I'm 25 and my parents have been helping me financially for years. The money they give me is helpful, but also makes me feel somewhat guilty.
Courtesy of the author
I'm turning 25 this month, and I'm about to move in with my parents after living abroad for three years — and in London, one of the world's most expensive cities, since September.
When I moved to the "Big Smoke," my mom and dad offered to send me $1,000 every month, mainly to help with rent. For transparency's sake, I make roughly $2,300 per month as a journalist, rent costs $1,300, and bills are $250, leaving me with $750 for food, transportation, and other necessities, as well as going out with friends and experiencing all that the UK's capital city has to offer.
Without my parents' help, I'd just about be breaking even, living paycheck-to-paycheck — which many people are forced to do.
The last time I saw my parents, I floated the idea of moving back home, back to the comforts of suburban New Jersey life — and the comforts of free lodging, utilities, food, car insurance, streaming services, what have you — for a few months. Of my friends, almost all have lived at home at least once since graduating from college.
I feel bad about taking my parents' money, especially when I can technically afford to live without it. I'm an employed adult and they don't owe me anything; their generosity, which supported me through both an undergraduate and graduate degree, means the world to me, and without it, my life today would be drastically more difficult. As an only child, I always ran the risk of being a spoiled kid. I've done my best to fight this stereotype, working minimum-wage jobs since I was legally allowed, and achieving financial independence would be the final signifier of self-sufficiency.
My parents didn't receive much financial help during their 20s; their circumstances were different, as was the economy some 30 years ago. They chose relatively lucrative fields (accounting and software development), and now they're upper-middle class, able to afford luxurious hotels and plane tickets and Disney World passes and — for a few years there — a second home. In their words, I should expect a hefty inheritance.
I expressed my anxieties about living on "daddy's money," so to speak, and my parents understood my unease. My dad suggested I think of their help as a loan — not one I'm borrowing from them, but one I'm borrowing from my future self, from my inheritance.
Objectively, their money will be much more impactful to me now, at 25, than it will be at 65. Proportionately, $1,000 makes a bigger difference to my bank account than it does to theirs. Plus, merely living at home — occupying a spare room that would have otherwise served no real purpose – doesn't create an added expense for them, but it's a significant money-saver for me.
I feel like it's OK to admit when we're getting support from our parents, as the cost of living continues to increase and financial independence looks less attainable for people my age. Things which once seemed mundane — owning a house, buying a car, having a baby — now appear almost impossible to a 20-something single woman like me, who doesn't work in technology, business, law, or medicine.
Truthfully, my decision to pursue a creative career largely stems from my own privilege — from knowing I have something to fall back on when my income alone can't pay the bills. This isn't fair, it's a systemic issue, and it shouldn't place blame on any one individual.
My loan begs larger questions about capitalism and consumerism, taxation, income inequality, and class disparity. Until we address these economic issues, many young people will rely on their parents, and we shouldn't resent them for it.
