From riches to rags – life as the nouveau poor

I AM broke.

But you already know that, right? And apart from a close friend and a couple of family members it’s a closely-guarded secret. And the main reason I don’t tell everyone I know is that I couldn’t cope as well as I do if I did.

Normally I’m a ‘say it straight’ kinda person and sometimes it’s to my detriment. I used to be very direct, but I’ve learnt the hard way to keep my mouth shut.

Sometimes I feel like opening my front door in my neighbourhood and shouting out to everyone, ‘‘We are bust! We have a meter for the gas and the electric! The banks are trying to repossess our home! My girls will not be attending private school and I spend three evenings a week hovering around supermarkets to get cheap food! Oh, and by the way, I’m also a recovering alcoholic (which I’ve also covered up quite successfully)!’’

I am not a snob and I know in the large scale of things these things don’t really matter, but I can’t come clean and the main reason is my kids. I don’t have the right to expose them, and why should I? They haven’t got a clue, and they have a great quality of life with parents who are devoted to them.

Being poor isn’t a crime and I feel proud of how we’ve coped. I take nothing for granted and have learnt to enjoy so many other things that don’t involve money.

It’s the isolation that kills me, but only when I feel well. When I have anxiety, I love being indoors and spend hours listening to the radio, reading, and doing research on the computer. But when I’m at my best I get huge pangs for someone to talk to honestly about our situation, and I don’t mean moaning and crying, but just to be able to leave my guard down for a while and have a laugh.

But I have purposely removed myself from society, because it’s just easier. I need all my strength to survive, to fight the banks, stay sane, and protect my family. Sometimes I crave alcohol, it can hit me anytime and anywhere.

Sometimes it’s for a big pint of vodka and other times it’s just to enjoy a Pinot Grigio with some nice food. But I just smile to myself when I get the cravings and say ‘no way, lady’. Over my dead body would I take a drink again, and money can never buy my sobriety. It’s priceless to me.

I gave it up when things were good, because I don’t think I would have been strong enough to do it when the shit hit the fan and would have definitely used it to my advantage to drink to excess. We alcoholics are very devious and clever and can use good or bad situations as a reason to drink. The girls are always asking me why I don’t drink and I will explain it to them honestly when they are older, but haven’t times changed?

My mother never drank and it never crossed my mind as to why. She raised seven of us without much money and always had high standards. What I admire most about her was her consistency, always a clean house, always homemade soup, dinner, and dessert — 365 days a year.

No takeaways, no wine, no valium, no holidays, and no credit card. I would raise my glass to her, if I had one...