When I was just 22 years old, I happily announced my engagement to the man I had been dating throughout college. By today’s measures, that age might seem prematurely young to be making such a life-altering commitment, yet in the cultural context of the 1980s, it was not considered particularly unusual. Friends and acquaintances responded as expected—with cheerful congratulations, warm wishes, and the traditional exclamations of joy that are routinely offered to newly engaged couples. However, when I shared my news with my mother, her reaction diverged from the standard chorus of celebratory approval. Instead, she responded with a piece of advice that, at the time, struck me as oddly pragmatic and distinctly lacking in romance: “Always keep your own credit.”
Her admonition was not arbitrary. My mother explained that she had learned this lesson the hard way during the dissolution of her own marriage to my father in the 1960s. Following their divorce, my mother discovered—to her dismay—that her access to credit was not independent but tethered to her husband’s financial identity. A credit card company informed her that she no longer had the right to use the account she had been relying on. When she attempted to open a credit line under her own name, her application was summarily denied. At that time, women often faced discriminatory policies that required either the signature of a male guarantor or demonstrable evidence of stable employment before a credit card could be obtained. My mother, unwilling to humble herself by asking a man to cosign, opted instead for an inventive strategy. She paid a small fee to be certified as a notary public, a credential that, while modest, allowed her to present herself as a “state official.” With that designation on her application, she was finally granted approval for her own card. Although I recognized the ingenuity within her resourcefulness, I could not help but feel insulted by the implication that my own marriage—newly formed and full of promise—might someday crumble. I protested, pointing out that such advice no longer carried the same weight in light of the Equal Credit Opportunity Act of 1974, which legally prohibited banks and lenders from demanding male cosigners or applying unequal credit standards to women.
Unfazed by my attempt to dismiss her counsel, my mother countered, “Laws may change, but reality still demands that you maintain the ability to provide for yourself. Never sacrifice your independence. Always keep a job, and never leave yourself without the means to survive on your own.” At that stage of my life, I doubted her words, convinced that my marriage would endure and that my love story would be exempt from statistics. Yet—even in my skepticism—I ultimately did follow her advice. My fiancé, at my insistence and largely to placate my mother, signed a prenuptial agreement, even though my assets were practically nonexistent at the time. Furthermore, before I had children, I made the choice to pursue a legal education, committing myself to the demanding path of law school. My aspirations were neither lofty nor saintly—I did not expect to become a heroic legal figure—but I did intend to achieve the financial stability and autonomy that my mother insisted was essential.
Beneath the confident exterior I projected, I sensed a quiet acknowledgment that my mother might, in fact, be right—that divorce was not only possible but perhaps even statistically probable. As it turned out, my intuition, grounded in her wisdom, proved prescient. My own marriage eventually did dissolve. The legal proceedings to secure my divorce were relatively straightforward from a financial standpoint—although emotionally taxing—precisely because I had taken my mother’s warnings seriously. Assets that I had inherited, though partially combined with marital funds, remained in my possession. This outcome shielded me from economic vulnerability at a time when emotional upheaval alone was difficulty enough to endure.
Many women I knew, however, were not so fortunate. Lacking either a mother’s forewarning or personal foresight, they found themselves scrambling for stability after their marriages disintegrated. I observed one stay-at-home mother frantically reenter the workforce after discovering her husband’s unfaithfulness, motivated by the very real possibility that she would soon be without his support. Another friend, having been awarded the family home in her divorce settlement, reluctantly vacated it when she realized that the upkeep and expenses were unsustainable without her ex-husband’s financial contributions. Their stories only reinforced what my mother had tried to impress upon me years prior: financial independence is not simply a luxury but a necessity.
Ideally, I wish my mother’s advice were outdated—unnecessary in modern society where dual-income households have become the standard and financial expectations between partners are often more balanced. Yet research consistently shows that longstanding gender inequalities, particularly those tied to traditional domestic roles, continue to place women at a disadvantage after divorce. Despite the progress of legislation and shifting cultural expectations, the economic aftermath of divorce still tends to impact women more severely than men.
For this reason, my mother’s admonition remains relevant. Today, as much as ever, women should prioritize financial independence and retain the ability to provide for themselves, regardless of marital status. In fact, her counsel extended in humorous but surprisingly pragmatic ways. Before my second marriage, my mother offered another characteristically blunt, yet practical, piece of advice: “Keep your name, so you don’t have to change it all the damn time.” Although her phrasing was unvarnished, her underlying wisdom was undeniable. What seemed to me at 22 like an overly cautious and pessimistic viewpoint has ultimately carried me through the most difficult passages of my life. Her reminder—that independence, both financial and personal, is indispensable—remains one of the guiding principles that I now carry forward into every stage of adulthood.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/best-financial-advice-helped-me-through-divorce-twice-from-mom-2025-10
