I remember so clearly lying on a single bed at age 33, staring up at the mouldy ceiling in the tiny basement bedroom that now held all my earthly belongings.
I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. Oh hell, I was mortified.
This wasn’t where I thought I’d be. This wasn’t how I pictured my life at this age.
I was an accountant, a ‘smart girl’, someone who was supposed to be good at money.
A few months earlier, because of a throwaway line from my first husband that ‘I’d never make it on my own’, I had given my entire divorce proceeds and every cent in my business and personal bank accounts to charity.
People love that kind of gesture. They want to clap you on the back and say, “You go, girl,” as if generosity automatically equals strength.
But the next day, full of regret, I wanted to ring the charity and ask for the money back.
That’s because I’d emotionally gut reacted.
And sure, for a brief moment, as I made that donation, as I gave away all that money it felt intoxicating. It felt like I was finally back in control. When the reality was that I’d pettily scorched-earth my finances and the only one who was going to suffer was me.
Even an hour after I made that donation, I felt sick as I realised the enormity of the mistake I’d made. I hadn’t kept money for wages, cashflow, superannuation or a rental bond. That emotional decision was the reason I was living now, in my mid-thirties, in a tiny mouldy basement bedroom in a house I shared with four friends.
So many of my friends were buying houses, getting married and having babies, and there I was in five figures of debt with a business that wasn’t earning enough to pay me a commercial wage (never mind paying me any superannuation), and all my assets could fit in the back of a car.
It wasn’t like I could ask my parents for help. They were strict, fundamentalist Christians who didn’t believe in or approve of divorce and hadn’t spoken to me for months. As the eldest daughter who had always played the role of the good girl in a turbulent, inconsistent, often violent household, I’d stepped outside of that part for the first time by choosing myself.
There was no-one coming to rescue me.
It was up to me to turn my situation around. And if I was completely honest?
I wasn’t sure I was up to it.
For so many days, months and even years afterwards, I didn’t tell anyone what I had done. I didn’t tell them that I had made such a big, emotional mistake. Not friends. Not clients.
That’s because you trust your accountant to know what they’re doing for your taxes, for your business. I didn’t want my clients to know that I had made such an enormous mistake with my own finances. I was too proud to let my friends know that I had made such a mess of my own situation.
But I’m a western Sydney chick and because of my upbringing and so many things I had already survived up to that point, I knew that I had grit and resilience. I decided to spend most of my profits learning how to make more money in my business. I decided to go back to school and invest in myself with a Masters in Business. I learned about investing and personal finance which was harder than it is today without the benefits of podcasts or investing apps. I started writing and eventually became a financial advisor.
Along the way, I realised from working with thousands of clients, that so many people have their own, ‘if only’ financial moment. They often have their own messy middle where they look around and realise this is not where they thought they’d end up and are often in shame about their finances.
That messy middle might be because of divorce or illness. Or it might be regret over an opportunity they didn’t take, an investment they sold too soon, debt they took on that they wished they hadn’t, purchasing decisions based purely on trying to keep up with friendship groups and more.
What I came to understand is that clients rarely came to me just wanting me to help with their finances. They came with stories that often included “I should have known better”, “ I’m worried I’ve left it too late”, “I thought I’d be further along.”
Every version of those questions carries the same stress, anxiety and shame that I had experienced for all those years.
Why did I think I was special or immune, just because I happened to be an accountant?
What I didn’t anticipate was the loneliness of the secret. Shame doesn’t arrive loudly, it arrives administratively. You edit what you say. You make a joke and redirect conversations with questions.
My work depended on people trusting me as a financial advisor and a money expert. My identity was framed in this. I wondered if admitting that I had made such an obvious financial mistake would harm that. If by admitting it, I would be dismissed by some people as incompetent and inept, but I could potentially help so many more because they would feel seen and know that I deeply understand what they were going through.
So, one day, when I was introducing myself during a keynote, I talked about how I was an accountant, I had my own accounting business, I had written a personal finance column in a national newspaper for seven years, I had written books on business and money and so I had the theory. But I also had the life experience, because I understood that everyone makes financial mistakes because I’d made a big one myself and I told the story of giving my divorce proceeds and everything in my bank accounts to charity.
The room went completely silent and yes, there were a few audible gasps. But what I was able to show by sharing my experience, is that I didn’t just appreciate intellectually that you might not be at the age and stage you would like to be – I’ve lived it. I understand the shame associated with it.
But just as importantly, I understand what it means to rebuild.
That’s because my story didn’t end in that mouldy basement bedroom. Today I’m a multi-millionaire who has financial independence and so much choice. Who wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth and who learned through how to create strategies for debt, build a financial plan, invest in property, shares and business and create a life she only dreamed of.
I know today, because of my experiences and sharing the good, the bad and the ugly, that others realise they can create their own turn around too.
I was recently asked if I still regretted making that donation.
And financially, of course I do. I would be in a much better financial position today if I hadn’t.
But what I don’t regret is the impact I’m able to have with people I work with because I genuinely understand what it means to not be at the age and stage you should be. I understand what it takes to come back from less than nothing.
I couldn’t undo the decision. But I could decide what kind of person existed after it. That was what changed me.