In 2010, we declared bankruptcy. I experienced it as a profound failure, but also believed it was the only to breathe in a situation with no oxygen. We had medical debt, educational debt, consumer debt, and mortgage debt. In addition, I was being sued in New York state by the woman who bought my family home, the only house I have ever sold.
My mother had placed a restrictive covenant on the half-acre lot my family home was on, preventing subdivision of the lot; but she didn’t tell me about the covenant. So when the realtor representing me said that it would be a good idea to market the lot as two potential quarter-acre lots, I saw no reason to disagree. The lawsuit stated explicitly that I “knew or should have known” about the covenant; I was the only defendant named in the suit that was not connected to deep-pocket insurance, my co-defendants being the title company, the broker, the realtor, etc. and so forth.
It costs money to defend yourself in a situation like that, and these things can drag on and on; the whole equation became unbalanceable. I would go to sleep at night thinking of columns of numbers that didn’t add up; I would sleep poorly and restlessly; and then I would wake up thinking of numbers that didn’t add up. This went on for months and months. I felt frazzled and overstretched in a very particular way, like an extended rubber band whose edges have begun to fray. I’ve faced other serious challenges, other demanding and stressful situations; but this had a deep panicky quality to it, everything flavored with the taste of impending ruination. It was difficult to think in that state, let alone think clearly or well.
The bankruptcy made all the medical debt, the consumer debt, and the lawsuit go away, which was a big relief. (Interestingly, student debt, however, is forever.)
A stash of money, financial margins, less debt—any of these elements could have potentially brought some peace of mind and might have allowed for an alternative solution during that dark period when I felt I was always carrying so much weight, with no way that I could imagine to put the burden down. I was also reluctant to talk to people about it because I was so ashamed of our situation. It was lonely, which added to the desperate feeling.
The bankruptcy stays on your credit report for 10 years, and has impacted us in large and small ways, including its limiting our ability to refinance our mortgage into more favorable terms. Another example of how not having money—and making lousy money decisions—can lead to having even less money, or at least to decreased opportunities to save more money, the potential for a lower-interest mortgage rate being one example.
So, yes, I’m convinced that money can buy peace of mind, can lower blood pressure, can facilitate a more easeful and open relationship to the world, and can confer better mental, physical, and social health. Let’s call that happiness.
This meme nails it: