Divorce Finance 101: Impossible Budgeting

Gas or Food? Insurance or Taxes? Mortgage or Electricity?

I still very clearly and painfully remember a time after filing for divorce of having to make my first of many difficult financial decisions. Mine was not a divorce where the man put his children’s needs above all else. Mine was a divorce where the man was trying to financially strangle the woman into submission. If the kids had to suffer in the process, so be it. But he was determined to “keep what was rightfully his” at all costs.

What he failed to consider in equating what was “his” was that for over the past 20 plus years we had built a life together. We had what we had because of the both of us, not because he single-handedly created it. Yes, I was at home with the kids for most of their lives but in being there it built equity in areas that weren’t immediately, or in some cases, tangibly measurable. He didn’t see it that way.

So when he moved out of our home and into his girlfriend’s house, he decided that my part-time job, coupled with the token child support in an amount that he established, were enough to shelter, feed, clothe and transport our children and that if I needed more money that I would have to “figure it out.”

The reality of the situation hit me hard one Thursday afternoon when I got in my car to leave work. I had an eighth of a tank of gas. I had $2.75 in my bank account and another $1.10 that I had scrounged from the bottom of my purse and my car. I was supposed to meet my soon-to-be-ex at our bank after work to pick up a child support check but when I texted him to make arrangements he told me that I would have to wait until Saturday. My payday wasn’t until the next day and I still had to figure out dinner for the kids. When I explained this to him he told me that I should have budgeted better.

I had a decision to make. Either put the money in my tank to get home to my kids or use the money to buy dinner for them and pray that I got home on gas fumes. I mentally inventoried what I had for food at home. We had one can of soup in the cupboard. I knew I had four slices of bread and some milk. Maybe one egg?

I decided to put one gallon of gas in the car. At $3.60 a gallon, I didn’t have much left to work with. Ramen noodles it would be. Walking into our grocery store, clutching that quarter, I worried about whether I could afford two packages or just one after factoring in tax because I was too embarrassed to ask the employees if Ramen noodles were taxable.

I threw caution to the wind and brought two packages up to the cashier. Not only did I not have enough for two packages, but I was also $.04 short to buy even one. I looked at the cashier like a deer in headlights.

For five full seconds, we just stared at each other. A voice behind me broke the silence. “Just add those to my stuff.”

I turned to see one of the fathers from my son’s baseball team lifting the plastic separator that marked the beginning of his order. I tried to act casual but I know that the relief on my face was as plain as day.

“I…you don’t…” I forgot how to speak English.
He walked over to me and gave me a hug and said, “He was at the field last week telling everyone about the ‘lesson’ he was teaching you. You and the kids deserve better.”

I could only get out a quiet “thank you” before I started to cry. I picked up my noodles and ran out of the store. I hope to this day he knows how appreciative I was and still am for his kindness and generosity.

Years later, things are much better. I’m not wealthy…not by monetary standards anyway. But I am rich in so many other areas of my life that it doesn’t matter. I make enough money to support my children and to put my daughter through college. My ex has decided that he will pay for some of our son’s education because as a man, he will need to support his family, while my daughter will only need to “look pretty enough to find someone she can sucker into marriage.” This is what he told her when she asked for help with college expenses. They don’t speak anymore. Go figure.

I still can’t look at Ramen noodles without feeling panicky. The other day someone joked about being so broke from their recent trip to Europe that they would have to eat Ramen for a month. I thought about telling them my own “I’m so poor I have to eat Ramen” story. Maybe next time….