Dear Friend,
I had to write you because I just witnessed a familiar scene – my friend’s daughter, age 30, still pirouetting through life on your cell phone plan while chasing her dream of becoming a dancer. And I thought, Ah yes, the ballet of parental financial support: Act III, Scene Never-Ending.
It’s uncanny how similar this feels to my own situation. My 30-year-old is also starring in the long-running production of “I Haven’t Figured It Out Yet, But I’m Still Accepting Donations.” No intermission. No refund policy. Just vibes.
Now, don’t get me wrong— I’m all for dreams. I love a good dream. I had one once where I was debt-free and my adult child paid for their own toothpaste. But reality woke me up. And reality, as it turns out, has a recurring monthly ask.
My friend started listing all the reasons her daughter still needs help — she’s “finding herself,” the dance world is “competitive,” she’s “not ready,” she’s “trying,” she’s “sensitive,” she’s “not like us.” And I nodded along because I’ve said every single one of those lines myself. I used to be the queen of the parental justification parade. I had a whole float.
But something shifted. Maybe it was footing the last 10 years paying for something she asked for while she posted inspirational quotes about “abundance.” Maybe it was watching her DoorDash dinner while I clipped coupons. Or maybe it was just the quiet realization that I was still parenting a grown woman who could legally rent a car but wanted her freedom off my sweat equity.
So, I drew the line. Not a dotted line. Not a gentle curve. A bold, permanent marker-in-the-sand kind of line. No more. She’s got to put on her big girl panties — preferably ones she bought herself—and join the rest of us in the thrilling adult pastime of paying for lights, water, and gas. It’s not glamorous, but it builds character. And credit.
And wouldn’t you know, Scripture backs me up. Galatians 6:5 says, “For each one should carry their own load.” Not “each one should call their mother when she wants to go to a wedding because it’s her dear friend” Not “each one should wait for a miracle while binge-watching Netflix.” Just plain old personal responsibility. Even Paul had boundaries.
We know we did our best. We raised them with love, grit, and a healthy fear of overdraft fees. We just didn’t realize we’d still be footing the bill while they “find themselves” in the produce aisle of life.
But here’s the quiet truth: every time we excuse their entitlement, we co-sign it. Every time we downplay their disrespect, we teach them it’s normal. Eventually, the unpaid invoices aren’t just financial—they’re reputational. People stop asking what went wrong with them and start wondering what went wrong with you as a parent.
Lesson learned: love doesn’t mean covering for them. It means modeling accountability, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then. (send this to a mom that needs to hear this)
So, when does it stop being our responsibility? When do we get to retire from emotional underwriting? I don’t know. Maybe when they start paying for their own cell phone. Or maybe when we stop justifying their bad behavior.
But here’s a memo for the grown kids still living off emotional credit: self-discovery isn’t a hall pass for selfishness. If you’re old enough to curate your trauma on Instagram, you’re old enough to apologize without asterisks.
Lesson learned: healing isn’t just about finding yourself—it’s about losing the habit of blaming everyone else. (send this to a kid that may need to hear this)
Anyway, I’m sending you solidarity, sarcasm, and a gentle reminder that you’re not crazy. You’re just a parent in the age of eternal adolescence. And if you ever want to run away and start a commune for parents who’ve had enough, I’ll bring snacks. And my own phone.
With love and laughter,
From Your Friend, Me
