Although I have been focusing on the financial needs of women for the past several years, I don’t have all the answers. Far from it, as my uncertain reaction to an email I recently received demonstrates.
As a woman, I think I share with many women a wide streak of compassion when those I know and care about are in trouble. The email in question was sent from the email address of a woman psychologist I had met approximately a year ago when I was speaking to the women clients of a Philadelphia financial planning firm. I remember her, because she came up to me after my speech, saying how much she enjoyed it and how often her clients come in with money issues.
The email had all the markings of legitimacy: my friend’s email and her correct business URL. But her message was really strange: she was writing to say she was stranded in the UK, having had all her credit cards stolen. She needed to return home, but had no way to pay for it, as her bank and credit card companies could not advance funds before she had to return. I was one of several “undisclosed recipients” receiving her plea for help. The email was not, however, asking for money, but simply that I make a phone call to her hotel.
Now, I am no fool. I never buy lottery tickets, nor respond to the emails from British solicitors offering me the opportunity of managing the fortunes of deposed Nigerian tribal leaders. (In fact, I cannot help but marvel, then despair, at how many people actually fall for this stuff). This recent email was not as obviously spammy as the Nigerian ploy, but it did have a distinct odor of fish. A quick call to a CFP® colleague, who is far wiser in the ways of scammers than I, confirmed the stink.
But damn if I did not spend a few moments, before calling my associate, wondering “What if?” What if it is really her, what if she is really in trouble, what if the people who stole her credit cards are holding her hostage in some way? Has well-warranted cynicism blinkered me to just-remotely-possible legitimate need? If I called the phone number that was included in the email, would I kick myself to Sunday for being such a dupe? Would I ever tell anyone about this?
The fact that I did not act on those second thoughts does not lessen my fascination with their appearance. It made me wonder how many other women have struggled with the instinct to reach out a financial helping hand, even when their better sense tells them no. How many financial mistakes have we made because we care first, and think second? How many have we kept secret, chastising ourselves for being stupid?
I think it is important that I tell this tale on myself. The fear of appearing stupid or – in its less vicious form – appearing uneducated when it comes to personal finance keeps too many women from engaging with a financial professional. It also keeps them quiet, their questions unasked, when they go to an advisor as part of a couple.
If advisors were more willing to share their own experiences of making mistakes, of letting emotion get the better of judgment, it may be that we would gain far more credibility in our clients’ minds than what can be conferred by all those letters after our names or the amount of assets we have under management. We need to demonstrate first that we human before we can take on the role of the expert.
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