It was 2008. Markets crashed. The economy plummeted. The company where I’d served for two years in as a Director of Human Resources struggled to weather the economic storm. Many of its nationwide branch offices closed resulting in dozens of employees being laid off.
A colleague privately shared with me that he had put his resume out there…just in case. Pay cuts were shared by all employees with even larger cuts handed to the management team. My ex-husband stopped paying child support. My income dwindled, yet I still had a mortgage, automobile, and student loans to pay monthly.
My blonde-haired, green-eyed daughter, having just been diagnosed with ADHD, struggled both with focus and bullies at school. I remained stalwart in my endeavors to keep her safe, secure, and forward-focused.
Amidst this maelstrom came the crushing blow.
In my desire to create a better retirement future than I had witnessed growing up, I, at the age of twenty-one, made bi-weekly deposits into my company’s 401(k) retirement plan, worked in the banking industry and understood that saving for my future was the right thing to do, even on my meager salary.
When I moved to the H.R. Director role, I believed I needed to diversify my retirement funds. Perhaps I mistrusted my new company on some level, or maybe I absorbed unverified or misguided information from others.
No matter what my reasons, instead of rolling over my existing 401(k) into my new company’s plan, I moved my entire balance into a self-directed IRA at an Investment company that was a “can’t-go-wrong-sure-thing” at the advice of a close and trusted friend.
I ignored my shouting gut feeling, suppressing the inner wisdom that communicated to me through my emotional body. “Don’t do it,” my gut screamed while my mind rationalized my decision.
Instead, I allowed my inner critic take control and listened to my thoughts like “put your money here because you don’t know what else to do” and “you don’t have the smarts or the time to invest these funds on your own” and other insidious whisperings my ego used in its attempt to keep me safely in my comfort zone.
I also got caught up in the exciting possibility of this “sure thing.”
Thoughts like these whirled around in my head:
- When
the “guaranteed” returns started flowing, I’d have a wonderful retirement; - I wouldn’t have to work
into my eighties like my grandmother had; - I’d experience financial freedom, not the scrimping and scraping I’d grown up with; and
- How joyfully secure I’d feel once the financial windfall showered down.
Those difficult internal arguments between my head and my gut continued until my head accepted my gut’s unconditional surrender. I moved all my retirement savings, all the while ignoring the instinct that something didn’t feel right.
After investing my entire retirement balance into the “sure thing” IRA, all seemed well for about a year. I received monthly statements showing my balance climbing nicely. I never before imagined seeing that much money in my own account. I felt accomplished and smart for having made this move.
And then, in 2009, my friend confided change was coming and suggested I might want to move my funds into something else.
Crap! I was ineligible to roll my money into my company’s 401(k) plan because of the laws surrounding the timing of moving retirement funds. I didn’t have time to research new options with the hours I worked and responsibilities I had. I didn’t have the smarts to invest on my own. I couldn’t afford an advisor. I didn’t know where to turn.
At least those are the things I told myself. So, I remained paralyzed until that pit in my gut forced me to take action. I reached out to the investment company to withdraw my funds, requested my full $110,000 balance. They said they could only give me $30,000. After a few weeks, they sent me a check for $15,000, that check also bounced.
The investment company stopped answering my emails and phone calls. My online account access no longer worked. I grew increasingly panicked and that pit in my stomach seemed to bore a hole right through me. Immense fear and anxiety took over. Something was definitely wrong.
My banker advised me that he suspected something fraudulent was happening, and encouraged me to contact the FBI. My worst fears came true. Was I going to have to retain an expensive attorney? I certainly wasn’t in any position to be able to afford that.
Fortunately, I had taken copious notes on my dealings with the investment company. The FBI investigator called me back and told me that they were involved in a joint criminal investigation with the SEC and IRS. My name was added to the growing list of victims in what appeared to be a huge criminal fraud case.
I’m a victim? Ouch!
The agent shared that the FBI had frozen the assets of the owners but at the time estimated these assets totaled only one percent of what they believed these people had hidden all over the world in a Ponzi scheme arrangement. All of the monthly account statements I saw were bogus. My heart sank.
At one point in the investigation, the agent told me he figured that my life savings was probably spent within three days. Talk about disheartening. I felt so angry, stupid, powerless, and guilty at my bad financial decision. How could I have let this happen? I felt so alone.
In 2011, I testified in federal court as a credible witness. This group of scammers had gained the trust of hundreds of people, gladly took our money, and squandered away our life savings in a matter of months.
As I looked around the depressingly dark and packed courtroom, I realized I was likely the youngest of over 700 people who had been defrauded. Many had already retired and had only social security to fall back on. Some had passed away, never knowing the outcome of this horrific event on our lives.
Although I crumbled inside, unsure how I would recover from the financial blow, the FBI agents commended me on my calm professionalism and even asked me if I would be willing to coach other victims through the experience. Of course I’d be happy to help if I could.
I realized that although this was probably one of the more traumatic events that had happened to me, I was only forty-four years old. I still had some time to save again, to regain some of what I had lost. And perhaps, like my grandmother, I may work well past the age I had hoped to, but I could and I would if I had to.
Many of the other victims didn’t have that option; the trajectory of their lives had changed forever.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know the extent of the physical toll those chronic financial stresses took on my mind, body, and soul. That wouldn’t show up fully until years later.
Today, I’m more than okay. I have processed my anger, forgiven myself, and put it behind me. I continue to save and have the support of my wonderful husband. Together, we are building a secure retirement future.
I no longer pontificate on how much money I could have had in my retirement account. It no longer matters because I have since learned that money is just energy and it will flow again as I joyfully expect it to. I know in my heart, we will be just fine.
The beautiful lesson for me to this day remains: soothe my inner critic first and only listen to my heart’s whisperings, as these will always point me in the right direction.
Journal prompts:
- What have you experienced in your life that became a pivotal wake up call for you?
- Can you remember a time when you didn’t follow your intuition and things didn’t go so well for you? Looking back, what might you have done differently?
- Can you remember a time that you did follow your intuition and things went really well for you? How did that make you feel?
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