Me? Shamed Out Of Sharing? The Absurdity!

I'm coming clean.  Usually this is nothing new.  This gal isn't known for holding back.  Admitting to mistakes, making myself vulnerable, sharing my feelings, and emerging a stronger, better, more rounded person on the other side of all that?  Kind of my trademark.  My life's work.  I live by the belief that openness, a willingness to own one's errors and allow others to know of them, helps us all. 

But something crept up behind me over the past few months and took a huge bite out of my rather ample, but fit, backside.  What was it?  This invader of my security?  This attacking menace to my persona?  This usurper of my inner balance?

Well, to put a not -too-fine a point to it: shame.  Sharp-toothed.  Wide-eyed.  Bad-breathed.  And I didn't recognize it.  At least not in myself.  Guilt I know.  And as my little sister has said often enough, guilt pushes us to change things, while shame leads us to fear which then causes us to hide.  Or something similar.  (I'm not a verbatim kind of girl.  If it ain't in quotes, then know it's the essence of an idea or conversation.  M'kay?)

When my husband lost his job, the very idea of it, the mere happening of being sent home with his tail tucked between his legs for no professional reason, with no professional explanation . . . well, frankly, we were in a state of shock.  Unemployed for the first time in 25 years!  And with our advanced overhead.  Many of you can imagine the accumulation of bills and responsibilities which can stack up with a nice home, multiple cars, health insurance, auto insurance, cell phone service, utilities, three pets with a proclivity for vet-necessary issues, a large yard, tithing, a teen son, a mother-in-law living with us, groceries, toiletries, helping others with serious needs, yada, yada, YA-DA-DA!

My gut response was to rally around my husband.  To protect him from the slings and arrows that were sure to assail his identity, his ego, from within and without.  Because we made the decision to be a one-income household once our son arrived on the scene, his duty was that of provider.  When that was stripped from him, the nakedness of it shamed him.  And that hurt me to the core of my wifely heart.  My daily imperative became more about pulling him into the family and less about pushing him into the world of employment.  He needed protecting.  Telling him he needed a job?  Not necessary.  Reminding him in subtle and obvious ways that this altered state wasn't his fault?  VITAL!

Within our household, other forces were at work, plotting for their own effect and not necessarily for the good of the entire.  From June to the end of August, the internal affairs within the home were deteriorating, without any of us possessing full knowledge of the breakdowns.  The events of that last week in August, piled atop the ongoing stress of no secure long-term employment, just about broke our will to carry on.  Though they were heartbreaks - deeply disappointing failures of human nature - of such an intensely personal nature that they can not be shared in this public forum without hurting others unnecessarily, it is fair to say the selfish behaviors which were revealed abruptly, in a very raw state, left ragged and bleeding wounds which are taking time to slowly heal.  Though heal they will.

Fast forward to November.  Mid-summer finally cooled into fall.  Fall has unwillingly relinquished its seasonal hold to winter.  The teen son resides in Colorado; the mother-in-law moved into her own place.  A 2-month contract position has come and gone.  We continue to pay for health insurance via Cobra: and the Cobra strikes HARD! let me tell you. But not as hard as the haphazard health program which is Obamacare.  (And I'm not even political, folks, but that rollout was pitiful.)  And our money tree has just about dried up.  We've pruned back heavily in certain areas, from phone to cable to car and health coverage.  We're hoping to sell at least one of the larger vehicles very soon.  Is that referred to as liquidation?  Purchases I once looked at as par for the course -- replacing worn tennis shoes, new eyeglasses to correct changing vision, treating myself to a movie at the theater now and again, stocking up on sale items in multiples, a bottle of wine for dinner, that winter moisturizer I use every time the weather goes frigid, thoughtful little gifts for friends just because, shopping for new slacks after purging my closet of almost EVERY pair of old ones over the summer, picking up my mom's small grocery lists every now and again, ordering a package for my Brother Gary in ye olde psychiatric hospital, new hedge clipper blades, original Tide detergent, an impromptu dinner date with the hubby -- now raise red flags on my fiscal horizon.

And we're not even truly suffering yet.  I'm well aware of how much further down the slippery slope of debt and sacrifice we can still slide.  And that's where the shame found its entrance.  That back door to my subconscious mind, where memory still serves to remind me clearly of what hunger, homelessness and hazard look like, feel like.  Since I'm the one with that history, and I'm the one who manages the purse strings, shouldn't I also be the one ultimately responsible for ensuring we have a soft cushion against such elements?  Granted, our credit rating - excellent.  Our debt: only the mortgage and the Ford Focus we purchased to save on gas consumption per Jimmy's commute.  No credit card bills or accounts in arrears.  When repairs and maintenance came a-calling, our savings covered them.  When we planned our big anniversary trip to New York City, we saved for it.  When Germany beckoned with it's once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to travel overseas together and visit our kids, the money was there.  I racked up miles for plane tickets and car rentals to visit Brother Gary over the years.  And we managed to ensure funds were available to attend important court dates in Colorado for my sister's case.  Not to mention birthday parties, two high school graduation celebrations . . . and one swiftly planned-and-executed wedding!  All of which we paid in full without incurring backbreaking interest-bearing debt. 

But while we have one small PERA drawing interest from my husband's time spent working for two Colorado cities, there is no big payoff upon retirement for us.  No 401k or diversified portfolio or CD's.  No rich relatives planning to mention us in their wills.  It doesn't take a financial wizard to read the writing on the wall regarding the future of Social Security, either.  Our legacy is not one of material value.  THAT'S for sure! 

The far-off future has always been a source of uncertainty for me personally.  Easier to do the day-to-day.  Catch a glimpse of next month, even next year, but not decades down the line.  Even in my youth, I couldn't quite kick the feeling that there was something monumental looming off in the not-too-distant horizon, a malevolent presence - war, disease, famine - something so far-reaching and all-encompassing that it would eclipse any planning for a future.  Each time I reached a milestone in my life, from graduation to marriage to parenthood and now grown children and a dream of grandchildren, there was this small voice inside which said, "I can't believe I've made it this far."  

I fear I've cast too wide a net to explain my shame.  Let me draw you back in.  For the past few years, I've sensed that the busy, stretched and packed nature of our lifestyle was taking a toll on our spending habits.  Nothing exorbitant or greedy.  More like allowing one's once taut midsection to fall into flabbiness.  Decisions made out of expediency and fatigue.  Nickel-and-dime stuff, small dollars at a time.  Eventually they add up to a larger whole.  What we needed was to take time out as co-managers of our household and take a hard look at our habits.  But each time we tried to approach the problem, the small fingers of blame began to point, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much, in the opposing direction.  "You always want to eat out . . . then it's not even good, it's full of fat and salt . . . we wish we hadn't . . . what a waste!"  was one of my pet peeves.  "We can't help or save EVERYONE . . . we can't buy gifts every time there's a birthday or baby shower or hospital visit," was a popular refrain from my husband.  And then we'd just shut up and shut down.  Table the issue until next time.  Not very grown-up of me, I'm afraid.

I'd see the news feature stories on saving enough for a rainy day.  Dave Ramsey and other money experts espoused socking away 3-6 months worth of living expenses against job loss or death or other life calamity which could hit the checkbook.  And I'd think, "We need to do that.  You never know.  We've had enough of the unexpected to expect it can happen . . . "

If I'm being fair to myself, we would have had enough to survive two months without a job, if not for elements of our summer to which I alluded earlier on.  Those things aren't generally considered in financial planning.  You'll have to trust me on that.  As it is, we've reached a position where our house must be sold, sooner than later it appears though we had hoped to hold out until after our eldest daughter's June 2014 wedding date. If no company sees fit to hire my good man, we will find ourselves living with friends or relatives like we did in our newlywed starting-out days.  There's a humbling thought.

In order to meet mid-December bills, we really need to sell at least one of our larger gas-guzzling vehicles.  (Anyone in the market for a single-owner Chevy Silverado truck with Rhino liner and new brakes?  Or a spacious GMC Yukon in champagne and chrome?  Both in good shape and below Blue book!)  And we made the difficult decision to take the tax-penalty on that small PERA in order to prep the house and keep us afloat for a few lean months more.  I misunderstood the release-of-funds procedure: it's roughly 2 months and NOT 2 weeks.  Neither of us thought this forced unemployment would last this long.  The seasonal work I found at our local Kohl's department store for minimum wage is more a gesture of support than anything else. But even earning enough to pay the electric and water bills will feel good after 18 years spent working on the homefront. 

Yesterday presented us with another disappointment that, again, I hadn't contemplated.  My husband tried for a position for which he is over-qualified and which pays 40% less his last salary.  The headhunter basically told him that no business would take the risk of hiring an unemployed uber-qualified guy for a job beneath his experience and pay scale.  They know the moment a suitable offer comes available, he'll jump ship to receive what he desired all along.  It boggles the mind: he can't even get hired for a lower-paying job now?!

Everything I've just revealed is true and accurate.  And most of us don't discuss such things with one another.  It's frowned upon.  Especially if the revelations reveal weakness as opposed to strength.  Often, not even with close family will we fully open up.  It ranks right up there with religion and politics.  But probably even more so.  How we earn, spend and save is so closely tied to our success and identity, that we feel almost a parental drive to protect the finer points of our financial practices from the scrutiny of those around us.  We could be judged.  'They' might find us lacking.  I realized this was the food source for my shame.

And then, in the midst of contemplating all of this, mulling over writing a blog entry but feeling stymied and flat, I selected one of my TED Talk podcasts to keep me company while housecleaning earlier this week.  The title?  Making Mistakes (I urge you to click and listen!).  From the opening lines to the closing comments, I knew I was meant to hear this.  Have you ever seen a woman laugh and sob while vacuuming?  An unusual sight, I'd wager.  But it sure felt goo-o-od.  The shame lifted.  I realized that there had to be other people out there like us.  People caught in this strange middle ground of fiscal responsibility.  And they could be struggling in the midst of the various stages through which we had already trudged . . . or they could be wading in their own murky puddle of shame.

I could do the socially appropriate thing and keep it to myself.  I could allow others to believe we are faring remarkably well as witnessed by our outward happy faces and generally upbeat Facebook posts, all the while frowning with deeply furrowed brows on the inside.  Or I could admit to our perceived successes AND failures and possibly deliver a measure of comfort, assurance and camaraderie to those husbands, wives and head-of-households weathering similar storms.  What's a bothered girl to do?  Well, the following line was lifted straight from one of the stories featured on that TED Talk podcast selection.  I think it says it best . . .   

"Vulnerability is NOT weakness.  It's our most accurate measurement of courage."   

For us, that means letting go and getting on with it.  The history of the world is chock full of people who built and lost fortunes, great and small. Especially America!  This is a time of reinvention for us.  We don't want your pity.  But neither do we deserve your judgement.  Just take this as a cautionary tale.  But also one of forgiveness of self.