As I prepared to send my son, whom I’ll refer to as “Jake,” off to college in the spring of 2009, my intention was to fully finance his education. I envisioned him focusing solely on his studies without the burden of a job. This was a commitment I had made to him (and to myself) since he was a child, believing it to be the best gift I could offer.
Somehow, I had accumulated enough funds in a state-sponsored college savings plan. I say “somehow” because my spending habits often exceeded my budget. So, I felt a sense of pride in fulfilling my promise. However, once we started looking at schools, I quickly realized that the in-state tuition was only a fraction of the overall expenses. On top of tuition, I needed to find an additional $7,200 per year for housing, meals, books, and other essentials.
That’s when reality hit me hard. I was overwhelmed with guilt and regret for the money I could have saved if I hadn’t treated credit cards like free cash. My greatest misconception was that the funds would magically appear when I needed them. Unfortunately, they didn’t.
Instead, my debts continued to rise, soon surpassing my income. I felt lost, unsure where to find that extra money. This prompted me to join a support group for those struggling with debt. On April 24, 2009, I made a significant change; I stopped using money as a coping mechanism. I cut up my credit cards and canceled my accounts. With encouragement from the group, I learned to say no to myself, live within my means, and finally tackle my debt. Thankfully, a combination of wise financial decisions and a reluctant contribution from my ex-husband allowed me to gather the funds necessary to support Jake’s first year.
I breathed a sigh of relief, believing that my promise was secure. However, everything changed midway through Jake’s sophomore year when I became disabled. My income plummeted, and my healthcare costs skyrocketed. While I was relieved that Jake’s tuition was covered, I found myself once again anxious about how to support his living expenses. I ignored the fact that my almost 19-year-old son was entirely capable of working part-time, and I dismissed the idea of him taking out student loans. I was convinced I owed him a fully funded college experience, and any alternative felt unacceptable.
Fortunately, instead of navigating this dilemma alone, I reached out to my support network. To my surprise, they made it clear that I was living in a fantasy. Given my new circumstances, there was simply no way to reallocate funds without severely compromising my own well-being. “What happens then?” they asked. They gently reminded me that I needed to prioritize my own financial health. I would be in a far better position to help Jake if I allowed him to take responsibility for his education rather than risking my own financial stability.
At first, I resisted this advice, convinced my friends were mistaken. However, when I spoke with others, I was shocked to find that not a single person supported my view. In fact, everyone I talked to, including Jake’s girlfriend, had either paid for their own college expenses or contributed significantly. Gradually, I realized I had been the misguided one.
Ultimately, I sat down with Jake and explained that I could no longer afford his living expenses. He would need to find a job and consider student loans if he wanted to continue his education. Admittedly, I felt sick to my stomach. Jake didn’t seem thrilled, but then he shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll get a job and a loan.”
That summer, he secured a job as a waiter and took out $15,000 in student loans. Surprisingly, he became much more serious about his academics and never once asked me for financial assistance.
Reflecting on this experience, I recognized how wrong I had been in my approach. Despite my worries that my poor financial choices would negatively impact Jake, he turned out just fine. I hadn’t considered the positive influence of my current husband, Mark, who entered Jake’s life when he was just 10. Thankfully, we kept our finances separate. While I struggled with spending, Jake observed Mark’s responsible financial habits, such as living simply and only using credit cards when necessary.
This journey helped me realize I had underestimated Jake’s capabilities. All he needed was a little push to claim his independence. When he felt the weight of his loan repayments six months post-graduation, he quickly learned that loans weren’t free money—and he didn’t enjoy it. In less than five years after graduating, he paid off all but $1,800 of his student loans. I even offered to help him with payments when I received a windfall, but he declined, preferring to manage it himself.
Now at 26, Jake leads a frugal lifestyle. He uses credit cards sparingly, pays off his balance every month, and seeks out the best rewards. Thankfully, it appears he didn’t inherit my compulsive spending habits.
Over time, I have reconciled my guilt for not fulfilling my original commitment to Jake. While some parents may find it right to cover all college expenses, I learned that my inability to do so ultimately became one of the best gifts I could offer my son. Had I not leaned on my support network, the outcome could have been disastrous for both of us. This experience was a pivotal moment in Jake’s transition into adulthood, and I couldn’t be prouder of the man he has become.
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In summary, my journey of financial missteps and eventual acceptance has led to an unexpected yet positive outcome for both me and my son. By not fulfilling my promise in the way I envisioned, I empowered him to take charge of his education and develop critical life skills.