Bankruptcy Lessons

That Little Voice 

There I was, standing mute before a judge, watching my pride nosedive faster than a balloon that’s sprung a leak and is now ricocheting around the room like it’s had too much caffeine.

Bankruptcy. Oh, the glamour. I wanted to object: “Your Honor, this isn’t me! I’m supposed to be rich, respected, maybe even mayor someday. You’ve got the wrong file!” But no one was buying it, least of all the judge.

And all I could think was: What would Mother say? Probably, “Well, darling, at least you didn’t get pregnant in high school.”

The whispers in my head weren’t so kind: Failure. Loser. Welcome to the bottom rung, sweetie. Population: You.

Only a few years earlier, I’d been riding higher than a Dallas hairdo in August as president of a savings and loan. Nine rental units. Well-known in town. Mayor-in-waiting of a city of 175,000. I was unstoppable—unless you count math, market crashes, and bad decisions.

1984 was my year. I strutted around like I’d invented success.

By 1988, the sky had fallen, my investments were toast, and I couldn’t get approved for a Sears card. A Sears card! Nothing says “failure” like being turned down for $200 worth of polyester pantsuits and lawn chairs.

Jack and I had just come back from a dreamy year traveling Australia and New Zealand. We landed in California ready for a fresh start. “New life ahead,” I told myself. Well, yes. Just not the one in the brochure.

The shame was a rip tide, pulling me under. I gagged on bitterness, fear, and the thought that I might have to move back in with my mother, which would’ve finished me off faster than any bankruptcy court.

But here’s the kicker: thirty-seven years later, I can admit bankruptcy was the best disaster that ever happened to me. It cracked my overinflated ego like a piñata at a kid’s party, and believe me, the candy inside wasn’t pretty or sweet.

I learned humility, resilience, and how to laugh at myself without crying first. I also developed a healthy suspicion of “sure thing” investments, fast talkers, and anything labeled “guaranteed.”