Family Finances: Supporting Mom and Dad Nearly Ruined Me

Although I've always been close with my family, a current of resentment began to course underneath almost all my interactions with them. I felt I was shouldering the burden for financial problems created by my parents and a sibling — a mess no one else was stepping up to solve. At family gatherings, hot anger would suddenly boil up in me. I'd notice, with narrowed eyes, that my youngest sister's kids always managed to have the latest electronics. When my middle sister was telling me about her beach vacation, I'd think, Huh, not making too many sacrifices, are you? Must be nice!

Then another day my father called. “I've got some unpleasant news,” he told me as I stood motionless, holding the phone. Their HVAC unit had stopped working, he said, and needed to be replaced, for $7,000. He asked if I could foot the bill (adding that it would “definitely add value when you sell the house"). I said that I'd try to scrape together the money.

Then I hung up the phone and cried.

I felt so trapped. Money is still such a taboo subject in our culture, and financial problems can be deeply isolating. I needed to talk to someone. A friend of mine had seen a financial therapist — someone who counsels people on the emotions behind money — and I made an appointment.

The hard numbers of parental support

A new AARP research study shows how many Americans give Mom and Dad financial aid. Amid constant media coverage of financial support that Americans are providing their adult children, it’s easy to overlook that millions of middle-aged Americans are giving money to their parents. A new AARP Research survey of adults ages 40 to 64 shows how widespread— and stressful—that assistance can be.

In survey, “Parents” are parents, stepparents and parents-in-law. Phone survey of 1,508 adults was conducted fall 2019.

Many adults give money to their parents

Adults with living parents who have given them money in the past 12 months:

It was a relief to pour out my story to another human being. People think money is a rational, concrete topic, she said, when, actually, it's a highly emotional subject that's hardwired into our sense of survival. Money is primal; it's about food and shelter, health and safety. It's not “only money,” she offered bluntly. It never is.

When I told the financial therapist about purchasing my parents’ house — and how my father assured me it would eventually yield a return on my investment — she shook her head. “You never know what's going to happen and what type of care they might need down the line,” she said. “Don't count on ever seeing a penny from the sale of that house and you'll be happier. Consider that money gone.”

That advice, while difficult to hear, turned out to be enormously freeing — and the moment that changed everything for me. Reframing it as a gift helped to tamp down my anxieties, expectations and resentment around repayment. If, one day, I am actually remunerated, it will be a happy surprise.

As my therapist helped me look more realistically at other money matters and find ways I could assume control over my life, I felt physically lighter. We started by taking a hard look at my own behavior. As the classic dutiful, responsible eldest, I had to admit that I liked the power of swooping in to take care of everything — but that same pride kept me from telling my sisters that I was struggling.

After our session, I invited both sisters over for an unburdening get-together. They confessed that they were plagued by guilt, especially my sister who had started the business. The therapist had suggested that we brainstorm ways to make our situation feel more equitable. After a few cups of coffee, we agreed to think of time as another form of currency.

We decided that my sisters, who live closer to my folks, would take over tasks that required time — yard work, decluttering my parents’ house, planning and cooking for family holidays. And I privately vowed to curb my judgment on my siblings’ expenditures. (My middle sister, who works like a pack mule, was absolutely entitled to a beach vacation.)

Then I steeled myself for a sit-down with my parents. I was still worried that my confession would send them straight to the cardiologist, but as the therapist pointed out, my health was failing, too — and I was the family's foundation. I took a deep breath and told them that I simply couldn't afford the HVAC but would try to help them find a way to pay for it. So my father appealed to an organization founded by his company that helps out its own retirees with financial hardships. (I sure wish he had told me about this resource earlier.) Though I know it hurt his pride to ask, it worked.

And family relationships inflame those emotions, with shifting alliances, long-standing issues and competing values about what money “should” be for.

Getting candid

Sunshine is the best disinfectant, so after my therapist told me to find support outside the family, I also came clean with my friends, with whom I had almost never discussed finances. One morning I received a group text for a brunch meetup. I was reflexively typing an excuse — “Sorry, too busy, maybe next time!” — when I thought, Enough.

"Love to, but just can't afford it right now,” I wrote.

The first reply was from my friend Sarah, a teacher: “To be honest, I can't either.” Another friend said the same. Why, then, were we piling on debt by going to a restaurant? It was lunacy.

I proposed we meet in a park instead. During our get-together (we bought coffee to make it a little more festive) we spoke, for the first time, about our money problems. It turned out that half of them were quietly supporting their parents also. It was comforting to commiserate and to share advice.

Because money is indeed about survival, it can make you coolly appraise the people who have lovingly raised you. I try to fight those toxic feelings and put myself in my parents’ shoes to make them human again. What must it be like to lose everything when you've done the right thing your entire life? I'm sure it pains my dad, the lifelong careful saver, to take my money.

Lately I've made some changes, such as setting clear boundaries with my folks about what I can give. I can't share many of my frustrations with them, but I can confide in my sisters and friends. I remind myself that my parents took care of me financially for two decades. I didn't realize until I became a parent how often you wearily open your wallet for your child.

And I try to practice self-care and to stay physically and emotionally healthy. Thanks to an advance payment for a big work project, my husband and I have paid off the loan for the down payment on my parents’ house. But our finances remain precarious. If I'm feeling panicky about cash flow, I perform a nutty little ritual where I hold my own hand — a reminder that I need to care for myself, too.

My financial therapist was right: It's not “only money.” Each check I give my parents is more than a simple sum. What I'm really giving them, I tell myself, is security, dignity and peace.