This is a bare-your-soul kinda post.

Apologies if that's uncomfortable, but the soul-baring is probably going to be more painful and embarrassing for me than it is for you.

If it does trigger something, I hope it helps you feel less alone and less guilty.

I’m talking about one part of financial independence (FI) with potential to cause guilty feelings: boundaries.

Specifically, where you draw your own personal line in the sand when you have enough money to help a loved one, andyou don’t help them.

Here’s why I’m writing this today:

Are you a role model or an example?

When I’m teaching parents how to raise financially savvy kids, I’ll ask:

Are you a role model – are you behaving in a way you’d like your kids to emulate?

...or, are you an example – someone they can learn from, even if it’s just what not to do?

I share how my mum was a role model and my dad was an example of the what-not-to-do variety when it came to money.

I don’t want to bag him out too much – I love my dad, he’s an important part of my life, and I still consider myself a winner in life's ovarian lottery – but suffice to say my dad’s behaviour with money has led me to draw some firm personal boundaries to preserve my mental health and my marriage.

The boundary is this: my dad cannot be financially dependent on me in any way.

I don’t loan him money, I don’t subsidise living costs, and he’s not getting anything in my will should he outlive me.

It would be easy for me to swoop in and help my dad financially.

He has no savings, no superannuation, and no assets aside from a 10-year-old car (which is, let’s face it, more liability than asset). At 72 years old, he has few prospects of earning beyond the age pension that currently covers his living costs.

While he's not the one-in-seven Australians living below the poverty line, he's only a hair above it.

But I know that if I do swoop in, I’m crossing a personal line in the sand that will cause way more trouble in the long run.

So, I don’t. I stick to my boundaries, even when my heart bleeds for him.

Until today, I hadn’t realised how much that had been weighing on me.

The weight of the choice

I resolved not to help my dad financially when I was 27.

He’s had some bad luck in his life, but he’s also made a long string of unwise financial decisions that I cannot condone, some of which have caused immense harm to my loved ones.

Though he is much better these days, he still makes such decisions far too often for me to think he’s reformed. I suspect he’s just too broke to have many options for wasting money.

I know in my head, heart and soul that by not helping him financially, I’m doing what’s best for me, my husband and my kids.

Now, I’m not saying he’d ask for such help, or even accept if offered. After the last few weeks, I get the feeling he’s loath to be a financial burden on his daughter.

…but that hasn’t stopped the niggling doubts about what I’ll do if, for example, he ends up homeless.

Which nearly happened this month. Hence me writing about it now.

I only realised the sheer weight of that worry today as it finally slipped away after more than a decade of living with it but not naming it.

The trigger: termination of his lease

Dad’s been scraping by on the pension – a shade over $500 a week – and managing his rent of $236 a week in a National Rental Affordability Scheme (NRAS) place, which is specifically designed for folks like him on low incomes.

In late 2022 the unit went up for sale, triggered by the death of an owner.

On 9 January 2023, Dad learned he has seven weeks to vacate the property as the new owner required vacant possession.

WA’s rental market is bleak.

Vacancy rates are below 0.1% and the nearest equivalent accommodation in terms of price and size was 3.5 hours' drive out of Perth.

Dad was staring down the barrel of having to put all his stuff into storage and live in his car until the WA Housing team found him accommodation.

Last time it was reported in the media, the wait time was over two years.

The greatest irony?

The buyer is WA’s Social Housing team.

They were buying the apartment to add to the social housing stock in the face of our rental affordability crisis.

So, WA’s Housing team was going to make my dad homeless so they could house someone else on their waitlist.

Cue WTAF moment and media coverage

This is where having a daughter (me) with media contacts and a willingness to speak up is useful.

The fabulous team at ABC Radio Perth’s Mornings got me on the air on 19 January to draw attention to this unbelievable situation (I'm on from 40:10).

Dad worked his butt off to get onto the Housing waitlist quick smart.

Within a week, we had confirmation Dad could stay in his apartment after settlement and would not be asked to move until they had a permanent solution for him.

Phew! Sweet relief.

After two weeks of sleepless nights, Dad was finally able to rest.

It was a delight to be back on the radio with Nadia Mitsopoulos eight days after the original interview, sharing the good news and asking for a permanent solution that ensures this doesn’t happen to anyone else (I'm on from 51:12).

Cue bubbles …and trepidation

I popped a bottle of my favourite non-alc bubbles, but in the back of my mind was a new small worry: had I done Dad a disservice?

Was there going to be backlash against him, in the form of less-than-desirable accommodation, because I’ve gotten someone in trouble for missing what seems obvious – don’t kick an NRAS tenant out?

See, whatever accommodation you’re offered by Housing, you must take (pending significant health or safety concerns).

If you decline, it’s no soup for you. Back to the bottom of that two-year waitlist.

I had visions of him being offered an apartment on the third floor with no lifts, no security screens, unpleasant neighbours, and having to take it.

Fortunately, he’d been told that offer of alternative accommodation might take a long time – like, months.

Imagine his surprise when the Housing team called a mere three days after confirming he could stay to let him know they had a permanent place for him to move to.

Is this insomnia, or just worry?

I barely slept last night.

As I tossed and turned, I lamented: I thought we had a reprieve. Months in which to brace for the accommodation he’d be offered. Months for Dad to enjoy the luxury of a two-bedroom apartment as a single person.

No such luck. Talk about ripping off the bandaid.

I counted down the hours till 9:30am when I knew he’d arrive on my doorstep with the keys to the new place, ready to go inspect it.

Thank goodness it was only 10 minutes’ drive from my house – the suspense might have had me chewing my nails off if it was any longer.

I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut as we pulled up in case it was hideous.

Cue relief and gratitude

It wasn’t hideous. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s pretty darned good.

It’s a lovely neighbourhood of well-kept homes. There’s garden front and back. It’s got a store room for his tools, and though he’ll have to downsize his possessions, there’s more than enough room for a single man and his gear.

We spent a solid hour there, measuring and plotting what furniture might go where. Examining every nook and cranny several times, pondering what might be the best use of the space.

The relief was palpable in both of us.

We’re amazed that he’d been so quickly helped, with such compassion (not including the original notice to vacate obviously), and that the place he’d been offered was one he would have chosen had it been on the open market.

Our gratitude to the Housing team knows no bounds right now. If you’re reading this: THANK YOU.

And in case you're wondering how he jumped the queue, I'm guessing it's because his current NRAS rental could house a young family, e.g. parents with a toddler and baby. By moving him on, they house more people overall, so it makes sense to do it quickly.

The shedding

After Dad dropped me home, something weird happened.

I felt ill and had to put myself to bed.

Look, it could be the lack of sleep from last night, but I think it’s some kind of physical manifestation of years of worry falling away.

It’s melting out of my muscles and digestive system, purging itself as I accept that my dad is now in secure housing and I don’t have to worry about him becoming homeless anymore.

All that worry, which has been locked up for over a decade with feelings of guilt over being able to help but not being willing to cross that boundary, is unravelling.

I’m exhausted and elated all at once.

…and I’m rather cross at myself about it.

Why have I been carrying this around!?

I’ve spent years in therapy trying to deal with this stuff.

I’ve journaled, affirmed, rage-vented onto paper and burned the pages.

Spent many hours on the phone and walking on the beach with girlfriends role-playing what to do in any of the various scenarios that might play out.

My husband’s had his ears worn out listening to me rationalise, hypothesise and rant.

I’ve reminded myself again and again, with the words of my darling friend Gill in my head, that my children have to come first.

With all that work, and all those attempts to reconcile myself, I’ve still been unable to let go of the ‘dutiful daughter’ expectations, even as I rebel against them.

Why haven’t I been able to set a simple bloody boundary and hold it in peace?

Which leads me to wonder…

How about you?

Given you’re reading this, I’m guessing personal finance is of interest and you’re aiming to get to FI.

What boundaries are you having to reset as you get yourself into a stronger financial position?

Where are you carrying an unseen weight from the gravity created as those boundaries clash with parts of your identity?

What harm is that doing to you, without you even noticing?

I’m not drawing attention to it because I know what the solution is. I don’t.

I’m not asking you to think about it because you need one more thing on your to-do list. Who does?

But this has caught me by surprise. I’m pissed I didn’t sort it sooner. And I do wonder what sustained stress, however subtle, does to us – mentally, physically, spiritually.

It’s an area worth exploring next time your boundaries bump up against your ethics, beliefs, morals, sense of self – whatever it is that you think it causing the clash.

May you sort it out in less than the 13 years it's taken me.

About Money School

If you’re new here, welcome! Delighted to have you 😁

This is the blog for Money School, an Australian financial education company.

The main site is at https://www.moneyschool.org.au, but I keep our articles over here on beehiiv.

Everything on the main site and this blog is for educational purposes only. I’m not a financial adviser, nor do I play one on Netflix. I aim to help you learn about money so you can ‘choose your own adventure’.

Money School was co-founded in 2010 by me (Lacey Filipich) and my mother, Fran White. Money School offers workshops, online courses and have an international award-winning book, published with Penguin Life in 2020.

I’m also a regular media commentator on all things personal finance. If you’ve got 16 minutes to spare, you might like to check out my TEDx talk (over 1m views!) on financial independence and mini-retirements.