As I prepared to send my son, whom I’ll refer to as “Jake,” off to college in the spring of 2009, I genuinely believed I could fulfill my promise to pay for his education. My intention was for him to focus solely on his studies, free from the burden of part-time work. This commitment was something I had held dear since his childhood; it felt like the ultimate gift I could provide.
By some stroke of luck, I had managed to save enough in a state college fund to cover his tuition. I say “luck” because, truth be told, my spending habits typically leaned towards the excessive. So, I was quite proud of myself for sticking to my promise, despite my past financial missteps.
However, as we began exploring colleges, I quickly realized that in-state tuition was only a fraction of the overall expenses. I suddenly faced an additional $7,200 annually for housing, food, books, and other necessities. This realization hit me hard. Guilt, shame, and regret washed over me as I reflected on the money I could have saved instead of treating credit cards like they were an endless source of funds. I had been living under the delusion that everything would somehow work out financially.
Unfortunately, it didn’t. My debt was escalating rapidly, soon to surpass my income, leaving me at a loss for how to come up with the extra funds. In a moment of desperation, I joined a support group for compulsive spenders. On April 24, 2009, I took the crucial step of cutting up my credit cards and closing my accounts. With the group’s guidance, I learned to set boundaries for myself and manage my finances responsibly. Thankfully, through thoughtful budgeting and my ex-husband’s reluctant agreement to contribute a few thousand dollars, I was able to cover Jake’s first year.
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Jake was heading to college, and I believed I was fulfilling my promise—at least for the moment.
The freshman year went smoothly financially. But midway through his sophomore year, I became disabled, which drastically reduced my income and increased my healthcare costs. Although tuition was settled, I was left anxious about covering Jake’s living expenses. I completely dismissed the idea that my almost 19-year-old son could get a part-time job or take out student loans. I was convinced that I owed him a fully funded college experience, and any other option was simply unacceptable.
This time, I sought help from my support network instead of trying to shoulder the burden by myself. I assumed my friends would agree that I could reallocate my living expenses to support Jake. Instead, they firmly pointed out that I was living in a fantasy. Given my new circumstances, there was no way I could juggle my own expenses while covering his college costs without risking financial ruin. They advised me to prioritize my own well-being, emphasizing that I’d be more helpful to Jake if I let him take responsibility for his finances rather than draining my resources.
Initially resistant, I talked to several people about the situation. Surprisingly, no one supported my viewpoint. In fact, everyone, including Jake’s girlfriend, shared stories of how they had contributed to their own college expenses. This was a wake-up call; I realized that I was the one with the misguided perspective.
Eventually, I mustered the courage to sit down with Jake and explain that I could no longer cover his living expenses. He would have to seek employment and consider student loans if he wanted to continue his education. I felt a knot in my stomach.
Jake didn’t seem thrilled, but he simply replied, “Okay, I’ll get a job and a loan.” That summer, he landed his first job as a waiter and took out $15,000 in student loans. Surprisingly, he became much more focused on his studies and never once asked me for financial help.
Reflecting on this experience, I’ve come to realize how mistaken I was about my role as a financial model for Jake. Thankfully, after marrying my current husband, Tom, when Jake was just 10, I witnessed a different approach to money management. Tom lived modestly, bought cars outright, and always paid off his credit card balances. Additionally, great mentors like Jake’s marching band coach instilled values of discipline and teamwork.
It became clear that I had underestimated Jake’s ability to handle challenges on his own. Despite my worries about my poor money management impacting him negatively, he turned out just fine. All he needed was a push to take flight.
When Jake finally started feeling the pressure of his loan repayment six months after graduation, he realized that loans come with responsibilities. In less than five years post-graduation, he managed to pay off all but $1,800 of his student loans. At one point, I offered to help him with the payments after receiving a financial windfall, but he refused, wanting to tackle it himself.
Now at 26, Jake lives simply, uses credit cards sparingly, and pays off his balance each month. He even seeks out the best options for cash back and rewards. Thankfully, it appears he didn’t inherit my compulsive spending habits.
Overcoming my guilt for not providing the education I promised took time, but I eventually recognized that my inability to fund his entire college experience was, ironically, one of the best gifts I could give him. Had I ignored the advice from my support network, the outcome could have been disastrous for both of us. Instead, this experience became a pivotal moment in Jake’s journey to adulthood, and I couldn’t be prouder of the man he has become.
If you’re navigating similar challenges or simply exploring the intricacies of parenting, consider checking out some of our other blog posts, like this one on home insemination or tools from Make A Mom for those looking into alternative family planning. Additionally, for more information on pregnancy, the March of Dimes offers excellent resources.
In summary, sometimes the most challenging moments lead to the most significant growth, both for parents and children. By stepping back and allowing my son to face financial responsibilities, I inadvertently prepared him for a successful future.