I have a son in his 30s who’s been a constant source of stress since his teen years—running away, drugs, arrests, jail.
My husband and I have supported him for years: paying court fees, rent, medical bills—everything. He disappeared for a while, then came back, and we started the cycle all over again.
He loses jobs, makes reckless financial decisions, and we always end up bailing him out. We’ve even refurnished homes after he lost everything.
Right now, he has a new job but is already behind on rent. He doesn’t ask for help directly—he knows how to play on my anxiety, so I just offer it.
But I’m tired. I’m worried about my own finances. I know that if I keep giving, he’ll never learn. But I’m also scared that if I don’t help, it’ll cost me more down the line.
Is it okay to stop? To let him figure this out on his own?
The anxiety is eating me alive, and I just need to know if it’s okay to let go.
Let me say it straight: Yes, it’s okay to stop. In fact, it’s necessary.
What you’ve described isn’t helping—it’s enabling. And enabling isn’t love. It’s fear wearing a costume.
You’re afraid your son will fall apart without your support. But the truth is, he already is falling apart—with your support. You’ve paid court fees, rent, medical bills, even refurnished homes. And every time you bail him out, he learns one thing: “Mom will catch me. No matter what.”
You’re not protecting him. You’re shielding him from consequences. And the only way adults learn is by facing the results of their actions. Not by having a safety net that keeps resetting the scoreboard every time they screw up.
Here’s the hardest truth you probably don’t want to hear:
You’re trying to control him with your money.
Not because you’re mean, but because you’re scared. You’re anxious that if you don’t step in, he’ll crash so hard that you won’t be able to live with the outcome. So you spend yourself into exhaustion, trying to save a man who isn’t trying to save himself.
Let me be crystal clear: That’s not your job anymore.
Your job now is to love your son enough to stop lying to yourself. To say, “I won’t fund your chaos anymore. I love you. I’ll always be here when you’re ready to take responsibility. But until then, I’m done being your emergency contact for every mess you make.”
And yes—it’ll hurt. You might lose sleep. You might cry. You might fear he’ll spiral. But that fear? That’s the voice of codependency talking. Not love.
And I get it. You’re a parent. You feel like your job is to fix. But he’s 30. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s a grown man who knows how to manipulate his mom’s emotions so he never has to grow up. And every time you bail him out, you become a partner in that dysfunction.
So let me say it again: It’s not just okay to stop. It’s the healthiest, bravest thing you can do.
Let him feel the weight of his choices. Let him decide if he wants to change.
And you?
You start reclaiming your peace. You start budgeting for your future. You start breathing again.
You’re not abandoning him. You’re finally giving him the dignity to stand on his own.
And if he doesn’t? That’s his choice. Not your failure.
You’ve done enough. Now it’s his turn.