The Guilt of Wanting to Help Family When You’re Financially Strapped
I went home to visit my family for a day, and nothing really changed: same property, same house, my Ma, grandma, and uncle were there, and my two dogs were ecstatic to see me after nearly a year of living on my own. But time shows the truth—the guest house I grew up in on my grandma’s property is showing its age.
The wooden stairs have rotted; the middle step caved in. The patio connecting the guest house and main house floods slightly after the recent rains. Even my parents’ bathroom had needed repairs my dad handled himself. Gnats buzzed around incessantly—more than usual—landing on my face, buzzing near my ears.
While helping Ma with some simple math problems, she overshot an answer from $1,200 to $12,000. I told her that if I had $12,000, I would help fix the place up. Like always, Ma shook her head and said, “Don’t worry about the house.”
I hate it whenever my parents push against me when I talk about not earning enough. I understand the sentiment—they want me to be grateful I’m working, that I’m earning—but I hate that I can’t help more financially because I need to take care of myself first. I’m not broke enough to need help anymore. But I’m too broke to help my family. And it kills me inside.
When Advice Says to Earn More, But You’re Capped
I’ve heard the same advice over and over: earn more money, and you’ll be able to help. Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock. That doesn’t make it any easier.
I was born and raised in Hawaii, one of the most isolated and expensive states in the US.
Paradise isn’t free. It’s only paradise if you can pay for it. If you can’t, it’s just a place that slowly crushes you under the cost of living.
Jobs that pay enough to live comfortably are limited to tourism, hospitality, medical, and other customer-facing roles.
A statistic from years ago said that to live comfortably in the 808, a household needs to earn over $132,000 annually.
Meanwhile, I make under $40,000 per year, juggling a warehouse job and a part-time role, while carrying roughly $10,000 in personal debt.
Even when I find ways to make things work for myself, the financial gap to help my family feels impossible.
What Do You Do When You See Family Struggling?
This is a hard truth I’ve had to accept:
I don’t help.
At least not in any substantial financial way like I used to.
Occasionally, I’ll see if I have leftover cash to buy lunch or dinner for my parents when we have the same day off, but repairs? Major bills? I can’t do that.
A few years ago, before I moved out, Ma asked me for help financially. At the time, I only had a car loan and a few credit cards. She needed money. I didn’t ask what it was for. I took out a few personal loans that accrued to roughly $30,000 over the years—bigger ones Ma handled, smaller ones I paid.
Those loans are long paid off, but the emotional and financial toll left a scar. It reinforced how much we were scraping by just to make sure basic living conditions were met.
And all because the only resources available to us, when paychecks were already stretched thin, were loans.
When Family Says to Help Yourself First
Ma always tells me: “Don’t worry about the house.” She and Dad will figure things out, even if it takes time. Sure, on paper, their combined income is over $100K, but the reality—the repairs, the small, unseen struggles—says otherwise.
I used to give them money to cover repairs, but now, Ma tells me to focus on paying off my current debts. Without loan payments draining my wallet, I can rebuild my emergency fund, invest more into my Roth IRA, and eventually help my family—not because I have no choice, but because I want to.
Choosing Not to Help Is Still a Form of Care
As frustrating as it is, as much as it feels like abandoning your family, not helping when you’re drowning is still a form of care.
I learned this the hard way after taking on loans years ago to cover immediate needs. The emotional and financial toll made me feel like I was running with cinderblocks cemented to my feet. I was going nowhere, except down.
When the time comes that I’m debt-free—maybe not earning everything I’d like—I can give support from a place of stability. I can help because I choose to, not because I have no other option. And that matters.
Final Thoughts
This isn’t easy. The guilt of wanting to help while being financially constrained never fully disappears. But being honest with yourself about what you can handle is an act of care, not cowardice.
You can still love your family, support them in small ways, and plan for the future—without sacrificing your own stability.
Like Hawaiian Airlines says during their demonstrations before take off—put your mask on first before helping someone else with theirs.
If You Made It to the End
Hey—you made it! Thank you for sticking with me through this post. I share these reflections because I believe in being honest about the struggles we all face, and I support the Archives myself so that it stays available.
If this resonated with you, or if you get what it’s like to want to help others but need to take care of yourself first, you can click the tiny wave button below. It’s completely optional, but it’s a nice way to let me know a real person visited and spent some time here.
Either way, I’m grateful you were here and took the time to read.
Explore The Financial Archives Below
- Financial Plans and Big Dreams
- How I’m Paying Down Debt While Working Two Jobs on a $40K Salary
- Eradicating A Burden: Eliminating Personal Debt to Ascend:
- How I’d Spend $1 Billion in 24 Hours (A Personal Thought Experiment).