Riches to Rags

One single mother’s journey navigating trials and tribulations

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  • Debt management

    Debt management

    Three years ago, I found myself at the scariest point of my debts.

    A lot of things happened since the end of my marriage, and there were certainly some good times in terms of my own achievements and success independent of any of my ex-husband‘s help or anyone else’s. However, I’m focusing this post on what I felt was a very scary time for me. I was back to struggling financially, everything felt like it was snowballing and I was being crushed by the weight of my debts. I got in touch with a Budget Advisor, and we discussed some possibilities for me which included filing for bankruptcy. This was offered as a way to wipe the slate clean, but I was keen to avoid that because I had worked so hard to get where I was, and even though following Covid a lot of people found themselves in the same situation, bankruptcy for me still carried a certain stigma and I worried about the long-term barriers. As we chipped away together, I learned a lot about my financial situation. Things I should’ve known a long time ago, about interest rates, fees, taxes and overall budgeting. It was a real wake up call for me because I had relied so heavily on my ex-husband – not financially but his advice and knowledge. Retrospectively I should’ve sort out a Budget Advisor when we first separated because I hadn’t realised how ignorant I was. But again, that’s the benefit of hindsight.

    There was one particular bill I had hanging over my head. Most collection agencies in my experience will work with the customers in order to get things paid. And I found that even credit card companies and car finance companies offered flexibility and were open to discussion if the communication was in place. But this particular debt offered no flexibility, despite the transparency of my financial situation and my Budget Advisor advocating on my behalf. In January 2023 I had a knock at the door and it was a bailiff giving me papers threatening bankruptcy. I was devastated as I’d come so far with my financial situation, and no one thought it would come to this situation with this one particular debt. Simply, I had no assets, there were no funds available and yet this particular debt collection agency was not prepared to work with me. I sought free legal advice and they were surprised that bankruptcy would be threatened over what would be seen as a marginally small amount. I was advised to attend a bankruptcy Meeting and put my case across as only the court can make the decision. But for me it was too much of a risk. I’d already attended a financial assessment hearing, the person filing the claim did not turn up, and the court found that I would not be able to make payments. The Budget Advisor and I talked about the pros and cons of me accepting my fate. But the fear of the barrier placed by bankruptcy was too much for me, so my Budget Advisor arranged for a loan to cover the debt, which I pay weekly and will continue to do for the next three years. It was a relief that the bankruptcy was then taken off of the table. From that point on I saw that as another mark of my achievement and success, I had narrowly avoided bankruptcy. I had knowledge of my financial situation and I was working hard to get control.

    Now I find myself in a situation where my financial situation has taken a dive, and I’m disappointed that I’ve come full circle. I’ve been able to survive by the skin of my teeth. I’m not facing bankruptcy at the moment, nor would I like to consider that in the future particularly as I’ve worked so hard to avoid it.

    It is in this new situation, where I have found myself reaching out to food banks which I hadn’t done previously.

    It would be easy to point out where things had gone wrong if I had a gambling or any sort of addiction problem, if I was spending amounts of money on beauty appointments, or holidays. But that isn’t the case, like a lot of people, I’m struggling with the cost of inflation, the cost of basic needs, and trying desperately to look after my children, without any financial support. Every day feels like a never-ending battle, but I’m grateful to still have a roof over my head, electricity, and my children being fed.

    I still work with the Budget Advisor, and I do everything I can to stay on top of things. I don’t tell my children what’s going on for me, so I spend many a sleepless night ruminating over what I need to do, how best I can change my situation, and everything I’ve done wrong. I don’t deny any accountability for my situation. However, it’s very isolating and lonely trying to manage everything alone.

    This is part of the reason why I decided to create this blog. I want to remind myself of things that I have achieved, I want to recognise periods of my life where I thought I would never get through it, but I’m still going today.

  • What were my ‘riches’

    What were my ‘riches’

    rich

    adjective

    ˈrich 

    Synonyms of rich

    1

    : having abundant possessions and especially material wealth

    2

    a

    : having high value or quality

    b

    : well supplied or endowed

    a city rich in traditions

    https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/rich

    rich

    adjective

    UK

    /rɪtʃ/ US

    /rɪtʃ/

    rich adjective (MONEY)

    Add to word list

    A2

    having a lot of money or valuablepossessions:

    He’s the third richest man in the country.

    They’re one of the world’s richest nations.

    He is determined to get rich quickly.

    Synonym

    wealthy

    Opposite

    poor (NO MONEY)

    • “Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.” – Epictetus
    • “If we command our wealth, we shall be rich and free; if our wealth commands us, we are poor indeed.” – Edmund Burke 

    Being seen as wealthy has a varying definition according to what culture you are living in, social status, money in the bank, assets, disposable income, inheritance, status in a workplace, et cetera. The list goes on and of course there’s the philosophical and sociological definitions of being wealthy and having richness in terms of emotional, psychological, maybe even the people that surround you.

    However, this post is specific to where I was when I defined myself as having riches. This post isn’t meant to be an ideological debate or how I define/d success. This is a reference to the financial contrast to where I find myself now.

    Holidays for me were plentiful . It hadn’t always been that way, I used to backpack around the world enjoying hostels and picking up work where I could, using public transport to get around. However, when I met and married my husband, he had a fantastic job. This allowed us to take holidays in some amazing places, Little things like going to a petrol station and filling up my car, not worrying about whether my card would be declined, seeing something in a shop I like and buying it. Staying in nice hotels, renting cars when needed, paying bills on time, eating in nice restaurants, and when the children came along, affording nannies and childcare, as well as help around the home. No pressure on me to work, regular hair appointments, manicures, etc. there are deeper questions now like was I really happy? Were friends around me genuine? Was I a good person? No. Was I a good mother? No. Did I have a sense of entitlement? Yes. I only have the benefit of looking at those things, respectively. At the time I was ignorant.

    This was the world that I had become part of and what I had become used to. The security of a nice house, financial security, the stresses that I had at that time pale into insignificance. If I had the opportunity to go back and shake myself by the shoulders and slap myself around the face, I would take it.

    My ex-husband still has all of those things. The house, more money, more toys, more holidays. His success continues to grow. Whereas I’m at the other end, I had to battle to get into rental houses, open my own bank account, learn how to bank, Completely ignorant of things like interest rates, taxes, even the cost of things. No credit history, no awareness of life as a single mother. But this blog isn’t about recriminations and bitterness I’ve since had to overcome. The unfairness, the hurt, etc. it’s about rediscovering who I am. Where I find myself now, how different things are, and where I find meaning.

    Obviously, my story has many depths and complex issues. I’ll touch on those overtime as necessary, to provide context.

    Possibly, the hardest thing about finding myself as a single mother with nothing and starting out at an age where most people are settling down, are ‘false starts.’ A false start for me was when I secured a rental, it was cold and breezy, the kids didn’t like staying with me because the place was old, I had minimal furniture and could only buy things as I was able. I had no credit and no awareness of various by now pay latest schemes. I had an old car, and it was a real contrast to what the kids were used to. However, for me this was my reality. Although here in New Zealand, we do have a social welfare system, I wasn’t familiar with it or how to utilise it. Instead I did like a lot of people would, I went out and found myself a full-time job. I “got on with it“ just to be clear, following the breakdown of my marriage; I had a huge mental breakdown, I became incredibly unwell mentally and physically. So I took some time, but it wasn’t time to reflect, or work through my feelings, it was time to be strongly medicated, and basically lose all my faculties for a period of time. Hence why I refer to the “.false start“ I consider at that time I had become ‘functioning.’ I deferred to my ex-husband for all decisions relating to the children , and I still idolised him and defined myself by his narrative. And I think that’s been key for me, because for so long I didn’t have an identity and the limitations, mistakes I made, any reactions to things were like a script, and if I went off script, my ex-husband was there to put me back in the play. I never questioned any of that. But again, that’s a different story.

    I guess once I had secured the rental, secured the full-time job, I was on my way to becoming successful. Not rich obviously, but by the expectations imposed on me by society, my family, my children, and I suppose the government and my own definitions, I was working and earning with a roof over my head. The questions about the financial disparity at the end of my marriage were left. The emotional and mental considerations, were left. I believed I was achieving what I was supposed to be achieving. And still, food banks, charity, still hadn’t played a role in my life.

  • Recognising the bottom

    Recognising the bottom

    I sat outside the food bank in my car. My phone redundant on the passenger seat because the bill hadn’t been paid. The weather grey, and the car park with gravel and holes gathering dirty rainwater. The scene was set. I recognised I had reached the bottom of the cliff, and this was who I was now.

    I had struggled for awhile to keep everything afloat, my anxiety and sleepless nights hidden from my children. Finally I realised that I had no food in the house, And I had no way to get by. I had googled food banks in the local area a few times, and although I was aware of their existence, I’ve never visited one before. And in my 40 odd years, I’ve never had to use charities or rely on anybody else. If it wasn’t for having children, I still wouldn’t have reached out for help. But their basic needs outweighed my sense of pride. I didn’t tell them what I was doing, I read on the site the instructions of what I needed to provide. I sat in the waiting area amongst people that paced and fidgeted, signs of drug use, the facial scars, the tics, all of the signs that I’ve been taught to recognise in my previous work history. I wasn’t judging them, but I just reflected my sense of despair. I’m not a drug or alcohol user myself, my reasons for being there was simply because there was no money in the bank. I was welcomed into an office where I provided my identification as requested on the site, trying to maintain my dignity, acting as though this was merely a meeting. The warmth of the woman that spoke to me broke through my business like persona, and I began to sob. Big wrenching sobs, the miserable ones with the running nose and the gasps for oxygen . She passed me a box of tissues, closed the door which I imagine is unusual – owing to the security. And told me she would complete the form for me while I sat in the chair and cried. I gave her the details of the people that live with me; my children. No specific dietary needs, no allergies, did I have any specific needs like sanitary products and cleaning products, yes. I hadn’t even realised that was a possibility. She told me that she understood it was overwhelming, and that I could wait in my car for them to call me. So this is where the idea of documenting my story began. With no end, no epiphany , just an outlet. I sat in my car looking at the gloomy weather, crying into some cheap tissues and wondering what I’ve done so wrong. Was I feeling sorry for myself? Yes, absolutely. Did I see sitting outside of food bank needing this much help as failure? Yes, I did. As a mother, as a person, the scenario that I never in a million years pictured for myself, brought me such a deep sense of misery that was hard to compare to any other time in my life.

    My name was called, and as I went to collect the boxes, a lady reached out to me who had bright pink hair. She told me I look like I needed a hug. I replied that I was okay, she told me she could recognise that this is my first time at the food bank. At that point I was wearing my sunglasses and desperately trying to retain my sense of control in front of people. She told me that she had just survived breast cancer, hence why she had died her hair pink. She struck me as a humble and kind human being. She told me that everyone fell on hard times, and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help. This is why places like this existed. I immediately felt the need to move into a role of offering her support. Asking if she was in pain, if she needed anything, when her boxes were ready, I loaded her car because she was still in pain from her operation. But it was clear despite her physical pain she was the stronger one, reassuring me that everything was going to be okay. The exchange left me filling bereft and confused. This woman was stronger than me, had survived cancer and was reassuring me. When I got home, I unloaded the boxes and told my children that I’d been shopping. They remarked on some of the unusual products, the different branding, but I told them I had just got what I could. They were excited by what I had brought into the house. Things that I would usually regard as luxuries and wouldn’t buy myself like bread rolls, snacks, and meat. The kids were excited to by what I brought back and this gave me the reassurance that I’d done the right thing and that had I persevered in an uncomfortable position with the payoff being my children with fed bellies, oblivious to my failings. 

    If you’d met me a few years ago, it would be glaringly obvious that I had never visited a Foodbank in my life, nor that I would even know of their existence. 

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