I want to be fully transparent, because I believe that is the only honest way to share learning. And if we can share learning then maybe, just maybe, some of us can avoid mistakes?
After repaying the insane million dollar mortgage on our cracker-box hillside house, ex and I had a whopping 250k. Each! I’d never seen that much money in my bank account! I had land, two years of alimony, as well as the prospect of stock from the acquisition of the startup he worked for, which was already under way. I felt flush!
I made a quick mess of it.
My financial skills being severely atrophied by years of bowing to the money-and-decision-maker, as well as a brain flooded by stress hormones, I made some in-the-moment moves that made sense only to me, as I could tell from the disapproving looks of the few former neighbors/friends I saw less and less of.
Trying to maintain the quality of life and in the same zip code that my boys had known, I rented a cavernous townhome in the Mission. A big chunk of the ‘nest’ was gone.
Still feeling flush and dreamily optimistic, I believed I could turn my beloved piece of land into a business. A wilderness retreat. Damned be my hippie heart. I re-hired the architect (my only smart move!) of the Bernal shoebox improvements. He designed and built a gorgeous redwood yoga deck, complete with cedar soaking tub, overlooking a valley dotted with blue oaks.
Another chunk gone.
Fast-forward two years and I’m running out of money. Between depression, anxiety, panic-attacks, sleepless nights, multiple moves, feeding kids, driving them to and from school…I fail miserably to focus on job searching. (Maybe I resist it, too, out of glacial, paralysing fear.)
The retreat is a pipe dream; I put the land on the market. The county instantly red-tags it: turns out a yurt and a deck are not permitted structures. It doesn’t sell.
The startup acquisition goes through but, according to my only source of information–the undocumented word of ex–it ‘didn’t go well’ and yielded disappointing pay outs.
A big chunk not coming in. But who’s counting chickens.
Some awareness is emerging around money. I tackle it. I read Tosha Silver “It’s Not Your Money.” I read her prayer every day. I read Barbara Stanny “Sacred Success.” I do all the exercises. I sign up for YNAB (You Need A Budget.) I learn.
In a fog of anxiety I finally open a folder I’d stashed away with the divorce mediation agreement. A glossy brochure falls out – something from “Child Support Services.” I have a customer ID, apparently. I go online, I follow the prompts. Turns out $500 a month in child support is way. Way. Way below what the States requires from a high-earning tech exec. I learn about DCSS, and file for support.
Later I meet a lawyer. She’s wonderful, and human, and gets the situation. I hire her. We begin an absurd fight to make sure that my boys’ dad: 1) Meets his State obligations for child support and 2) Meets the fiduciary duties listed in our mediation agreement to provide information about the stock options.
We win on 1. Thank God for the State. I finally get it: Court is not there to scare you. Court is there to redress justice. It is imperfect. But it helps, oh it helps.
I can turn my attention to building my freelance writing and copywriting business. I also pick up hours as a legal assistant with Family lawyers. Amazing what you learn.
Money has been reckoned with. I have made amends. I honor money and its power now – I value it as the energy form that it is, a tool ready to do great things.
The Goddess Guide to Divorce 