In 1970 … something, a defining turn of events would forever change my course of history. Mid junior year, the nuns of The Notre Dame Convent, my little school, were instructed to cease teaching arithmetic and begin teaching maths. Babes, us all.
Boxes arrived with green books for the students and a red one for the teacher. The answers were written in the red one. No-one, including the nuns, were sent on preparatory classes, understood it quite frankly: numbers and the alphabet in between, it was simply easier to reveal the answers and let us run, with barely a passmark. I ended up hopeless at maths, and though I loved arithmetic, was left with a deep distrust for anything that made no sense to me.
Rather Pluto than Pythagoras. By no means ‘ahhhhh ‘ I can’t do it, or understand it, but rather, if I did not need to … I have other things to do. And so, Belle left the financial investment side of things to darling during marriage – such a cliché now isn’t it? Darling and Financial Advisor would build the portfolios, pension funds, growth this and risk taking that and I would make sure the children had swimming costumes for the gala, and run the car and diary. Tax was like a distant relative, one I had heard of but never really to meet up close.
Personally, half the reason I didn’t really pay attention, other than I was not required to, is that I was weary of predictions and all that stuff – I mean, every economist in the world, still claims they did not see the Sub Prime coming, and they were supposed to be the experts? Anyway, I digress: when darling did decide to leave, and the shock and horror of divorce anaesthetises your very existence, finances are the very last elements you are thinking about. Yes, you do think you will die, and I did believe that I was going to end up in a council flat, but that was only because I was dealing with a pocket full of not knowing what the hell my future finances were. I never want to be in that situation again, ever again.
Whilst re-training to breath and a very odd habit of hiding money under the pillow, just in case – (anyway started the fuck you fund far too late – was never going to happen) also informed by those at the head of the Financial portfolio Information desk, what I would and would not be getting. No negotiation, no requests, and honestly, no reason to not accept, so hopeful was I of a turnaround and romantic ending. I was also told that apparently no-one leaves a relationship without planning it for a long time, so if this is true or not, there would be a few elements to the Financial Portfolio that could well have been omitted for sake of brevity and a swift separation. Besides, I did not even think of challenging or questioning or whatever, demanding an audit whilst flaying myself religiously, I mean, what could I have done about it anyway? Possibly nothing then, but certainly now. Some notes:
- It never ends as badly as you think it will. It will be bad and you may have less than you imagined, may have to start all over again, but hey, you have control of your life now.
- Whatever you thought, or did not know about finances, astonishing how fast one learns. Wunderkind you! Was that you I saw reading the FT, you go smartie! Still a trifle boring though, methinks…
- Back to the having little left. That little is like the magic bean, it is going to propel you into many different actions, a job, a career, investing in your own or someone else’s business. It’s like having pocket money all over again, and remember how so little was all the money in the world!
- Cutting down is so in these days. Minimalist everything is sexy and strong.
- Nothing like that drive deep in your heart to prove to yourself you can control, and empower your own life, to make you sit up and be the Chairman of your own financial portfolio. Take advice, but let your decision be yours, the person you trust the most.
- Finally, the learning to say ‘no’ because you are saving money, does not make you a poverty queen, only that saying ‘no’ means it does not work for you, and you have other plans.
When darling told me; ‘ It’s time to take control of your own finances,’ I thought he was kidding. That’s not fair, I whimpered, mumbling I was too old to learn. Hah, thanks for doing that darling, I am so loving this new adventure, and today, when my Financial Advisor suggested something, I could actually say … it doesn’t work for me and let them know what I wanted to do. Felt fabulous and something else, my darling was right, he knew I could do it.
When said FA told me would not be able to afford a property, let alone get a mortgage in the future, I thought to myself … time was I would have simply believed it, and now, thinking, maybe it’s time I made a plan, or find someone who does believe like I do.
More on The Jam jar, but for now, there are many great women out there with brilliant financial advice, many women who work in conjunction with Divorce lawyers to assist in this transition and make sure you are supported all the way. I love ‘The Wealth Chef’ and blogs by Mary Waring for inspiration but if you are looking for more details on professional contacts I have to help you, please email me.
We are there for you.
Those darling nuns, no-one to provide some help, but how times have changed – bless them!