I bought my first house at 28 on a single income and I spent years thinking my kids just weren't trying hard enough - until I actually ran the numbers adjusted for inflation and wages, and I had to sit with the shame of how harshly I'd judged them

I owe my kids an apology. A big one.

For years, I've been that parent. You know the type. The one who drops comments like "When I was your age, I already owned a house" or "I managed to save money on an entry-level salary, so why can't you?" I wore my financial achievements like a badge of honor, proof that hard work and smart choices were all anyone needed to get ahead.

Then last month, while helping my daughter look for apartments, something made me pull out my old financial records from the late 90s. What started as a trip down memory lane turned into a reality check that left me sitting at my kitchen table, calculator in hand, feeling the weight of every dismissive comment I'd ever made.

The numbers that changed everything

Here's what I discovered when I actually did the math. That house I bought at 28? It cost $145,000 in 1999. Adjusted for inflation, that's about $265,000 today. Except comparable houses in the same neighborhood now sell for $485,000.

My starting salary as a financial analyst was $42,000. Sounds modest, right? But when I looked up what entry-level analysts make at similar firms today, the average is around $55,000. Do you see the problem yet? Salaries went up by 30 percent. Housing costs more than doubled.

I spent almost 20 years as a financial analyst at a mid-sized investment firm, so numbers are my thing. Yet somehow, I never thought to apply this basic analysis to my own assumptions about my kids' financial struggles. The irony isn't lost on me.

When I dug deeper, the picture got even clearer. My monthly student loan payment was $215. My daughter's? $680. My health insurance through work cost me $45 per month. My son pays $320 for worse coverage. Gas, groceries, childcare if they ever have kids, literally everything except maybe electronics costs significantly more relative to income than it did when I was starting out.

Confronting my own blind spots

What's been hardest to stomach is realizing how much my identity was wrapped up in that narrative of financial success. I discovered that I'd used money as a measure of self-worth and had to rebuild my self-concept when faced with these numbers.

But it goes deeper than that. I had to confront my own privilege and learn about intersectionality in my late thirties, and apparently, I still hadn't fully absorbed those lessons. Yes, I worked hard. Yes, I made sacrifices. But I also graduated into a job market where a bachelor's degree actually meant something, where companies offered pensions, and where the minimum wage had more purchasing power.

I started my career when you could still work your way through college with a part-time job. When unpaid internships weren't the norm. When entry-level actually meant entry-level, not "requires three years of experience."

The shame hit me in waves. How many times had I suggested my kids just weren't budgeting properly? How often had I implied they were entitled or lazy when they talked about their financial stress? I remember telling my son he should stop buying coffee out if he wanted to save for a house. Coffee. As if skipping a $5 latte could bridge a $200,000 gap in housing affordability.

The stories we tell ourselves

Psychology teaches us about something called the fundamental attribution error. We tend to attribute our own successes to internal factors like hard work and intelligence, while attributing others' struggles to personal failings. I fell right into this trap with my own children.

My financial success became a story about my discipline and smart choices. Their financial challenges? Must be about their generation's poor work ethic or spending habits. Never mind that they're navigating an entirely different economic landscape.

During my years analyzing financial data, I learned to read between the numbers and understand human behavior through financial decisions. I could spot patterns and biases in investment behaviors from miles away. Yet when it came to my own family, my analytical skills went out the window, replaced by judgment and generational smugness.

What's particularly painful is remembering conversations where my kids tried to explain their reality to me. They'd share articles about wage stagnation or the housing crisis, and I'd dismiss them with platitudes about cutting expenses or working harder. They were literally showing me the data, and I chose my narrative over their evidence.

Making amends and moving forward

So what now? First, I apologized. Not a quick "sorry if I was harsh" apology, but a real conversation where I laid out what I'd learned and acknowledged how wrong I'd been. My daughter cried. My son said he'd been waiting years to hear me say those words.

I've started really listening when they talk about their financial challenges. Not listening to respond with advice or judgment, but listening to understand. Their stress is real. Their struggles are valid. The game has changed, and pretending it hasn't helps no one.

I'm also using my financial background differently now. Instead of lecturing about bootstraps, I'm helping them navigate systems that are genuinely stacked against them. We're looking at different strategies for building wealth that acknowledge today's reality, not yesterday's playbook.

Most importantly, I'm examining what other assumptions I'm carrying around. If I could be this wrong about something so fundamental, what else am I missing? What other ways am I judging people based on circumstances that no longer exist?

A generational reckoning

This experience has taught me that one of the most dangerous things we can do is assume our experience is universal. The world changes faster than our perspectives do, and if we're not careful, we end up judging people by standards that no longer apply.

I see my peers doing the same thing I did. We share memes about participation trophies and avocado toast while our kids face economic challenges we never had to navigate. We worked hard, yes, but we also walked through doors that have since been locked, climbed ladders that have had their rungs removed.

The financial milestones we reached, buying houses, paying off student loans, building savings, weren't just about our individual choices. They were about the economic context that made those achievements possible. Acknowledging this doesn't diminish what we accomplished, but it does require us to extend compassion to those trying to achieve the same things in a much harder environment.

Final thoughts

If you're a parent who's been hard on your kids about their financial situation, I encourage you to run the numbers yourself. Look up what your first apartment cost versus what rentals go for now. Compare your starting salary to today's, adjusted for inflation. Factor in student loans, healthcare costs, childcare expenses. The results might surprise you.

And if you're a young adult who's been on the receiving end of these judgments, know that your struggles are real and valid. The economy has fundamentally changed, and anyone who says otherwise probably hasn't done the math.

As for me, I'm still sitting with the discomfort of how wrong I was. It's humbling to realize that my years of financial expertise didn't protect me from such a massive blind spot. But maybe that's the point. Real wisdom isn't about having all the answers. Sometimes it's about being willing to question the stories we've been telling ourselves, even when the truth requires an apology 20 years in the making.