ESSENCE
January 2012

The Interruption of EVERYTHING

Smart? Check. Stylish? Check. Successful? Check. Crystal McCrary, Danielle Belton and Susan Fales-Hill though they had it all until the recession forced them to awaken to their true power and a new reality.

The Great Recession of 2008 hit us like a tsunami, leaving behind shattered nest eggs, dashed hopes and deferred dreams. And although the well-meaning bean counters at the Business Cycle Dating Committee of the National Bureau of Economic Research have suggested that the economic malaise subsided in June 2009, we know better. We have only to look around at the foreclosure signs in our neighbors’ front yards, read the poignant Facebook postings of formerly high-paid execs who have been out of work for years, or review our own diminished savings and checking accounts for evidence. Many of us have been stripped bare, left exposed. Transparent. Vulnerable.

So how are we holding up? What happens to us when money no longer defines us? Three ESSENCE readers, all of whom were living the high life until the recession hit, allowed us into their lives to help find the answers. These strivers share how, in an instant, they were called upon to create new identities independent of the trappings of labels, titles and luxurious surroundings. And they reveal how that turning point has left them forever changed, for the better.

“I took control of my life.”
By Crystal McCrary

“It’s not working for them.”

The “It” my literary agent was referring to was my second novel of a two-book deal. The “Them” was my publishing house. I dreaded what was coming next from my agent on the other end of the phone. And then she said it. I was now obligated to return the financial advance I had received on the book. The same advance monies that represented far more than financial security. The same advance monies I had spent months before. This was 2006, and the advance was proof that I had an actual career as a novelist instead of simply a “hobby,” which is what some folks in my hometown of Detroit assumed. Notwithstanding what was unfolding, I fully recognized that I was lucky: I had the ability to reimburse my publishing house. What I was not prepared for was the psychological blow and the downward spiral that would follow shortly after this phone call.

Looking back, the timing could not have been worse for me to lose my book deal. Personally, I was a newly divorced mother with a 6-year-old son and a 4-year-old daughter, both in private schools. Professionally, my confidence was rocked more than I cared to admit. Combined, my privately guarded low self-esteem took a beating. Lofty as it may have seemed, novelist was a word I used to define myself after my divorce. Writing represented passion and freedom for me. That title, however tenuous, gave me a purpose outside of motherhood when no longer had the “Mrs.” in front of my name. I had to face reality without the comfort of the title “Mrs.” or “novelist.” I was now in my mid-thirties, basically a single mother without a 401(k) and among the newly uninsured. Somehow that did not fit the life plan I had envisioned for myself. How had this happened to the girl who was supposed to be so smart, who had gotten an academic scholarship to the University of Michigan, who had graduated from law school and worked at a big New York City firm? I was a naïve young woman who had essentially moved from my parents’ home to my husband’s. When most female college graduates were discovering themselves and dating, I was planted in a suburban house far too large for two young people – one I had not yet earned despite it being labeled “ours.” And I don’t care what anyone says, financial dependence within a marriage has a detrimental impact on a woman’s self-worth no matter how many degrees or accolades that woman may have.

Despite having been productive with my writing and eventually expanding into producing television shows, documentaries and feature films, I was making moves without having a solid financial plan in place. And then the recession hit. Hard. My health insurance was jacked up to an unconscionable amount since I was not in a group plan and I let it lapse. The cost of living in New York City kept getting higher, from the children’s music, dance and sports activities and child care to garage costs, groceries, tolls, agents, clothes, entertaining clients, credit cards, taxes, charitable contributions – everything had a price, and it was all at a premium. My television shows were canceled one by one, there were no new book deals in sight, and my nest egg virtually disappeared in the financial crisis. Stressful days and nights followed. A trip to the park or zoo with my kids turned into desperate conference calls trying to set up my next gig. As my children screamed, “Watch this, Mommy!” rather than my attention, they got my forefinger telling them to hold on a second while I finished my call. My patience thinned as bills mounted, and suddenly those “cute” $50 checks my mother would mail me from Detroit to “help out” got cashed a lot faster. Soul-searching ensued, which at first brought pity to the surface, then morphed into self-flagellation. I managed to convince myself that all my accomplishments were flukes and that it would only be a matter of time before everything I worked for was taken away from me.

This went on for more than a year, and then one day, with a wiser perspective, I revisited Marianne Williamson’s well-known quote: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Almost instantly I was forced to recognize within myself the control I had over my destiny. I found a guild under which I could get an affordable group health insurance plan, and cut back on all expenses, including shopping for myself. I did shop for a new accountant and more affordable legal counsel. A universal truth made itself clear to me, and instead of avoiding it, I listened: We attract to us what we put out into the world. I could not wallow in self-pity. I could not allow my fears to overtake me. I summoned and embraced every lesson I had learned in my four decades, and I knew that I would make it through. There are still more bumps and challenges to come, but I know I am going to be okay.

Photography by Hosea Johnson