My
husband and I left the room after two hours, spent, hungry and light-headed.
Had we been arguing, engaging in “afternoon delight,” or working out? Nope.
Just talking about money. We joked that we were “divorce-proofing” our
marriage.
I
wasn’t always money-smart. My family didn’t buy lottery tickets, but we somehow
believed money would magically appear. Budgeting was for the bourgeoisie. My
father spent as he wished, while my mother fretted, saved and arranged deck
chairs as their ship slowly sank. Though they recovered financially, I was
imprinted by their mixed messages.
I
was a math-phobic child. Multiplication tables caused me to blank out with
fear. I failed math every year of high school, then barely passed it in the
summer make-up. My math illiteracy led to an avoidance of anything financial.
In
my first marriage I was frugal, but like my parents, mostly ignorant about the
state of our finances. My then-husband would tell me cash was low and not to
spend until a check cleared. Instead, I would hear “The apocalypse is coming.
Buy cereal, toiletries and paper towels,” and overdraw our account.
I regularly
engaged in financial infidelity – hiding purchases and misrepresenting my
income. Yet, we rarely argued. Discussions about money were off-limits. Clearly,
I had baggage I wasn’t ready to unpack.
Money
avoidance was only one of our issues, but a clear metaphor for lack of intimacy
and transparency in other areas. For 25 years we arranged deck chairs on our own
sinking barge. In 2006, I jumped ship to a new life.
My
first act of financial transformation was preparing a budget for the divorce
lawyers. I was terrified to find out my true fiscal state, and wrangled a girlfriend
to walk me through this basic skill. Money-wise, I felt like that kid who kept
failing math.
As
the numbers tallied up, I was stunned to find that a modest apartment, saving
for both retirement and a down payment for a house were actually affordable. Expenses
that didn’t matter anymore were gleefully slashed, like cable TV or a new car –
making room for such luxuries as hair foiling, eating out and vacations. This
math was fun!
After
the divorce I started dating and developed a checklist of desired attributes. He
didn’t need to be rich, but his finances couldn’t be a hot mess – that was my
old life.
My
new boyfriend Dave and I had many wonderful things in common, but some not so lovely.
We shared a fear of money and a checkered financial history. Aside from a small
car loan, I had wrangled the debt goose, but Dave still had money troubles – a good deal of debt and an upside-down mortgage.
Though most of the debt was due to his late wife’s illness, his balance sheet
was a yellow flag to me.
It
wasn’t romantic, but some of our early discussions were about finances. Turns
out, my new love was naturally frugal, but didn’t like to say no to his
significant other – a recipe for money problems. I was a spender, and splurged
when fearing scarcity – often on useless items or impulse buys.
Instead
of pre-marital counseling, we took a budgeting class together. We unearthed our
inner money nerds and worked on changing bad habits – excruciating at first. The
angriest we ever got with each other was in structuring our debt repayment.
Outmatched, we hired a financial coach with Solomon-like wisdom to referee. Secure
we were on the same page financially, we became one in the eyes of God, the
law, and our bank account.
By tightening
our belts, living in a cheap apartment and driving beater cars, we were
debt-free in three years. Five years later, we are now on our way to paying off
our simple home and securing a bright financial future. We still make mistakes,
“forget” to mention purchases and impulse-buy on occasion, but quickly right
the vessel.
Dave
and I trust each other and don’t have secrets; it’s the basis of intimacy. Full-disclosure
financially has also required us both to put our oars in the water and pull in
the same direction – good for any couple. And that’s a ship neither of us are
likely to jump.
