Love, Money, and Risk
Using your wealth to build strength in your adult children—instead of quietly eroding it.
I see myself as a fiduciary for my children.
As a wealth manager for many years, my fiduciary duty meant that I had a legal and ethical responsibility to act in my client’s best interest. Maybe that sounds heartless when applied to family. I find it helpful as I grapple with the complex issues of money and adult children.
Like a lot of parents, I find myself wanting to make my kids’ lives easier, less stressful. More financially secure.
I have smart, capable kids who are married to smart, capable partners. They live within their means. They scrimp and save. They are doing the right things.
I also have more money than my wife Heidi and I will ever spend.
Why not give them some additional money, enough to reduce their stress, pursue their dreams, or create a greater sense of security? Pay off a mortgage. Provide a cushion for difficult times. Make life a little easier.
I would receive their gratitude and appreciation.
I would worry less.
I would feel like a hero.
But I don’t see my role that way.
Acting as a fiduciary–in a moral sense, not a legal one–means acting with care and concern for my children and doing not what feels gratifying to me, but what will serve them well over the long-term.
That distinction matters.
My children live in a rapidly evolving world that demands resourcefulness, resilience, and adaptability. They will need to develop their talents, sharpen their judgment, and build strong relationships.
I cannot give them these qualities. They cannot be taught; they are earned when life doesn’t go according to plan. We become resourceful when our goals outpace our means. We run into a dead end and figure out how to adapt. We build resilience by being knocked down and learning to get back up.
Too often what I have seen in my personal and professional experience is that giving money to adult children means denying them opportunities to grow the qualities that help build a life of wealth and fulfillment.
That’s the risk.
This is not a theoretical exercise for me. My daughter and her husband went through a difficult stretch this year. For months, one or the other was out of work. The financial anxiety they are experienced was understandable.
My heart ached for my daughter and her family. I made a choice not to supplement their income, beyond the modest yearly money gift I make to them. Not because I don’t care or can’t help. Giving the family additional money so that I feel better is not acting in their best interest. I believe that giving them money might make their lives worse over time.
I want them to learn how to cope in a challenging job market. To build their ability to network, interview, and negotiate. To have the hard conversations about what spending to cut and what matters most. To develop confidence in their capacity to handle uncertainty.
That doesn’t mean I did nothing. I made it clear they would never be hungry or homeless. I introduced them to people in my network. When asked–and only then–I offered guidance on job searches, networking, and compensation.
Most importantly, I shared my confidence that they would find their way through this.
I don’t want to downplay the risk of this choice I made. My children may feel I am being withholding. They may question my judgment. They may interpret my decision as harsh, or even worse, unloving.
That is hard. I really want my children to love me and appreciate me.
I still have doubts about whether I made the right decision. I might have been wrong. I take comfort in knowing that I made the best judgment I could with the information I had.
Still, the loss in choosing not to give is palpable. I don’t save the day and make their problems disappear. I don’t reap the rewards of gratitude. I don’t get relief from these worries about people I love dearly.
Instead, I am left with the hope that I am helping them grow.
And being a fiduciary means accepting that you may be misunderstood by the very person you are trying to help.
This is not about forcing hardship. There are absolutely times when financial support is the right decision. The challenge is considering when support builds strength, and when it quietly erodes it. There is no formula. Only judgment.
And sometimes, the most loving choice as a parent is the one that feels awful in the moment.
Until our next conversation,
David
Small Steps & Worthy Questions
Ask yourself: Am I solving a problem, or removing a growth opportunity? Am I willing to risk your children being angry with you, if you think it’s in their best interest?
Consider what is the right decision for the next 20 years, not 20 days when a crisis arises.
Before there’s a financial crisis, talk to your children about your philosophy about giving or lending them money. Make sure you give them a chance to express their opinions and really listen. Acknowledge and seriously consider their input.
If you love this, share it with your friends, foes, and even perfect strangers. Let’s change the way America thinks about money.
LinkedIn | Facebook | Instagram | X / Twitter | Bluesky
Well said. And yes, definitely not easy.
This is a really useful and validating post, David. In my 40s, I became much clearer on the difference between stress and anxiety. As my children’s generation navigates so much anxiety—peers, AI, climate change, the economy, war—I view these kinds of situations through that lens too.
Anxiety arises when we feel truly threatened, and it changes how we respond, both psychologically and biologically. One thing I appreciate about having financial savings I'm able to share is that it allows me to invite family members to sit with the stress, without tipping into anxiety. They know I’m here if needed. As you say, you won't go hungry or be homeless.
That doesn’t let them off the hook from doing the hard work. But it allows them to sit with a tolerable amount of discomfort (rather than fear) in order to make decisions for the longer time horizon you talk about. And hopefully to feel a great deal of support, even just by standing nearby as they navigate and learn.