The first time I had to face the fact that I was in pretty substantial debt – over $10,000 and with no income to speak of or any idea how I was going to pay it back – I was sitting in rehab for drug and alcohol addiction. Don’t get me wrong, there had been signs before then – namely the unopened bills I kept throwing in the trash, the collections calls I changed my phone number to avoid, and the people who showed up to my mother’s house to arrest me – but being in treatment was the first time I actually admitted that I couldn’t run from this problem for ever.
The stack of bills arrived in a manila envelope, courtesy of my boyfriend who was back at home, and I began the anxiety-induced task of opening each and every one of them. I had no idea what I owed because I had spent the last eight years throwing out all my mail. All I knew was that, between the credit cards I’d opened in my late teens and very quickly maxed out on luxury items, and the medical bills I’d racked up as a result of drug- and alcohol-induced illnesses, it was a lot.
The thing that made my debt different from so many other people’s is that it was not the result of predatory lending, unfair student loan practices or using credit cards to fill gaps in my income. My debt was 100% a result of my own irresponsible behavior.
As part of my 12-step recovery program, I was required to take responsibility for my actions and try to make them right where I had been wrong. I had been wrong to hide from the problems that were very much of my own making. Instead of calling my creditors and owning up to the fact that I owed money that I didn’t have, I avoided the issue all together. Unsurprisingly, this made everything much worse.
It’s a humbling experience to call every one of your creditors and tell them that, not only are you an alcoholic, but you owe them money that you can’t afford to pay. But this was Step 9 of my 12-step program – making amends. At the time, I was living in a sober house and earning $7 an hour scooping ice cream; making even the minimum monthly payments on all of my bills was out of the question. But what I found was that, by being honest with the collection agencies, they were willing to work with me. I set up payment plans of $5 or $10 per month with everyone I owed. It was a start.
Over the course of the next four years, I slowly paid off all my debts. After a while, I was able to increase my monthly payments because I got full-time employment. But even with my debts down to $0, my past hasn’t gone away. My credit score is still very bad, making it impossible for me to get approved for even small loans for things like necessary repairs to my home or a car that would be more appropriate for my growing family.
It’s a constant reminder that fixing my mistakes takes time. I’ve now begun the painstaking task of credit repair, working with a friend who specializes in the issue. Every month we meet, combing through my credit reports, making calls to confirm that debts are mine, sending letters to access the information I need and doing the hard work of cleaning up the wreckage from my past.
This wreckage no longer just affects me – I’m married with children and the results of my irresponsible behavior when I was in active addiction are affecting their lives. But what this process, and my recovery, has taught me is that I have to change the way I deal with money.
No longer can I rob Peter to pay Paul. It’s not an option for me to take money from one account to buy shoes with the intention of putting it back later. I can’t open up credit cards that I won’t be able to make payments on. I can’t miss bill payments and, if I need to, it requires me to call the company and explain why. I know these aren’t options for everyone and I acknowledge that doing this requires some element of class privilege, but this is what works for me personally.
Being in recovery means living honestly and changing past behaviors that were destructive. Some of those are around my relationships with people, but it also includes my relationship with money. It’s a lot of work. I have a strict budget that I don’t stray from and some months are incredibly tight. But I can go to sleep at night with a clear mind and a clear conscience – and that’s a gift.
