Jacquelyn Mitchard

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What the People Say

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IMG_18251People say it didn’t happen.

Not just a couple of people, but quite a few, say that I’m a fake.

People say I’m a fool, and I’m selfish, and I’m conceited, and I’m kidding the public, and currying sympathy, and crying poor on the outside while cackling on the inside.

I found out just the other day that people say I’m in the fiction business, when it comes to the facts of my own life.

Quite by coincidence, three good friends on three separate occasions told me that the public perception of my financial downfall more than five years ago was nothing like what I perceived it to be. I always believed that most people sympathized, at least a little, and hoped for the best for me. This turns out not to be true.

Those who explained this to me, by the way, are not the kind of friends who can’t wait to tell you that you’ve put on weight. They’re good friends, genuine and caring, who’ve given their personal and professional support to me for many years.

One of them said he was stunned by people’s comments. He called them “heartless.” When he defended me, detractors called him a pushover. Another friend told me bluntly that I should have known how skeptical people were about my tale of woe. She said that I was “tone deaf.”

People say, it turns out, that I didn’t have a great deal of money stolen – or if I did, it was because I was greedy and I asked for it.

People say it wasn’t really everything we had.

People (a few people, among them the IRS agent we’ve dealt with over our hideous tax woes) that I couldn’t have become so well known and so successful and not have money hidden somewhere, in numbered bank accounts, in other countries – in my wooden shoes, I guess.

People said, “Pride goeth before a fall.”

People said, “Greed is its own reward.”

People said, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

People said, “Easy come, easy go.”

People said, “Everyone gets a comeuppance.”

People said, “She was like one of those lottery winners who throws it all away.”

People said, “There’s more to it than she’s saying.”

People said, “If she posts pictures on Facebook of her frolicking in Ireland, she’s not doing that bad.”

People said, “If she’s having such a tough time, why does she have all those kids?”

People said, “She has to have recovered by now. She should get over it.”

I never knew.

I never suspected.

I had no idea at all that anyone doubted my word.

I never knew people thought I was prideful.

I especially never knew that anyone thought that the way I made my money was easy.

You’re not supposed to let other people define you. You’re supposed to really believe that what people about you usually has everything to do with them, and may not necessarily have much to do with you. I would tell my children, no one has permission to make you feel small. But it’s harder to take your own advice. For someone who depends on goodwill for her living – that is, the good intentions of people who read – perception is reality. So hearing these things brought me to my knees. None of them is true. Most of them are grossly unfair. Still, it was stunning to think that I wandered around in a bubble, thinking the people I met were on my side.

I do understand that my calamities seem extreme. As the third friend explained, it verges on impossible that a money theft and a property tax problem and then a rogue, hateful IRS encounter could all happen to the same person. It seems impossible that they could all happen to someone who’d already gone through being a young widow and raising kids on her own. It’s too much bad luck.

I get that.

When you write stories suggested by real life, you have to tone it down, because real life beggars the imagination. Real life sometimes really is too much. Real life sometimes does defy the credibility budget for a story, which is why I tell my students sometimes that the worst way to justify a story is by saying that it happened that way in real life. Further, much worse things have happened to people than losing all their money. I’m grateful every day that what I lost was not my children’s health, or my health.

However, anyone who says, well, it’s only money … has some, at least a little bit. It’s not only money. It’s safety. It’s security. It’s a little bit of a windbreak in a gale of a world.

For a long time, I didn’t even have a little bit.

For a long time, I had considerably less than nothing.

For a long time, I had hideous credit debt because I made the foolish decision to try to keep the older kids in college by paying part of their school bills with credit cards, until they could scramble for student loans. I couldn’t bear that they would have to drop out because of my mishap.

Many people I’d helped out couldn’t help me. Others wouldn’t. Several, and I bless them, did. It turns out (because I asked) that even my own brother didn’t realize how much I’d lost, or how bad off I was. Neither did any of my in laws. I didn’t spell it out. I should have.

Even my brother assumed it was all better now.

It’s not.

Debt is a luge that gathers speed and danger as it hurtles downhill. I am only now, or at least soon, trying to stop the desperate descent. Then I’ll make my way up the hill.

For the record, when all those kids (except for the last two, my daughters born in Ethiopia) were born to me or came to our family through adoption, we had enough to support them well.

The adoption of our daughters was nearly completed when all our money was taken, and no further fees were required. Good sense would have demanded that we stop out. But good behavior demanded that we proceed, since we had given our word and to renege would have left a stain on my character – no matter how justified it would have been.

For the record, for all those years that we sank deeper into more serious need, my husband did not work. I still don’t know completely why he did not work. He was healthy and capable, and he can’t fully explain it to me. For the record, the investment decision was his. Why didn’t I stop him? I didn’t know any better. This wasn’t Bernie Madoff, making outrageous claims to his clients. It was another guy, another crook, not a household name. If you go to the dentist, do you assume the diploma on the wall is real? Or do you investigate it?

My husband made the choice. I went along with it. He was foolish, and I didn’t know any better.

Most marriages would have broken up.

Perhaps this one should have.

Our children, however, had endured a terrific blow, required to give up their home, their school, their friends, their lives, literally to pile into the car and drive off, the night before Thanksgiving. I didn’t want them to lose their dad as well. Their dad loves them very much, and they love him. My anger would have been revenged – for a month, for a year. Then I’d have added one more bizarre statistic to my resume as a person: I’d be the mother of nine kids who got divorced.

But a wise pal of mine who’s a counselor says that you don’t get divorced when you want to, you get divorced when you have to. My husband isn’t evil, or even bad, or even mean to me. He trusts too many people. He still thinks most people are good.

I don’t know if it’s too late to heal all the wounds between us. I try, but sometimes not as hard as I could.

Some days I don’t know anything.

I do know that I am on the level, and that my life won’t ever be the same.

For the record, anytime you see me on Facebook frolicking in exotic or even pleasant places, I’ve been paid to go there, to lecture or to teach. Whoever hired me has helped pay the way for one of my younger kids to come along. Otherwise, it would be difficult for me to afford to take them anywhere, even to visit relatives in the Midwest, even to go camping. A well-heeled friend helped buy their plane tickets when I got to teach at Disney World. Should I have made it clear that I wasn’t there under my own auspices? People don’t like to hear about a long, unrolling mess. Even tragedy can be boring. So I try to put on a happy face, and sometimes it even works.

For the record, it was never easy come, easy go.

I made my living the old-fashioned way. I earned it. And seeing it all gone was about as easy as having bowel surgery in the woods with a stick.

I was never prideful.

I was never greedy.

I was the same person when I had money as I was before I had any money and as I am now. I guess this is a rant, but I have to admit I feel I have a right to a rant. I’m not the best person in the world but I’m a decent sort. I try to be good. I try to be happy, and one thing I know is true: I would never, not ever, not ever, ever kick anyone who was down. If you thought those things about me, and especially if you said them, maybe it made you feel better about your own life.

I hope it did not make you feel better.

Shame on you.

 

Comments

  1. I am so sorry for everything that has happened to you. This is beautifully written and wonderfully honest. I don’t know why people kick when another when they are down. I have learned to only surround myself with kind and uplifting people, but you obviously cannot control who surrounds you as a public figure. Hopefully you can just realize that you should only choose to listen or care about a select group in your life. No one else matters. Good luck — I know you will travel back up the hill with continued grace and courage!

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  2. Oh sweet lady had no idea! My mother had just shared with me you have a new book out that is wonderful! She is the world’s best book critic! Adored you especially meeting you at a book festival about ten years iago
    In KY. But had lost contact of your writing news when I returned to teaching in 2007 so had googled your name tonight.I will never forget your kindness at that festival at the author reception. I only had a story in a book. You all had your own book or books. Your eyes and smile were so warm I relaxed and enjoyed talking to you as well as others. Can’t wait to read your new book! Prayers for healing and don’t worry about others as long as your heart is at peace. Take care of you and please keep writing!

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  3. Your columns were insightful and true. Your blog, strong and keen. Your voice – even in harrowing situations – causes us to chuckle aloud, think and share. Wit is attractive. Remember to settle for more.

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  4. Just finished “Two If By Sea” and googled you. Wanted to let you know that I began reading every evening after work, after feeding the menagerie and myself and settling down in my pajamas….around 11:00 pm or so. Missed sleep, read in increments of paragraphs whenever possible, and am so very sorry that the story had to end. Will miss Frank, Claudia, Hope, Patrick and the kids – Ian and Collie, terribly. Although this is the first book of yours I have read, and loved, I am looking forward to enjoying all the rest. Just as soon as I can order them from the libraries around us.

    Take care of yourself. Your work is important to little nobodies like me….you bring me a chance to see the world through the eyes of others and enrich my own life, in that way. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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  5. Just “discovered” you as an author on ”Where are they now” and was very touched by your story. You showed such wonderful grace and personal strength during that interview! Your kids have a such a wonderful example in you on how to face adversity and how to push through it, so no explanations to the general public even necessary 🙂 So a new fan here in Tucson and really looking forward to reading your work!

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  6. Thank you for this latest book. Your story wove itself carefully through my long and late nights, until I was thoroughly wrapped up in all its mystery and comfort.
    I want to say, regarding the trial you are going through, that I truly wish your family well. It is a disheartening and disgusting inevitability the way social media has unleashed the trolls. They will always be there ready to throw glass on the path in front of you. The trick is to think of it as coals. You can walk across those if you have to. Peace out~valarie bowers

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  7. Jackie, your “friends'” doubts and criticisms are a sad commentary about the world–as I listened to your personal disclosures at the biennial’s luncheon and later at dinner with Katie and Sheila, I was struck by your sincerity and warmth as you stepped into philosopher’s shoes to prove (through your personal story) that life’s difficulties are hidden blessings in that they can release the strengths, the courage, from the marrow of our bones. The operative words are “can release”–sadly some surrender to their troubles, but perhaps the defeated among your listeners will recognize you as a sterling example of someone who has risen above self-pity–someone who keeps walking, though at times your shoulders bear the heaviest of weights . . . It was a pleasure to meet you, Jackie. Hopefully, we’ll meet again.

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  8. Dear Jackie,
    It was quite heartbreaking to read about the cruelty some people have subjected you to the last few years. People are always choosing, to be kind or to be cruel. It’s a miserable business to rejoice in the misfortune and pain of others. It must be a twisted offshoot of outright envy
    Thank you for your honesty. Tell your own story always, your life as you are experiencing it, not someone else’s version of “what really happened.’
    “Tend to your own knitting,” my old German grandma used to say. It always made us even more furious. But she was so right.
    God bless you for not hiding behind a prettier picture of an awful time. Who said, “That which does not kill us makes us REALLY bitter.” ?
    Do what you need to get everyone through this. So many people love your writing and your commitment to your family and wish you only the best.
    God bless, Linda Reed Gardner

    And I still think the last pages of “Deep End” held one of the most perfect, poignant endings to a novel that I have ever read.

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    • I can’t tell you how much it means when a reader gets in touch to offer such kind words. There often is a blizzard of the other kind, and, although I say to myself that I’m a big girl, it still does hurt.

      Jackie M.

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  10. Having all your hard-earned money stolen must have been devastating; I don’t know how you found the physical or mental energy to rebuild your life. However, this is the first time I’ve read that your husband didn’t work during this crisis. Didn’t you received food stamps? How could he not work to support his family? I’m absolutely stunned and appalled by that.

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    • Dear Jackie, I am so sorry to hear about your devastating ordeal. We really expect people to be honest because we are.
      Being on social media as a celebrity these days makes you vulnerable to attacks that can really hurt.
      Kudos to you for being honest, brave, talented, and bringing pleasure to so many through your writing!
      Your Madison admirer!
      Maureen

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  11. Dear Jackie, I am so sorry to hear about your devastating ordeal. As a therapist, I hear similar stories from women all the time. Then if that isn’t painful enough, they feel shame about it (trusting, not addressing matters) which doesn’t belong to them or you! We really expect people to be honest because we are. I had a client whose physician wasn’t an actual Dr. despite his office and wall credentials. She was educated, in the medical field and stunned when she found out.
    Being on social media as a celebrity these days makes you vulnerable to attacks that can really hurt.
    Kudos to you for being honest, brave, talented, and bringing pleasure to so many through your writing!
    Your Madison admirer!
    Maureen

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  12. Jacquelyn,

    I deeply empathize with what you have gone thru. I am a 55 year old Harvard grad and single mom who is living in a homeless shelter with my 17 year old son. I was brought up to believe that you ‘progressed’ in life in a linear fashion. I feel horrivle shame and guilt that I havent always provided a ‘middle-class’ upbringing for my son. I moved out of my outwardly respectable but internally dysfunctional family when I was 17. Out on the streets with little more than rent $$ I had lived among the ‘lumpenproletariat’ (or ‘Townies as we called them in Boston) befor I got my BA in Extension Studies at Harvard’s night school so the saying is that I ‘do Town and Gown.’ I thought that my degree meant I’d never have to live in poverty again. I was wrong. Personal challenges like ADHD made some jobs and decisions difficult. So here I am.

    I know what its like to have to give up real maple syrup and parmagiano reggiano – to decline birthday invitations because u dont want to send your kid without a present. With that said I’d like to point out a few realities to save u them mental energy of spinning them in your head:

    Unless they’ve been there your middle class friends are TERRIFIED by poverty. They often live too close to the abyss to think rationally about it. They will justify your fall in their minds to create some distance – some justification to show them that they are still safe. It doesnt help that they have spent the past 30 years destroying the social safety net and know damn well rhat its a long way down. Re-read ‘Of human bondage’ if you’ve read it already. The protagonist is ruined and Maughm’s description of his interactions with his well-heeled friends is telling.

    Academics are similarly horrified – Many are the modern Gatspy-esque types whose lives are subsidized by ‘incomes ‘ Others are anxious to forget those Ramen-fueled impoverished grad school days or are bitter about them. They suffered – so what are you complaining about?

    Some folks just dont want to hear it. Others dont believe it. It is not personal. Just human nature. Faced with the horror that life is not fair is like looking into the sun – most avert their eyes and anxiously scan for something reassuring that restores their belief that if they are good they will be rewarded.

    Then there are folks like my parents who believe that if something bad happens to you its because you are a SINNER! or u must have done something wrong!

    Dont even waste your time ranting at the judgers. What an easy way to find out who your real friends are! Dont waste your breath trying to explain to your mani’d and pedi’d friends. They are not bad people but their eyes will glaze over as they try to sympathize while desperately hoping you are ‘okay’ again soon.

    The peoe who will help u the most are people who have the least to give. Those living on the edge like you or those who have grown up with a generous-spirited family. Those who have been screwed in the past but are still willing to lend u 5 bucks so u can get toilet paper and dish soap.

    Thanks for your honesty. I am truly inspired. I actually found your contact info because I take issue with your top 21 books – primarily bec Beloved and One Hundred Years of Solitude werent there. I suppose Eco isnt’t on your short list but is Steven King really better? And what about John Dos Passos?! I guess our taste is different – just my take!

    Best,

    Mary Anne

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  13. Jackie,
    This blog entry is a revelation. I am so glad that you had the guts to write it. Some people are so cruel and judgmental. Who raised them to be so heartless? Stories like yours are why I prefer animals most of the time. Keep writing as you have always done…you are a light.

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