One frugal table, three money scripts: Why siblings spend very differently

My two younger sisters and I navigate money matters very differently, though we grew up in the same frugal household. 

I’m the most relaxed about spending. My middle sister, two years younger, optimises value whether she’s splurging or saving. The youngest, arriving eight years after me, seems to place a private, protective boundary around her personal finances.

Decades before these adult patterns set in, our young minds must have processed how carefully our parents stretched the solo salary earned by my civil servant dad in Singapore’s early vulnerable years. The country was morphing from a precarious post-colonial port into an unstoppable industrialised economy in the 1970s and 1980s.

This national ascent, a whirlwind, left families like ours clinging to the baseline thrift forged in scarcer times, even as the skyline rose inexorably around us. 

The chicken debate

Looking back, I always thought we dined well at home. Yet, my youngest sibling says our family ate chicken once a year, which I can’t believe. 

Surely all our birthdays were marked with little family feasts of chicken thighs and mee sua longevity noodles?

How could three children share the same dining table, yet grow up with contradictory money memories and now, contrasting life scripts?

Part of the puzzle clicked into place when I tuned in recently to Money FM 89.3 on my commute. Presenter Michelle Martin was chatting with professional coach and investor Gail Wong about the hidden concept of “money trauma”.

Trauma, she indicated, is not what happens to us. It is how our nervous system responds to real or perceived financial stress.

Money is never just money. It is deeply layered with emotional meaning.

We face highly unique financial circumstances, which could be single traumatic events like job loss, business dispute or scam. 

We also contend with collective experiences, whether it’s the Iran war, rising electricity tariffs or AI disruptions.

Trauma can travel

In Asia, we’re likely familiar with the financial DNA that travels through generations. The Japanese Occupation was especially searing for our pioneers. I remember the tycoon’s wife who lived in an architecturally stunning house but still saved broken plastic dustbin lids. Why? Just in case these covers came in handy to keep out the rain, her daughter told me.

Others have reworked past deprivation into a new narrative.

Take Mr Seah Kian Peng, the former long-time chief of FairPrice and now Speaker of Parliament. As a boy, he kept a notebook to record every cent spent from his scant pocket money.

Later, in his FairPrice leadership role, he would keep a compassionate eye on the living expenses of Singaporeans squeezed by rising prices. 

In that light, it was gratifying to hear him say with healthy authenticity during our interview years ago: “Every day, I will still record how much I spend on food, petrol, other items.”

He quipped: “Now, it’s easier with spreadsheets.”

As psychologist Juli Fraga highlighted in a New York Times business feature on financial trauma, our adult spending habits remain dictated by past precarity. Experiences like economic hardship or medical expenses can prompt our brains to default to childhood survival templates. 

In my family, those templates are seen in our divergent spending arcs. But beyond our upbringing and what we remember about it, personal circumstances – like how much we earn – and lifestyle preferences also play a part.

High finance, house-brand oats

My middle sister works in the very visible world of private banking, so she spends on her professional image. I’ve always admired her stylishness, whether she’s shopping for shoes or designer lighting for her new home. In parallel, she aces the game of value optimisation. She may pay for experiential luxury but also try house-brand rolled oats.

Our youngest sister, a part-time educator, stewards her resources more defensively. While she happily spends on her well-being with gym memberships and exotic health supplements, our family’s financial matters can lead to tough conversations. However, I’ve realised that’s not at all unusual among siblings in any household.

When I think about it, resources can feel inherently limited to the last-born in a thrifty family. The hesitation may be the protective reflex of a youngest child who unconsciously assumes that her more established elders can bear greater responsibility.

While these differing points of views can occasionally cause quiet ripples of tension, most will agree it’s fair that those with greater capacity bear a fuller share of the filial responsibility.

Relationships, and finances, are never one-dimensional and I’m clear too that she has a generous heart and enjoys lavishing fun gifts on us.

These different approaches play out across families – even those who grew up in a more prosperous Singapore than I did.

I think about the colleague, barely in her 30s, who says she’s blessed to be doted on, as eldest kids like us often were. She grew up with the sense that she had everything. But the younger of her two brothers is reluctant to spend, eschewing brand-new clothing in favour of pre-loved options from Carousell, for instance.

Poignantly, today’s youth live with degrees of money stress. A recent Straits Times report headlined “I feel poor” highlights how Singapore’s young, high-earning professionals are plagued by a persistent feeling of being financially inadequate despite making objectively good money.

Just as objectively, this is not always a bad thing. An editor once pointed out to me how “parsimonious” two of our junior charges were. “But that’s also good,” she reasoned, alluding to their prudence and far-sightedness.

Judge not

I, too, had a season of prudence for four or five years in expensive Washington when I became a mid-career student, then a short-term contractor at the World Bank. This was right after my time as a US correspondent, when I’d buy yellow raspberries or pump petrol without glancing at prices. 

That’s mainly because I love spending on discoveries, whether gas-guzzling road trips or novel gifts for my family, or myself.

Those free-spending days ended the moment I had to watch my pennies. Even after my bank balances grew healthy again and I can now gladly spend on travels and treats, I stay mindful about expenses.

I figure that’s a healthy, adaptive financial response rather than active money trauma, which leaves our nervous systems trapped in a circular, irrational state of fear or guilt, even when we are safe. 

Still, I’ve decided to resist the urge to pathologise every cautious habit, mine or someone else’s.

Neither will I hastily judge people on their spending patterns, least of all my sisters. We each chose a distinct path in life, and we are living in our own vivid seasons.