Afraid to Charge? Ditching the Money Guilt as a Therapist

Let’s name something that rarely gets said out loud in our field:

Most therapists aren’t afraid of money.

We’re afraid of what money means.

Afraid it will make us look selfish.

Afraid it will change how people see us.

Afraid it will somehow cancel out the care we bring into the room.

I know this fear intimately.

I remember the first time I realized a client had a balance because their deductible hadn’t been met. I stared at the number on the screen longer than I want to admit—my stomach tight, my mind racing, already deciding what I thought they could or couldn’t afford.

Before I ever gave them the chance to respond, I had already taken responsibility for their finances.

That’s when I realized something important:

money guilt had quietly followed me into private practice.

We’re taught—explicitly and implicitly—that being a “good” therapist means being self-sacrificing. That wanting financial stability is somehow in conflict with compassion. That if we charge more, we must be caring less.

But here’s the truth I had to unlearn:

Charging appropriately does not make you unethical.

It makes you sustainable.

Money guilt didn’t come from my values—it came from systems that underpaid me, normalized burnout, and framed sacrifice as virtue. It came from years of being told to be grateful for crumbs because “this work is a calling.”

And yes—this work is meaningful.

But meaning does not pay rent.

It does not fund retirement.

It does not create rest.

I learned this the hard way—by undercharging, absorbing costs, hesitating to collect balances, and stretching myself thinner than necessary in the early years of my practice. Not because I didn’t know my worth—but because no one ever taught me how to reconcile my values with revenue.

Here’s what finally shifted for me:

I stopped asking, “Is it okay for me to charge this?”

And started asking, “What do I need for this work to be sustainable?”

That question changed everything.

When you charge in alignment with your capacity, your energy, and your life—you show up more present, more grounded, and more effective with your clients. Financial stability doesn’t make you less caring. It gives your care somewhere solid to stand.

If money still feels tender for you, that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re untangling years of messaging that told you your work should cost you something.

It doesn’t have to.

If you’re ready to release money guilt and learn how to price your services with clarity and confidence—without abandoning your ethics—I created the Ramp-Up Revenue Course to walk you through that process step by step. You deserve a practice that supports you, too.