The other day, I opened my Akashic Records, intending to discover more about the money codes created by my family of origin.
“These are the codes,” the Record Keepers tell me, “that are embedded in the heart. They are intertwined with the ways we were taught that love exists … or doesn’t.”
An image flashes in my mind: my family gathered around my grandfather’s old-fashioned movie projector. He threads the film onto the reel, through the lens, and presses play.
There I am, five years old, running my very first business: a homemade lemonade stand. My siblings and the neighborhood kids run wild across the grass. Someone hands me a quarter, and I pour them a glass of lemonade. Then my very best friend reaches out and helps herself to a glass …
… without paying.
I am stunned. The shock is clear on my face.
Where is my quarter?
How dare she?
My parents and grandparents laugh. Apparently, I’m adorable in my five-year-old fury.
A code locks into place: I am lovable when others take advantage of me. Their pleasure is more important than my boundaries.
The next memory surfaces. I’m seventeen. My younger sister, four years my junior, walks into the room wearing a brand new bikini. My bikini. The one my boyfriend just bought me. The one I’ve been searching for all week.
“That’s my swimsuit!” I exclaim.
“It’s not,” she lies smoothly. “My friend Brenda gave it to me.”
She looks at my parents with wide, innocent eyes. And they choose to believe her. To admit the truth that this daughter is, already, a thief and liar would hurt too much. So instead, they allow my reality to be erased.
The code tightens: Others are allowed to take from me if it protects them from pain.
The final image appears. I’m a young mother, barely nineteen, living with my in-laws. Beside my bed sits a jar of loose change, the only money I can truly call mine, as my then-husband controls everything else.
One day, his sister takes it all. Every coin.
I’m outraged. But she laughs. “It’s just change,” she shrugs. The rest of the family echoes her sentiment. “No big deal.”
I am surrounded by strangers, yet the pattern repeats. My outrage is a punchline. I can still feel it buried right behind my heart, a fiery ache tapped down by old messages of fear.
I ask the Record Keepers: How do I recode my heart? I no longer want to live this story.
“You choose,” they say. “You choose the boundaries.”
And then I speak across all planes of existence, to the Universe itself:
I choose.
I choose abundance.
I choose boundaries that honor me.
I choose to be surrounded by those who collaborate with me for my highest good—and the highest good of all.
I choose to release the rule that others may take from me without offering an equal exchange.
I choose abundant money flowing into my life.
My heart exhales in relief.
Dear witchy sister, when your memories come, when the old stories reveal themselves, you too may choose. You too may rewrite the code of your heart with your choice.
So that abundance, love, and sacred connection become not a struggle…
…but your birthright.
With all my heart,
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