'My Parents Cut Me Off...And Now I am Way Better Off'

-Forbes, July 2012

"...The moment they told me they wouldn’t help me with graduate school was the moment that I realized that they wouldn’t help me with anything, and that I was really and truly on my own. Suddenly, I didn’t have to put up with any of their myriad psychoses. If they didn’t like something that I did, I could hang up the phone on them, and move on with my life. And that’s exactly what I did. My entire mentality switched. I stopped secretly hoping that one day, I’d marry a guy who was rich, so that he could take care of me. I stopped having secret fantasies about a trust fund. I started learning how to survive on very little."

-Forbes, July, 2012 - My Parents Cut Me Off ... And Now I'm Way Better Off by Brienne Walsh

This is a guest post by New York City-based freelance writer Brienne Walsh, a contributor to the New York Times, Departures, Art in America, ArtReview, Glo, and Interview, who blogs about her life at A Brie Grows in Brooklyn.

A few weeks ago, I took my boyfriend and one of my best male friends out to dinner at Char No. 4, a restaurant in Brooklyn. The meal was to thank them for helping me move. In the past, I’ve done my moves either by myself, or with my sister, who’s actually something of a work horse when she wants to be. Having two sets of extra hands—notice I did not say two strong men—made the whole thing so much easier.

Both of my friends -- we'll call them Mr. R and Caleb -- felt a little bit guilty that I was paying for dinner, because they know that I work hard to save my money. But I’ve had a good month freelancing, and I made $277 in the stoop sale I had this past Saturday. In other words, I’m was rolling in money. At least for me.

When the waitress came over to take our drink order, I was the one who spoke to her about the wine list. To show that I wasn’t a cheap, I ordered the third least expensive bottle, which apparently, is what most people do at restaurants.

When she came back over to the table, she fumbled with who should taste the first sip. Even though we’ve progressed a lot, especially in New York, gender roles are still very much ingrained in social customs. Men usually order the wine, and pay for dinner. When a girl is taking charge at a table dominated by men, even the waitress gets confused. “I guess you should taste it?” she asked me.

“Yes, please,” I said. “I’m taking them out tonight, as a special treat.”

And I have to say, even just saying that felt pretty good.

Because honestly, nothing feels better than being financially independent. Or even better, rich. I actually don’t know what that feels like, because I’ve never been rich, even though my parents are. I was like the little princess growing up, living on a big estate with servants, but having to do my own laundry, sew buttons on my father’s shirt, and rub my mother’s feet for lunch money. Seriously, every night, I would sit for a half an hour, with a jar of lotion, and rub my mom’s feet for $5. That whole thing is another can of worms, but the point is that, when I was younger, I had to grovel and behave well and manipulate my parents so that I could get the things that I needed. Money never came freely—not even for college tuition—and when it did, there was always a price attached to it—a chore, a family therapy session, an apology letter.

Then, I graduated from college, and had to support myself, because unlike most people I know, I got completely cut off from funding. At first, it was awful. I had to adjust to budgeting my resources. I couldn’t afford to eat out, take taxis, buy clothing, or drink. That’s why I took a break from my college boyfriend, and started going on dates, because dates, when you’re 22 and single and living in the city, could really be called “free dinner.”

All of my friends from high school and college came from upper middle class families, and it was hard for me to hang out with them. I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t spend $80 on someone’s birthday dinner. I couldn’t get my hair cut. I couldn’t go with them to get manicures. I couldn’t do time shares on Fire Island.

There was always an expectation, however, that my parents would step in and help me when I did some milestone thing like go to graduate school, or get married. I applied to Columbia for a master’s degree in art history knowing that they probably wouldn’t pay for it, but secretly hoping that they would cave. And they almost did. My dad agreed to set up an escrow account so that I could borrow the money for tuition without having to pay interest. Then, I got in a fight with mom over something stupid, and she forbid him from doing so.

It was probably the most empowering thing that every happened to me. Because the moment they told me they wouldn’t help me with graduate school was the moment that I realized that they wouldn’t help me with anything, and that I was really and truly on my own. Suddenly, I didn’t have to put up with any of their myriad psychoses. If they didn’t like something that I did, I could hang up the phone on them, and move on with my life. And that’s exactly what I did.

My entire mentality switched. I stopped secretly hoping that one day, I’d marry a guy who was rich, so that he could take care of me. I stopped having secret fantasies about a trust fund. I started learning how to survive on very little. I learned that the more you have, the more you are weighed down by it. I became free.

And all of a sudden, the dating game switched. If I could be free and independent without a man, why did I need to put up with so many jerks? Why was I always dissecting my dating life, and questioning my behavior? (Did I make it clear in my last text that I was free tomorrow night? Should I wait to call him back? Was that thing that I said when we were in the cab about not liking fat cats going to make him hate me forever?) Marriage and safety no longer became the end goal. I could walk away from a bad relationship without being afraid that I was ruining my future. My career became the focal point of my life—partially because I realized that writing was what I wanted to do—but also because I realized that if I wanted a house one day, I was going to buy it for myself. I no longer waited around for people to buy things for me.

I also started seeing my parents differently. I saw that they didn’t withhold money from me because they were mean. It was because they had faith in me that I could survive on my own. Me, a woman. Fifty years ago, women weren’t even trusted with their own bank accounts, and today, I can have anything I want, as long as I work hard for it.

And when I stopped to think about it, I realized how amazing that truly was. That if I put my mind to it, I could save up enough money that I could not only buy my own clothes, food, and housing, but also, potentially, pay for my children to go to college. Buy my own retirement home. Help out other people besides myself.

So why are you sucking from you parents’ teat, bright young thing? Why are you still depending on other people for your livelihood, and by extension, your happiness? You can do this by yourself.