Fantasizing About Money is My Porn

Single mom income is the worst

I’m torn.

I hated my marriage. I began hating my husband. I was emotionally ruined. My belief was “just raise the kids and then die”. I thought getting a divorce would give me a chance at happiness, unlike my prior situation.

I didn’t anticipate the pain of not seeing my kids. I had been a Single Married Woman for the kids’ entire lives. I never had time away from them so it didn’t seem like it would be that hard. Turns out, it’s still gutting me not seeing them every day.

I also didn’t anticipate the financial aspect. I grew up with exceptionally frugal parents. My mom re-washed Mcdonald’s straws and if we splurged on the Pizza Hut buffet, she’d wrap extra slices in napkins to hide in her purse to take home.

That panic level of financial anxiety carried into my marriage. Looking back, I was insane. While it worked out because my savings helped me during my divorce, I added undue hardship to my family with my excessive frugality.

Now that I’m down to one income, I’ve crippled myself emotionally. It’s all I think about now.

I know that I’m blessed. I make a solid income and I’m part of the last generation (Gen X) that was able to purchase a detached house with no student loans.

There’s no life enjoyment. Why did I think we couldn’t afford Disneyland tickets before? Fuck, we could afford annual memberships in comparison to my income now. I’m annoyed that Disney+ membership is going up, going to the park itself is a pipe dream (although it sounds like it’s hell since the pandemic ended).

I put any little bit of extra cash into my Buy a House Closer To My Kids’ Dad and Their Future High School fund. Given the state of housing and interest rates, buying Disneyland memberships seems reasonable.

My parents are visiting. I heard my dad complain to my mom about how my daughter left too much milk in her cereal bowl before going to school. Typically, I pour that milk into a container and reuse it the next day but didn’t get a chance to this morning. Now I feel bad for wasting milk.

Money doesn’t buy happiness. But it buys freedom. I feel trapped in a financial prison, suffocating me every time I pay a bill or dare dream of buying something.

My monthly pedicure ($47) is a splurge between my Medium and Etsy payouts. They see my nails and assume I need a manicure as well. Nope, I’ll deal with the hands for free.

Would my marriage have been better if we had splurged on things like Hawaiian vacations? If we had splurged on babysitters for date nights? If I hadn’t felt guilty every time I bought a candle from Bath and Body Works’ annual sale?

My brain fills with regret about the divorce. And then I remember, my ex-husband was getting Happy Endings at massage parlors. He was a man-child who never helped. He threatened divorce constantly. He insisted I was “controlling” when in reality, I needed help around the house. I think of the fights the final week before I decided I’d had enough; I still hear him calling me “a piece of shit”.

I don’t know which of my states of misery is worse, but my prior state allowed me to buy cute boots.

I’m scared.

I’m so fucking scared.

I rarely see my friends anymore. Going out costs money. Even if we stay in, it costs me more because I’m buying groceries for drinks and snackables for a potluck. If I’m paying for just me at a restaurant, I can control the damage to my wallet.

Divorce is already isolating. Not having my kids for ongoing family activities with friends is isolating. Not being able to afford to do social events with my support network is isolating.

I felt so alone in my marriage. Now I feel even more alone, which I didn’t think was possible.

My long-term financial strategy is that eventually my parents will die, leaving my brother and I to handle their house. It’s paid off; we’d rent it out.

Not sure if any financial planner would put Parental Death next to Social Security Income in my retirement spreadsheet. It’s probably bad karma for me to think this way.

I was thinking that if I didn’t date anyone, I could use all my non-kid time towards a second full-time job (juggling both remotely from home). I’m too scared to do that right now since I need to put my head down and attempt to do my current job successfully without getting fired for not giving a shit.

I know for Millenials and Gen Z, this kind of thinking is the norm. I understand that I’m in a fortunate situation. I can’t imagine living paycheck to paycheck working a minimum wage job or having crippling student loans. But it’s like saying I should be grateful for being punched in the face every day because other people are getting hot pokers jabbed into their skin daily. They both suck, just mine sucks less.

Closing my eyes, I can see what my life would be if I hadn’t divorced. However, I’d be even more suicidal with my ex-husband working from home some days. I made a goal of never living in a situation where another adult can/will yell at me. I’m not sure if I traded one emotional instability for another by moving out.

This is where I get choked up, thinking about the mental health toll of staying married to my ex-husband. My brain then goes into a spiral, reminding me that I had a shitty childhood. I had a shitty marriage. The one time I felt like the puzzle pieces were falling into place (dating Jeremy, who checked all the boxes and put the idea of blending families into my mind), it ended before it even began.

I’m in my late forties and everything still feels like a struggle because I want too much. Except all I want is the basics: a compatible partner who makes enough income combined with mine to feel at peace with life.

Instead, it feels like everything comes at a price. Stay in my marriage and have some financial stability, but feel jealous of those who follow through on suicide (my kids kept me alive, although my kids are the only reason I stayed married as long as I did). Leave my marriage for emotional peace, but live in a constant state of economic paranoia.

I have a gift card I used to buy breakfast treats last weekend for my parents and kids. I let my daughter splurge on one Petit Fours, which are little mini overpriced cakes.

Last night when I had my kids, I went to grab the box with the overpriced mini cake. It was gone; my mom wanted to “get rid of the big box in the fridge and there was only one bite left”.

I irrationally flipped my lid. “There was only one bite because that little cake is just one bite!”

When she asked the price, I told her it was four dollars. “So, it’s just four dollars,” she replied.

Four dollars for a single bite is a shit ton of money. Now that my parents have almost no bills, they’re rolling in dough.

I told my parents that I’m cutting costs, but that opened me up to scrutiny. My mom raised her eyebrow when I went to the gym; it’s a whopping ten dollars a month and my work reimburses it. She also thinks spending seventy dollars a month on a gardener is frivolous. I tried for two years to do it myself but I didn’t have the tools, the skills, the strength, the time, and my Homeowner’s Association was going to fine me. I eventually conceded it wasn’t something I could manage on my own.

Because of a divorce QDRO situation where I stupidly gave over twenty thousand of it to my ex-husband (I got taxed like it was income), I owe six thousand to the IRS. Thankfully, I got an extension due to whatever random weather shit was going on earlier this year.

I paid the state portion of that. Now I have to pay the remaining federal balance and my chest feels like a vice grip is wrapped around my rib cage.

Next year, my son’s grade field trip is to Washington, D.C. If I were still married, I’d balk at the price but begrudgingly fork over the $2,200 price.

There’s no way I can pay my half of that trip.

I need to find a rich, dying, old man and Anna Nicole Smith my way out of this situation.