therapist convinced me that I should not be cool with that.

I was brought up in an environment of self-imposed deprivation. My mother was a child of the Great Depression. She didn’t talk much about it but whatever happened scared the hell out of her. I grew up thinking that we did not have much money and that we could not afford to do a lot of things. She taught me that just enough was enough. You don’t need anymore than that.

She saved on milk by mixing it with powdered milk. She darned socks. She canned food. She made my prom dress and clothes for the Barbie my sister and I shared. We ate bread from the day-old store. I patched my threadbare uniform with masking tape. I wore hand-me-downs that the daughters of my father’s boss had outgrown or tired of. The freezer was full of bologna or Velveeta sandwiches. Eating at a sit-down restaurant – like IHop – was a treat. Hot dogs were “tube steaks.” Off-label instead of brand name. The Elks Club instead of the country club.

My mother did not have a wedding gown or a diamond ring. To my knowledge she never had a manicure or pedicure. Clothes were dried on a clothesline. Shirts were ironed in the basement. My mother never went to movies. She never bought jewelry or perfume. She did not “do lunch” with her girlfriends – she did not have any. She was too busy working, cooking, cleaning, ironing, sewing and squeezing every penny until Lincoln cried “Uncle!”

She died six years ago. I was angry and sad when I learned how much money was in her bank account. How could a school teacher and bill collector have amassed that kind of wealth?  Why didn’t she spend it when she was alive? She was so unhappy – always doing without.

Why didn’t she let herself have one of those fancy, expensive family portraits? I remember her standing in front of the front window at the local photo studio, longingly looking at other perfectly posed families. It would have made her so happy. I would be sitting here right now looking at the face of my happy mother and her happy children instead of this quarterly earning’s statement.

I feel guilty every time I spend any of this money. She has been dead for nearly seven years but I still call it “Mom’s money.” Most of it is still there, despite the market crash. I don’t know how to spend it. I know what I would like to spend it on – hurricane windows, a new brick driveway, awnings and landscaping – but I cannot bring myself to spend it.

I just don’t deserve it.  I am the woman who orders the least expensive dinner on the menu – especially when someone else is paying. Why should I pay someone to paint my toenails when I can do it myself? Why should I let someone cut the grass when I can do it myself? Why should I shop at fancy department stores when I can probably get a better deal at Marshall’s or TJ Maxx? Why should I buy fresh flowers for myself at the grocery store? They’re just going to die. Why should I get my hair colored at a salon when I can do it myself for under $20? Why should I have insisted that the men I married buy me a diamond engagement ring? Mom didn’t have one.

Why should I?

“Because you are worth it,” my therapist said. I cringed.

“It seems like such a waste of money,” I told her. Besides, I thought to myself, there probably are kids still starving in Biafra – like the sisters at St. Stephens told us. I just don’t deserve to have so much. My belief system – that there isn’t enough, that economic disaster is right around the corner and that I don’t deserve it anyway – is wrong. It has decimated my self-esteem and fueled my depression for many, many years. It has left me with resentments and filled me with jealousy.

My financial self-flagellation is out of control. It came to a head in the last month. Eighteen months of worry and deprivation pushed me to the edge. I looked down and could see only more deprivation and less self-esteem.

“Don’t buy anymore earrings at Goodwill,” my therapist told me. “Go get yourself that heart rate monitor you want.”

Well, I haven’t made good on those suggestions. But I did go on a little shopping spree on a discount web site and bought myself some clothes – almost $200 worth – all deeply discounted. I bought two more dresses at a consignment shop even though I didn’t need either. I treated myself at the grocery store to two pounds of Dunkin Donuts coffee instead of the cheap stuff. And I – gulp – actually hired a personal trainer for an hour at the gym.

It may not sound like much to you but to me it is a start. Next, I am going to buy a teeth whitening kit. I have a $7 coupon.

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    Last reviewed: 5 Oct 2009