Living Without Money After Divorce

You can’t fathom the financial punch in the face.

Spoiler alert: when you get divorced, your incoming household cash slashes a lot. A. Lot.

After the drama of living together while separated courtesy of Covid (and my ex-husband’s incessant meltdowns), I was able to buy a house and move out four months ago.

I know I’m in the minority of people who can afford to buy a house while their spouse keeps the old house. It’s a testament to how much of a cheapskate I was and hoarded our money instead of doing things like yearly family trips, dates, or pricey clothes. Our savings account was massive enough for me to take it and use as a down payment on my new, albeit much smaller, house.

The mortgage on my 1500 sq ft house is the same as the mortgage on Joseph’s 4000 sq ft house with a remodeled backyard and pool.

That means that my cost of living is the same as before (yes, minus things like a lower water bill with fewer people here but that’s offset by all the new shit I have to buy). It’s like Joseph’s extra income was pure overflow fun money.

While I’m a cheap mofo, I also enjoyed the privilege of buying moderately-pricey items without a second thought. My car’s Sirius XM radio subscription ended. It’s $79 to renew for the year. I wouldn’t have hesitated to renew it when I was married. Now, it’s a luxury item.

When I was married, I got gel pedicures every few weeks. I figured I was saving by doing my hands at home and not buying more nail polish (twenty bottles of the same pale pink is plenty). Now, I allow myself a gel pedicure as long as my Medium supplemental income covers it. Given that Medium has messed around with their algorithms, it’s hit or miss if I can cover it anymore.

Having the extra income allowed me to rationalize staying in the marriage as long as I did. You can be distracted from your shitty marriage when you go berserk during the yearly Nordstrom Anniversary Sale.

Thank God for Nordstrom’s return policy. To afford my current divorce life, I returned clothes I bought in 2018. I can live without that $68 faux suede moto jacket.

I’m grateful that I grew up with ultra frugal parents. I know all the hacks to make products go the extra mile. I even wrote about it.

This means that while I miss the occasional fun shopping splurges, I knew that’s what they were: fun splurges. The things I bought were conscious decisions noting in my brain that I was buying out of pleasure, not necessity. Not having my Sirius XM radio is a first-world irritation, not a life impediment.

Joseph is struggling with this concept. He’s a hoarder and knows how to blow money on expensive, collectible toys (under the guise that “they’re for the kids” like my son needs a vintage He-Man Castle Grayskull set). Because he didn’t manage our finances, he had no clue how much we spent on electricity or property taxes. Now he’s panicking about affording life without my income to supplement the necessities.

Despite my frugality, it’s still a gut punch to my wallet. I tried a No-Spend February but failed miserably since I’m still purchasing the basics I lost in the divorce (at least I settled on a $4.99 can opener instead of the $19.99 one). The bagel I occasionally purchased after dropping off my kids is now in the Luxury Item bucket.

What I’d kill for a chocolate chip bagel slathered with strawberry cream cheese. The store-bought bagels and cream cheese aren’t even worth the purchase; I’d rather eat cardboard.

I can’t stand the dangling light fixtures the previous owner selected. Even my young son commented on their ugliness when he first saw them. While I would love to save my eyeballs from the ocular pain, they’re functional enough to not warrant replacement.

My backyard looks straight out of a horror movie. Freddie Krueger and Annabelle could set up camp among the overgrown shrubs. But the upkeep will require either a gardener or tools, neither of which is on my priority list. I do the bare bones on my front yard so my neighbors aren’t pissed my dandelions are encroaching on their property.

The hardest part is living this frugal life with my kids. I mean, my more-than-I-already-was frugal life. They know the way to get stuff is through their dad. I never bought them Happy Meals; we have milk at home, they never eat the apples, and the fries are microscopic. I’d rather get large fries than a shitty plastic toy.

But my home is smaller and limited in space. That means while they have a giant playroom full of toys, there are barely any here. I’m slowly acquiring more books and toys from Joseph but it’s not enough (per the Mom Guilt ordinance).

Last week, I went balls-in buying toys online for my kids. By “balls-in” I mean $85.73. I justify the toy purchase figuring it’s cheaper than all the outings we no longer do due to my finances. I’d rather spend eighty-five bucks on toys than the same amount on movie tickets and popcorn.

I know in the long run, these are life lessons my kids need to learn. They need to see me doing the small home improvement projects. They need to see how I repurpose items to avoid buying new stuff. While they learned a lot from me before the divorce, this is extreme enough to earn a Ph.D. in frugality.

I’m not going to lie. It makes me sad. But it’s piled onto the larger mountain of sadness experienced after divorce. It all morphs into the life changes that you can’t mentally prepare for no matter how hard you try.

Divorce is an endless learning curve of a new personal era. I hope this life education pays off in the long run.