A mom born in 1991, lost 2 million from spot trading to futures contracts, saved by her husband in the public sector who sold their house
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A mom born in 1991, lost 2 million from spot trading to futures contracts, saved by her husband in the public sector who sold their house
Only regretted it when the divorce happened.
Navigating Web3 tides with focused insightsI'm a woman born in 1991. During my pregnancy in 2020, I frequently saw my cousin posting about cryptocurrency trading on social media. At first, I thought it was just ads and didn't take it seriously. But during one conversation, she mentioned making over 600,000 RMB from trading crypto, which made me extremely envious. That's when I decided to open an account too.
At the beginning, I didn't touch futures contracts but bought quite a few altcoins. My cousin mainly traded Bitcoin, but the entry barrier felt too high because Bitcoin’s price was so expensive that I could only mess around aimlessly.
After trading for over a month, I made several thousand RMB. If only I had stopped there. But I didn’t. After losing money, I started studying futures contracts, hoping to quickly recover my losses. Little did I know, this pulled me straight into the abyss. My cousin repeatedly warned me not to play around recklessly—either invest a small amount properly following her Bitcoin trades or stay out entirely—and especially never touch contracts or altcoins. But I refused to listen.
During that time, I watched market charts every day, studying how futures worked. I can’t even remember now what coin I bought, but its price kept falling. I thought my chance had come—I was sure I’d strike it rich. I invested $10,000 with 5x leverage, shorting the market. Right after placing the order, I believed I was on the verge of getting rich. But within moments, the price bounced back sharply and I was liquidated almost instantly. My entire $10,000 was wiped out.
Back then, I only had about 290,000 RMB in savings. Losing more than 70,000 RMB felt devastating. I didn’t dare tell my husband, yet couldn’t accept such a loss either, so I kept gambling. Another reason: seeing my cousin cash out successfully made me even more resentful. She made money while I lost mine. If she had been generous enough to share even a fraction of her profits with me, I believe I might have quit gambling right then.
Later, my bets grew larger. I put in another $30,000, playing cautiously at first. Within a week or so, I managed to recoup some losses—but barely. Small positions of a few hundred dollars would earn me gains, but whenever I increased my position, it seemed like the market moved against me no matter what. When I went short, it rose; when I went long, it fell. It felt as if the entire market was conspiring against me. Sometimes I even suspected the big players were specifically targeting my tiny balance to "harvest" me.
The losses piled up. In a frenzy, I kept increasing leverage, always chasing quick recovery. One afternoon in August 2020, I received another liquidation notice. In just a few hours, all my savings were completely gone. Sitting on the sofa, I picked up my phone with trembling hands. I wanted to cry but couldn’t, because my husband was home. The feeling was unbearable.
I didn’t confess. Instead, I became afraid of futures contracts. Around that time, I heard another relative say they’d earned several thousand from mutual funds. Funds seemed stable—surely I wouldn’t lose much there. So I took out a 150,000 RMB loan and jumped in. But once I bought in, I saw daily drops of hundreds or even thousands of RMB—nothing like what I expected. I couldn’t bear it anymore, lost all patience, redeemed everything, and returned to trading futures. People who haven’t experienced this won’t understand—it’s like someone used to stocks turning to futures. Once you’ve tasted that speed, going back feels unbearably slow and tedious.
By May 2021, without realizing it, I had borrowed from over a dozen online lending platforms. One credit line alone in my China Merchants Bank app reached 64,000 RMB. My total debt stood at 320,000 RMB. I stopped pretending I could handle it alone and turned to my husband for help. Since I had given birth, I figured at worst he’d scold me, but we wouldn’t divorce. As expected, he forgave me.
He raised 320,000 RMB to cover my debts—my in-laws contributed 120,000 RMB, and he scraped together the rest from various sources. Truthfully, his income was solid—he worked in the public sector, earning around 150,000 RMB annually. He told me, “As long as you stop touching this again, our future will be fine.” He liked drinking occasionally, but didn’t smoke or gamble. When we went shopping, the only indulgence I ever allowed myself was spending tens of RMB on scratch-off lottery tickets for fun. Sometimes I still wonder why I, as a woman, developed such a strong gambling instinct.
I was a housewife with no job. My life should have been easier than most. But not long after, my inner restlessness returned. Without money, I felt insecure. I used to have hundreds of thousands in savings, earning a few RMB daily in Yu’E Bao interest. This drop in status was hard to accept. Still, I managed to stay away from gambling for a while.
In 2022, my mother-in-law stayed home idle and casually suggested she could help care for the child so I could go find a job. I hadn’t worked since marriage. Maybe she meant it kindly, but her words deeply upset me. It felt like she looked down on me, resented me for being a freeloader. Those words triggered me—I realized that without money, people truly look down on you. That’s what pushed me to gamble again.
At first, I started small—just a few hundred dollars each time, selling immediately after a gain. Gradually, my appetite grew. I could only accept wins, not losses. Any small loss drove me crazy—I’d ramp up leverage frantically until I recovered. Only then would I feel calm again. Reading many submissions here, although mine involved futures contracts, it was essentially gambling—perhaps even more intense than others’ experiences.
I did manage to recover some losses—once made $10,000 shorting the market. Then I dreamed of regaining all my lost savings. But wins were fleeting. Ten days of profit could vanish in a single afternoon. With leverage, it was all or nothing—each time I placed a big bet, I got wiped out. I felt utterly powerless, yet had no choice but to continue. This hellish cycle lasted until August 2023. I lived by borrowing from one lender to repay another—using P2P loans to pay friends, then borrowing from friends to repay P2P debts, immediately re-borrowing after repayment. I deeply regretted touching futures when I had a good life. But what good is regret? Debts still needed to be repaid! By December 2023, I could borrow no more. From relatives, friends, and online lenders, my total debt reached 580,000 RMB. High P2P interest drained much of it, and all principal ended up in the hands of market makers. I had already bought charcoal on Pinduoduo, planning to take my child and leave this world—but ultimately lacked the courage.
When I finally confessed, my husband sat in the living room and downed a glass of baijiu in one go. I’d never seen him drink so fast or so much. After finishing, he said, “Let’s get divorced. You’re beyond saving. You treat money like it means nothing. If this continues, we’ll lose the house too.” I agreed. All problems stemmed from me—I didn’t expect him to pay my debts. That night, we slept in separate rooms. After putting our child to bed, I quietly slipped into his room, wanting to apologize in my own way.
The next day he went to work without mentioning divorce. A few days later, he said he’d give me one final chance—if I didn’t cherish it, he’d divorce me without hesitation. The apartment was purchased by his mother after marriage and registered under his name. He planned to sell it to repay debts, then use housing fund loans to buy another. Eventually, the house was listed for sale.
In April 2024, the house sold for 850,000 RMB. My debts were cleared. The remaining money he kept on his own card—not linked to Alipay or WeChat, nor enabled with online banking. I knew his real intention: to guard against me, fearing I’d steal the money while he slept. Had he not guarded so closely, things might have felt better—at least there’d be trust. But precisely because he did, I began obsessing. Now, whenever I wanted to buy something, I had to report it. For example, if I wanted hand cream, I had to tell him the price, send a screenshot, and only then would he transfer the exact amount. This life was self-inflicted, yes, but deeply uncomfortable.
As a housewife, I don’t expect him to hand over savings like before, but at least give me a few hundred RMB. Having zero access—even needing to ask him for grocery money or food delivery fees—makes me feel like I’m receiving charity. I can’t stand this. I don’t want to live like this. I feel he’s stripped me of dignity, so I must earn it back myself. That’s why I downloaded exchange apps again.
The result was the same—continuous losses. From then until last December, my debt peaked again at 610,000 RMB. During this period, I also took 160,000 RMB from my parents under false pretenses—all lost. In reality, I’ve lost at least 700,000 RMB. Unable to confess again, I returned to my hometown with my child and admitted everything to my parents. But they couldn’t help either.
Most of what I said were angry words, beyond control. Later, I wanted to apologize, but he no longer forgave me. So we finalized the divorce. In the end, he left me.
From this year until now, I still haven’t found a job. All debts are overdue. I lock myself in the room, afraid to go outside or walk down the street where relatives or friends might see me. My parents sigh constantly—they’ve paid a huge cost raising me, yet have no choice but to keep supporting me. Recently, I’ve thought deeply. Divorce and debt are now facts. I must face them. Last night, I discussed with my parents. I’ve decided to go out and earn money. If capable, I’ll repay my ex-husband’s debts. If not, so be it. Should I meet new love in the future, I’ll cherish it wholeheartedly.
I deeply regret not listening to my cousin earlier and calmly investing in crypto. Even if I lost, it wouldn’t have been much. Moreover, the “big cake” (Bitcoin) I once dared not buy has since skyrocketed to frightening prices. I missed it. No more fantasies. For the rest of my life, I just hope to work peacefully and live a stable, quiet life.
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