Good Question. Wrong Time.

The risks of going too deep, too soon in financial planning

I delight in talking about questions. I enjoy researching them, exploring them, and—maybe more than anything—asking them. One question I’ve been thinking about a lot is this: What is your earliest money memory?

It’s a great question. One that has been asked of me, and one that I have asked of others. The answers it elicits have depth, nuance, and always come with a story. It’s one of my favorites.

But lately, I’ve been wondering—is it always a good question to ask?

That question came up during a recent and insightful conversation I had with Carl Richards for the Society of Advice. Carl asked me about my own earliest money memory, and I shared how I remembered being at church, pulling angels off the tree at Christmastime. But from there, our conversation evolved. We began to examine the question itself—the merits and drawbacks of questions like this, and what makes a “good” question truly great. I suspect Carl kept thinking about it, too, because not long after, he brought the same question to Michael Kitces on a recent Kitces & Carl episode. Together, they explored deeper layers: Are all good questions good all the time? Or are there moments when even great questions require structure, timing, and preparation to land well?

This piece is my continuation of that conversation—not just the one I had with Carl or that Carl had with Michael, but one that I have had with many of the teachers, mentors, friends, and colleagues who have shaped my thinking over the years.

I am thrilled that financial psychology, the psychology of financial planning, financial therapy, life planning, and a broader openness to talking about money beyond spreadsheets are becoming more mainstream. It’s an amazing shift. But as this interest in psychology and therapeutic techniques grows, I believe our skill in applying it needs to grow, too. Especially when it comes to how—and when—we ask the deeper questions.

Photo by Bekah Russom on Unsplash

Why Reach for Childhood

Childhood memories are special—not because they’re accurate, but because they often carry a unique awe that makes them stick.

Try it. Ask someone to describe the home they grew up in or their family’s holiday rituals. Chances are that you’ll hear descriptions of things where the scale is way off. Some things will be bigger, like a first roller coaster ride. Others will be a lot smaller, like bugs and baby frogs. Summer pool days pass really slowly; the soda you savored at dinner disappears in a blink. And the Christmas tree? Towering. That elementary school hallway? An endless maze of tile.

When I was a child at Green Springs Elementary, I remember walking into the building and feeling like the ceilings reached the sky. Years later, walking in as an adult, it felt like a dollhouse.

That’s the thing about early memories: they’re real, but they’re not complete. They’re crafted with a child’s tools—concrete thinking, emotional intensity, and limited context. They weren’t formed to explain the world; they were formed to survive it.

Which raises the question: given their inaccuracy and extremes (however fun), why do we ask about them? Why has “What’s your earliest money memory?” become such a popular—and even standard—question in financial planning meetings?

I understand the appeal. Even if the memory isn’t factually precise, there’s often depth in the answer. I’ve seen how asking a question like this can unlock stories that reveal insight into a client’s money behavior. And this process of self-recognition can be powerful: it can be both explanatory and healing.

But here’s the paradox that I can’t shake: these early memories often come from a time when clients had no financial agency, no real understanding of what was happening, and no power to change things.

Developmental psychology has a lot to say about this. Before the age of 7 or 8, children are mostly concrete thinkers (Piaget, 1952). They can’t reason about systems, fairness, or tradeoffs in the ways that adults do. They also can’t reliably distinguish their own thoughts from those of others (Wellman, 1990)—which means they absorb feelings and patterns without being able to name or challenge them.

Consider the implications. A child sees their parents argue about money—or they experience scarcity, eviction, or fear. What they internalize isn’t a financial principle; it’s an emotional truth they may not even have the words for. They can’t express or explain the experience, let alone control it. And, over time, those emotional truths become money scripts—the unconscious beliefs we carry into adulthood, shaped more by emotional intensity than economic logic (Klontz & Klontz, 2009).

These scripts might sound like:

• “There’s never enough.”

• “Money ruins relationships.”

• “I don’t deserve to have money.”

• “If I just had more, everything would be okay.”

Here’s the important thing: those beliefs weren’t chosen. They were formed while watching and feeling—not deciding. The child didn’t choose what happened; they just did their best to survive it.

That’s part of what makes these memories so sticky—and sometimes protective. In trauma-informed and somatic work, there’s a practice of speaking to the younger self:

“Thank you for trying to protect me in the only way you knew how. I see you. And I’ve got this now.”

In therapy, there are established ways to address and honor those early scripts without letting them run the show. Those approaches recognize that this younger part of ourselves was doing its best—with incomplete tools. In financial planning, there are no such tools or specific practices—or, at least, not yet.

So when we ask a client to tell us about their “first money memory,” we’re not just inviting a story. We’re inviting a younger part of them to the table. And that part might be scared, ashamed, or confused.

That doesn’t make the question bad. But it does make it charged.

And if we don’t know how to handle that charge—if we aren’t trained to sit with it, or if we’re asking just because it sounds deep—we risk holding something we’re not prepared to carry.

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The Risk of Overreach

Everyone has heard the expression “timing is everything.” I believe it’s especially true when it comes to conversations and questions. There’s a difference between asking a powerful question—and asking it at the right time.

When we ask about someone’s earliest money memory in a first meeting—or before trust is firmly established—we risk crossing a line we can’t always see. And we may not know we’ve crossed it until it’s too late.

Psychologist and researcher Brené Brown calls the fallout from this a vulnerability hangover. It’s the sense of exposure, regret, or shame that can follow after sharing too much, too quickly. Even if the listener was compassionate. Even if the conversation felt warm in the moment.

I’ve had so many of those moments myself—often on planes, before the days when everyone wore earbuds. But, earbuds or no, there you are, 60,000 feet in the air, side-by-side for hours. So you chat, and the conversation might start small. But before long, you’re talking about family matters and life decisions, and then, once the plane lands, you’re trading heartfelt goodbyes, ending with a hug or a promise to pray for each other. We get deep sometimes. But sometimes, it might leave you thinking I hope I never see that person again.

On a plane, that might be fine. But in financial planning, it’s a problem—because you want people to come back.

This isn’t hypothetical. I’ve had planners tell me, “We want someone to cry in the first meeting,” as if it’s some kind of professional badge of honor. And I get it. There’s deep care behind that impulse. But sometimes we forget: tears aren’t always a sign of trust. They can be a sign of shock and real, lingering pain.

That’s why I’m concerned about pacing. Are we going too fast?

Some advisors might say that’s the point—they want to go fast; they want to develop closeness more quickly. I hear that, but intimacy isn’t created with a single question. It’s built through rhythm and reciprocity. Even the famous “36 Questions to Fall in Love” (Aron et al., 1997)—intentionally designed to build intimacy more quickly—don’t start with childhood stories. In fact, in the first set of questions, only one touches on childhood experience: If you could change anything about how you were raised, what would it be? And the exercise works. Each person asks a question, listens to the other, and they continue in this fashion, taking turns going through the questions. Some students, randomly paired together to ask each other these questions for a class assignment, ended up falling in love and establishing relationships.

Advisors, are you sharing your earliest money memories, too, or just asking clients to go first?

In financial planning, especially in a first meeting, the emotional temperature is already high. No one wakes up on a random Tuesday, slides their legs over the edge of the bed, raises their arms in excitement, and yells, “Woop, woop! Today is financial planning day! I can’t wait to talk to a total stranger about the thing that stresses me out/scares me the most! And—as a bonus!—no one has ever taught me to talk about these things!”

Clients often come in with real, heavy issues:

• Divorce

• Death

• Shame about debt

• A major tax bill

• Worries about caring for an aging parent

Carl Richards and Michael Kitces, in their podcast episode, call this the “arrow-in-the-arm” moment. When a patient who’s been shot in the arm with an arrow comes into the ER—visibly in a tremendous amount of pain—they don’t want a full wellness consult. They just want the arrow sticking out of their arm to be removed. Likewise, a prospective client who wants help with a restricted stock issue and a looming tax bill may not need to revisit their six-year-old self’s financial memories.

And, honestly, sometimes the arrow is enough.

There’s already plenty of emotional material in these meetings to build connection. Advisors can show empathy and curiosity about the issue at hand without layering on the additional intensity of a different time, place, or emotional state. Trust can be built with foundational communication skills: open-ended questions, thoughtful follow-up questions, summaries, and empathic understanding.

When we ask heavy questions without the right pacing, timing, framing, scaffolding, and clear expectations, we risk pushing clients outside their window of tolerance—the zone where they can stay grounded, curious, and emotionally regulated. When we go beyond that zone, they may shut down, withdraw, get defensive, or just smile politely and never come back.

This isn’t about protecting “fragile” clients. It’s about acknowledging what the first meeting (and often the first year) already requires. Clients aren’t just reviewing a budget. They’re evaluating a relationship, and they’re wondering:

• Who are you?

• Can I trust you?

• Will this be safe?

• Do I want to do this?

They’re also learning, in real time, how this relationship is going to work. And if that learning includes being asked an emotionally loaded question out of nowhere—without context, warning, or a clear sense of what this relationship even is yet—it’s not emotional avoidance when they disengage. It’s a boundary. And crossing it is a design flaw in the process, not a failing in the client.

In therapy, clients often spend several sessions setting boundaries and expectations before diving into childhood or trauma. In financial planning, there are often no such guardrails established.

At the very least, we want to recognize the cognitive load for clients in a first meeting:

• Talking about money with a stranger

• Disclosing things they may have never told anyone else

• Trying to understand how this relationship works—and what’s expected of them

And then we ask them to talk about their mother? Please, no.

So before we default to a question simply because it’s familiar, we have to ask: Is this question really necessary right now? And more provocatively: Am I asking it for them—or for me?

The answers shape not just what we ask, but when we ask it—and whether the conversation builds trust or breaks it.

Connection Without the Shock

There are gentler alternatives to building connection and gathering meaningful insight without overwhelming the client or delivering an emotional jolt they aren’t ready for.

So what do we ask?

If we’ve decided that “What’s your earliest money memory?” might be too much, too soon, the goal becomes finding ways to build trust, gain insight, and explore values in thoughtful and interesting ways without overreaching.

My advice: start with agency.

Most early money memories are stories of powerlessness—things that happened to us, not things we did. A layoff. A parent crying at the kitchen table. A birthday gift that never came. Those moments matter, but they’re moments of absorption, not action.

To invite connection without overwhelm, shift the center of gravity from helplessness to agency.

People already feel vulnerable when it comes to money—behind, exposed, confused. First meetings (and often the next three or four) are already hard. So instead of reminding them how little control they once had, invite them to share the moments when they started to get it back.

Isn’t that what financial planners want anyway? Numerous academic studies highlight the value of agency and self-efficacy in shaping financial outcomes and wellbeing. Hoffman and Plotkina (2021), for instance, found that recalling successful financial events can boost self-efficacy. Building on this, Asebedo and Seay (2018) demonstrated that financial self-efficacy plays a major role in positive savings behavior, while Payne and Asebedo (2017) showed its positive impact on financial satisfaction and healthy credit card use. And Rickwood et al. (2017) found that self-efficacy matters not only for everyday financial behaviors, but also in the decision to work with a financial planner.

So instead of talking about what scared us at age six—or, as my mother might say, “scared the bejesus out of us”—let’s talk about:

• Choice

• Ownership

• Pride

• Transition

These moments are just as revealing—and often easier to share—because they include action and agency, not just emotion.

Here are some of the questions I love and the follow-up for deeper insights and connection:

Tell me about your first job.
There’s almost always a story here—and usually some pride, some humor, maybe even a lesson. Whether it was a paper route, babysitting, or folding sweaters at the Gap, that first job holds more than we think: early values, responsibility, and how money was earned and spent.

• Follow-up Question: What made you take that job?
  Some people might say they wanted to help their family, which suggests that money may have been tight. Others might say that their parents refused to buy the pair of Nikes they really wanted, so they decided to earn the money to buy them on their own. While this might not reveal whether money was scarce, what it does suggest is that this client goes after what they want.

When did money start to feel like it was yours to manage?
This question helps locate a turning point—college, a divorce, moving out—and surfaces emotional ownership, and often some of the early internal narratives that formed in adulthood, not just childhood.

• Follow-up Question: Did you enjoy managing it?
  The answer to this can reveal how much (or little) they might want to engage in collaborative planning today. Further questions can be asked about what they like (or dislike) about managing their money, and how they want those preferences reflected in the planning relationship today.

When did you first feel confident—or unsure—about a money decision?
This opens the door to self-trust, risk, memory, and meaning. And it gives clients the chance to tell a story they’ve learned from—not just one they survived.

• Follow-up Question: What makes you feel confident today when making financial decisions?
  Whether the answer to this question is the same or not, asking helps bridge past stories to today’s insights and what that might mean in a working relationship with a financial professional.

What’s the first money decision you remember making on your own?
This one puts the spotlight squarely on autonomy. Even if the decision was small, it was theirs. And there’s power in that.

• Follow-up Question: What did you feel when you made that decision—pride, happiness, responsibility, regret?
  This starts to peel the onion on emotions associated with financial decisions. The answers will be varied and nuanced, so the goal here is to remain open as the advisor. We don’t want to assume that, because they felt pride, they’ll be overconfident, or that they’ll be skittish because they felt regret. This isn’t our story to write, and this is just one moment in time that doesn’t necessarily reflect the client’s life outlook.

If I gave you $100 as a kid, what would you have done with it?
This is playful, light, and revealing. This lets us into a child’s mind without asking them to re-enter a moment of trauma or confusion. It also shows priorities, personality, and resourcefulness.

• Follow-up Question: If you had $100 today, what would you do with it?
  Time-travel questions like this are fun. It’s interesting to see how people evolve—and it gives a glimpse into how priorities change.

Who taught you the most about money—and what stuck?
This is a way to surface internalized beliefs and values without directly probing pain. It gives clients the freedom to reflect through another person, which can feel safer.

• Follow-up Question: What do you remember wanting to learn about money?
  There’s often a difference between what we were taught and what we wanted to know. We might have been taught to budget when we really wanted to learn about stocks. The answer doesn’t really matter—we gain insight either way, which naturally and easily translates into the goals of the meeting: helping us learn about the client, build connection, and form a relationship.

What these questions have in common is simple: They don’t skip reflection, but they build toward it gently, with care, and at an appropriate pace and depth when you’ve known someone for only an hour or two. They invite sharing at a pace that feels safe, offers clear boundaries, and allows clients to decide how deep to go.

They respect where the client is today—and how they got there. They honor the stories people are ready to tell, not just the ones we think are interesting. And they let us be curious without crossing the line. But asking a question—one that advisors already know is heavy—without warning is careless.

At this stage of the relationship, great meetings aren’t about revelation. They’re about giving the client a reason to return. It’s about whether they walk out of the office thinking, I felt seen. I felt safe. I want to keep going. I want to come back.

That’s the connection we’re looking for. We don’t need to shock someone into it. We can walk with them toward it.

Are You Ready to Hear the Answer?

At the end of the day, avoiding carelessness with heavy questions isn’t only about timing. It’s also about intent… and about being truly ready for the answer that might come back.

Sometimes we ask questions that sound insightful. They feel different. They feel deep. They feel like the thing that makes our work feel human-centered, separating us from the spreadsheet peddlers.

But here’s a hard truth: the most dangerous use of a deep question is when it’s for your own identity.

• If you’re asking to prove you’re the kind of advisor who “gets it,” pause.

• If you’re asking because you heard someone else ask it and it landed, pause.

• If you’re asking because you want to show how not boring you are, definitely pause.

Depth without capacity is not care. It’s theater. And the person on the receiving end of that performance might be holding a story you’re not ready for.

One of my students once shared this during class, as we discussed money memories—why they matter, how to listen, how to hold space, and what’s required from the advisor:

“After my dad died, we couldn’t afford rent. My mom and I were homeless for a while. Mostly, I just remember being hungry.”

The room changed. We all felt it. And in that moment, I knew every person in that classroom was asking themselves:

• What do I say to that?

• Is it okay to fumble? How do I fix it?

• Is it possible to respond with too much? Too little?

If you’re going to ask big questions, you have to prepare for big answers. These were my students, actively preparing for moments like this—and still, everyone froze. Some answers are hard to hear: frightening, gut-wrenching, maddening. And how you respond, or don’t, has a real impact on the moment.

So before asking your client a heavy question, first ask yourself:

• Am I ready to hear this story?

• Do I know how to stay with someone inside it?

• Do I know how to avoid making it about me?

If the answer is no—not yet—then maybe don’t ask that question. Because hearing someone’s story is not the same as holding it. And if you haven’t trained for that kind of holding, you might do more harm than good. Emotional fluency isn’t yet a core part of most financial planning education programs, so unless you’ve sought out this kind of training intentionally, you may not be as prepared as you think.

I recently had the chance to have lunch with

George Kinder

, the founder of life planning. I’ve written about his questions, about life planning, and meeting him was a huge moment for me. I asked him, “What have you realized about life planning that you didn’t know in the beginning? When you reflect on all that has become important, and how training has developed and focused, what’s the thing that you didn’t see coming?”

His answer: listening.

For George, the famous questions matter far less than the listening. The listening—the holding space—that’s the magic.

And when we listen, we avoid another common pitfall: jumping to interpretation, being the one who connects the dots.

“Ah, so that’s why you hoard cash—you’re afraid, like your grandfather was after the crash!”

Please, no. It’s not your job to write the client’s narrative. It’s your job to listen until they do. They can, and they will—and when they do, it’s powerful.

We can support the self-realizations by asking follow-up questions.

• “What does that memory mean to you now?”

• “Do you see that story showing up in your life today?”

• “Is that a memory that still shapes you—or one you’ve moved beyond?”

These are not passive responses. They are spacious ones. They make room for the client to be the expert on their own life. They create openings for personal insight. And they show that we’re not here to sound smart—we’re here to bear witness. Whether or not you share your own earliest money memory is another conversation entirely—but if you do, it should be in service of their story, not yours.

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Another story from my students. We’d been talking about money stories when a rather outspoken and warm-hearted student suddenly blurted out: “Dr. Lurtz! Oh my gosh. It just hit me. This is why I have so much cheese!!”

I smiled; he was smiling. “Please, tell me more,” I said.

He explained that he grew up with food scarcity. And now, in his own home, he always keeps the fridge full—sometimes he even just stands there, admiring all the food, especially the cheese. Feeding his family and friends, he realized, was a “manifestation”—his words, not mine—of his early life, a way of rewriting that experience.

Bearing witness is a skill. It takes training. It takes emotional range. It takes practice. You don’t have to visit me at the university (unless you want to)… but if you want to ask these questions, train for it.

Seek out programs like:

• The Kinder Institute—Known for pioneering life planning in financial advice with a focus on uncovering clients’ deeper values and life goals through a structured questioning process. Their training equips advisors to integrate listening, empathy, and visioning into the financial planning relationship.

• Money Quotient—Provides a framework and tools to help advisors explore the connection between life satisfaction and financial decision-making, blending research on values, priorities, and wellbeing into practical exercises in client meetings.

• Financial Therapy Association—Brings together professionals from finance, mental health, and research to advance the integration of emotional, relational, and financial health. They provide education, resources, and community for those addressing both the technical and emotional sides of money.

• Shaping Wealth—Delivers human-centric advisor training grounded in behavioral science, psychology, and wellbeing research. They help advisors deepen client engagement and decision-making through narrative, mindset shifts, and emotionally intelligent practices.

• Beyond The Plan®—Focuses on enhancing the quality and impact of advisor-client conversations, especially in emotionally charged or complex situations. They blend financial psychology and therapeutic techniques to strengthen trust, communication, and collaboration.

• Financial Transitions Institute—Specializes in preparing advisors to guide clients through major life changes such as retirement, loss, or career shifts. They offer tools and processes to navigate the emotional and practical complexities of transition.

• Financial Psychology Institute—Develops and shares research-based methods for understanding and improving financial behaviors, helping professionals apply psychological insights to promote healthier money habits and long-term financial wellbeing.

• Society of Advice—A community for financial professionals who see their work as a calling as much as a career. Through conversations, resources, and shared reflection, it encourages advisors to focus on the human impact of their work and the value of meaningful client relationships.

Build a practice that prepares you to hold what you hear. And just as importantly, let clients know what kind of conversation they’re entering:

• “In this relationship, we sometimes ask reflective questions about your money story.”

• “You’re always in control of how deep we go and what you share.”

If you believe financial planning is about more than spreadsheets—and I do—then how we start matters. The safety, trust, and rhythm you build in those first few meetings are what allow the deeper work to follow.

Don’t mistake permission for performance.

Don’t confuse connection with catharsis.

And don’t ask a question just because it feels like something a good advisor would say. Ask it because you’re ready for what comes next.

What Are You Really Asking For?

I love questions. I love how they open doors, make space, invite stories, and build bridges between strangers.

But questions aren’t magic. They’re tools. And like any tool, they can harm or heal depending on how—and when—they’re used. A scalpel in the hands of a skilled surgeon saves lives. In the wrong hands, it can do real damage.

A question is no different. So before you ask that beautiful, deep, insight-baiting question—ask yourself: What am I really asking for?

Are you asking for the client’s benefit—or your own? Are you trying to help them reflect—or to prove that you’re the kind of advisor who “goes deeper”?

Because here’s the thing: the best questions aren’t clever. They’re kind.

They’re grounded in timing and trust.

They honor the moment and the person inside it.

They don’t force reflection—they make room for it.

You might wonder if I think advisors should skip questions like “What is your earliest money story?” My answer: absolutely not. That question can be very powerful—but only at the right time and place.

Imagine asking it during a review meeting after working with a client for several years, when the answer can be richer, and how much more context both of you would have to connect it to.

The reality is that both training and timing matter. Skill alone doesn’t replace the foundation of trust that’s built over time—and that trust is what makes the deeper work possible. Clients need to get to know us just as much as we need to know them. Let that relationship develop. Save the deeper questions for a moment when they can be appreciated for what they are and add to the safety and trust you’ve already built.

Alternatively, if asking big questions right out of the gate truly is your calling, give people a heads-up. Many planners do a fantastic job explaining their approach on their websites, and, even more exciting, clients are seeking out this kind of work. People are willing to go there—if they choose to.

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This Is Why I Ask These Questions—and Why I Sometimes Don’t

When I first learned about money memories, scripts, and all the cool, revealing questions that could be asked, I wanted to run out and ask everyone.

It’s tempting to go for the big questions. To be the one who cracks the case. To find the “aha” moment that changes everything. But insight isn’t a party trick. It’s a process.

And that process requires something more than curiosity.

It requires care. It requires training. It requires knowing when to ask—and when to wait.

So here’s what I tell my students, my clients, and myself:

• I don’t ask reflective questions to stand out.

• I don’t ask to build trust faster.

• I don’t ask to perform depth.

• I ask because I’ve trained to hold space.

• I ask because I believe clients deserve to know themselves—not just be known by me.

And sometimes, that means I don’t ask at all.

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Final Thought

A question can be right—and still wrong for right now.

We don’t have to dig into someone’s origin story to begin a meaningful one together. Start where you are. With what’s already present. With what the client is ready and willing to share.

The depth will come. Not because we chased it, but because we earned it.

Thank you to Erica for her thoughtful edits and, more importantly, for the insightful questions she asks me during the process. You don’t write the piece—but the clarity you help create shows up in every paragraph. Your feedback sharpens my thinking, deepens my intention, and reminds me that good writing is often the result of good conversation.

References for the Nerds

Aron, Arthur, Edward Melinat, Elaine N. Aron, Robert Darrin Vallone, and Renee J. Bator. 1997. “The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings.” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 23 (4): 363–377. https://doi.org/10.1177/0146167297234003.

Asebedo, Sarah and Martin C. Seay. 2018. “Financial Self-Efficacy and the Saving Behavior of Older Pre-Retirees.” Journal of Financial Counseling and Planning 29 (2): 357–368. http://dx.doi.org/10.1891/1052-3073.29.2.357.

Arvid O.I. Hoffmann and Daria Plotkina. 2021. “Let Your Past Define Your Future? How Recalling Successful Financial Experiences Can Increase B eliefs of Self‐Efficacy in Financial Planning.” The Journal of Consumer Affairs 55 (3): 847–871. https://doi.org/10.1111/joca.12378.

Klontz, Brad and Ted Klontz. 2009. Mind over Money: Overcoming the Money Disorders that Threaten Our Financial Health. Broadway Business.

Payne, Patrick and Sarah Asebedo. 2017. “Financial Self-Efficacy and the Financial Satisfaction of Credit-Card Users.” 2018 Academic Research Colloquium for Financial Planning and Related Disciplines. https://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.3042570.

Piaget, Jean. 1952. The Origins of Intelligence in Children. Translated by Margaret Cook. International Universities Press. Originally published in 1936.

Rickwood, Catherine M., Lester W. Johnson, Steve Worthington, and Lesley White. 2024. “Customer Intention to Save for Retirement Using a Professional Financial Services Planner.” Financial Planning Research Journal 3 (2): 47–67. http://dx.doi.org/10.2478/fprj-2017-0008.

Wellman, Henry M. 1990. The Child’s Theory of Mind. MIT Press.