Seven Days, One Sentence a Day: Noticing What I Say About Money

Too expensive.

I said it three times before nine in the morning, and only noticed when the third was a boy buying a packet of sweets, who asked the price and put it back on the shelf before I had finished answering.

I am forty-seven and I keep a small grocery shop at the mouth of an alley. I open at half past six, and the smell of fish sauce and washing powder sits in the same corner. I sell things and I hear people talk about money all day: knock a little off for me, will you; everything has gone up lately; never mind, another time. I had heard it so long I had stopped hearing it. Then that morning I suddenly heard myself.

If you also have a few lines that fall out of your mouth whenever money comes near, there is nothing in you to fix. Most of those lines were learned long ago, at the table where you grew up, in the way your parents bargained at the market. This piece only invites you to listen to them for seven days. Only listen.

This is not about saying it prettier

From the title, you might think this is a lesson in speaking positively about money, taking the word "expensive" out of your mouth and swapping in "I choose not to buy". It is not. Sometimes a thing really is expensive, sometimes a loud "no" is what is needed, and nobody has to learn to say it more elegantly. These seven days are not about changing your mindset either, or pulling you into any way of living. It is one small job: hearing what I am saying, to whom, and in what tone.

The first three days: just listen, don't fix

Half past six in the morning, I pull up the metal shutter and it screeches the length of the alley. The woman from next door comes in for two packets of noodles, asks the price of soy sauce, and I say it almost without thinking: "Everything's shot up lately."

I stood in the middle of the shop and wondered: which sentence was that? Did I mean it, or was I saying it to have something to say?

The easy explanation is that I complain because prices really have gone up. Partly true. But there is a layer underneath, and I only saw it on the third day, sitting looking at a piece of calendar cardboard full of marks: these sentences are not really about prices. They are more like a small bell hung at the door, that rings whenever anything comes near the subject of money, and rings the same whether the person arriving is a customer, my husband, or myself. I don't know when the bell was hung. I only know I hear it more clearly when I count.

Day 1: Count

Take a scrap of old calendar cardboard and a ballpoint pen and put them where you usually stand. Each time you hear yourself say "too expensive", "we can't spare it", "another time", or anything like it, make one tally mark. That is all. No reasons. Each time takes about ten seconds.

A gentle note: I counted seven marks, and nearly half were me talking to myself, standing alone in front of a shelf.

Day 2: Who is listening

Make the marks as yesterday, but add one word beside each: customer, husband, child, or "self". It takes a few more seconds.

That afternoon my husband dropped by the shop and asked about the aluminium pot I had looked at the other day outside the hardware store.

– The pot you were looking at, what's the price?

– Too expensive, forget it.

– I didn't ask the price, I asked if you liked it.

I stood there with a bottle of soy sauce in my hand and couldn't say a word. The word "self" beside the marks that day outnumbered every other.

A gentle note: who hears the sentence is information, not yet a verdict.

Day 3: What tone

Beside the word for the listener, add one more for the tone: joking, complaining, snapping, or soothing. It doesn't have to be exact, so pick the first word that appears.

I wrote "complaining", "soothing", "soothing", "joking", "snapping". The "soothing" tone turned out to sound like a mother telling a small child not to beg for things, and that was the tone I was using on myself. There is a piece about talking to yourself the way you would to a close friend, and I reread it after the third day, and every paragraph sounded truer than before.

A gentle note: the soothing tone is not bad. It had simply been running all day and I had never heard it before.

You know you did these three days right when, at the end of the day, you look at the cardboard and don't want to rub out any mark, however many or few there are. What you notice the first time depends on the person: I felt embarrassed, like being caught muttering. After about a week, some people say they begin to hear the sentence before it leaves their mouth, and some don't, and the sentence still comes out the same and they only catch it afterwards. Both are fine. Hearing without rushing to compose a reply is something that takes practice, and I was practising on myself.

On a day too busy for marks, just keep a number in your head: how many times today, one number. At the end of the day, make one big tally.

The easiest place to slip is starting to fix it midway. You hear yourself say "too expensive", stop, and say it again more "nicely". It is tempting because it sounds like progress, and because everyone wants to see themselves improve at once. But fixing before listening enough only swaps the bell for another sound, without knowing what it was ringing for. Instead, let the sentence come out as it comes, make the mark, and only then stop.

The last four days: where does the sentence come from

On the fourth day I made no marks at all. All morning I stood behind the counter, heard the usual sentences, and only listened. The smell of fresh coffee drifted over from the café next door, and motorbikes passing the alley rattled the corrugated roof. It felt lighter, like being given a morning off.

Day 4: Just listen, don't write

Today, no pen, no cardboard. Just listen, and if you catch a sentence, let it pass.

A gentle note: take it gently, no hurry. A rest day is also one of the seven days.

Day 5: The second half

Pick a sentence you heard yesterday or today, say "too expensive". In your head, add the word "because" and let it continue by itself, without planning: too expensive, because…

That day I tried it with "we can't spare it". The rest came by itself: because that is what my parents said whenever I asked for something. I had no time to feel sad, I only felt curious, as if I had opened an old drawer.

A gentle note: the second half doesn't need to be right. It is only a first thought.

Day 6: The sentence I haven't said

Take the cardboard and turn it over. Write one sentence that starts with "I want…" that you have not said to anyone. Something small is fine, like wanting a more comfortable chair behind the counter.

I wrote: I want a chair with a back for the counter. When I finished I sat looking at the line, and realised that all week I had not said it to anyone, myself included.

A gentle note: writing it down doesn't mean you have to buy it, or do anything.

Day 7: Read it back

Read everything you wrote over the six days. Underline exactly one sentence that seems most worth noticing. Do nothing with it. Put the cardboard in a drawer.

A gentle note: I underlined "too expensive, because…" That was all.

The last four days have no measure as clear as the first three, because they go somewhere more private. You know you did them right when you manage to write one true sentence, even a small one. The first time I tried the second half I sat a little long, and the first line to appear was not the one I hoped for. After a week, some people feel lighter when money comes up, some notice no difference, and some find an old matter rising that needs a rest. If that is you, rest.

A short version for a busy day: do only day five. One sentence, one "because", while washing your hands or waiting for water to boil. Fifteen seconds.

The easiest place to slip in the second half is thinking the "because…" must lead to some deep explanation, and digging until it does. It is tempting because it sounds like understanding yourself. But dig too hard and the answer turns into invention, and you can build a very reasonable-sounding story that nobody can check. Instead, take the first thought, stop there, and let it be.

If you try seven days and it doesn't work

This happens more often than people say.

The first common reason: forgetting the marks from the second day. Too busy, the shop is crowded, the pen has rolled away somewhere. It's fine. Skip the day you forgot, don't make it up, and come back the next day. If you forget often, put the cardboard where your hand lands every day, like beside the scales or the till.

The second common reason: hearing those sentences back makes you feel heavy, not just embarrassed. On the fifth or sixth day some people end up sitting with an old matter about money in the family, and it will not leave. If that is you, stop. This is not the place to dig deeper, and stopping is not failing.

One more thing needs saying plainly. If money worries have stayed with you for weeks, if sleep and meals are starting to go out of order because of it, or there is a debt weighing heavily on you, it is worth speaking with someone qualified: a financial adviser, or someone who does counselling. I am only a grocery shop owner describing how I counted the sentences I say. This cannot replace them.

If this way does not suit you, some people dislike writing things down, and some feel counting is like being graded. For them, try something lighter: pick any one day, listen for a single sentence, and let it pass.

On the Saturday afternoon after that, I closed the shop a little early. The chair with a back is still not bought, and I have still not decided about it.

But the sentence "I want a chair with a back for the counter" is on the back of the cardboard, plain, in my own ballpoint pen.

This article was created with AI assistance.