Recently, over coffee, a friend in her late sixties admitted something she hadn’t even told her husband. She had dipped into her retirement savings once again, this time to help with a rental deposit for her adult son. “It’s only temporary,” she said. Then she paused. “But everything seems temporary now.”
In the media, the “Bank of Mum and Dad” is often framed as a solution to a broken housing market. For many younger adults facing high rents, student debt and house prices far beyond earnings, family support has become less a luxury and more a necessity to get on the property ladder. What is discussed far less is the long-term impact on those providing that support, particularly retirees and those approaching retirement.
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In my work as a later life coach, with people in their sixties and seventies, and among my own friendship network, I see a pattern emerging: retirement is no longer simply about managing one’s own needs. It increasingly includes ongoing financial support for adult children and, in some cases, grandchildren. University fees, house deposits, childcare, wedding costs and emergency bailouts now form part of what many see as normal parental responsibility, even decades after children have reached adulthood.
This is rarely spoken about openly. There is pride in helping, but also a quiet recalculation behind the scenes.
According to Legal & General, the Bank of Mum and Dad has lent or given billions in recent years, effectively operating as one of the UK’s largest mortgage lenders. Meanwhile, Office for National Statistics (ONS) data show younger cohorts facing stagnating wages alongside rising living and housing costs, increasing reliance on family support. What these figures do not capture is the emotional dimension for older adults who feel compelled to step in.
For many of my generation, helping our children feels instinctive. We were raised with a strong ethic of care and responsibility. The idea of saying no, particularly when faced with genuine financial struggle, can feel almost unthinkable. Yet the financial consequences can be profound.
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One retired couple I know released equity from their home to help their two children on to the property ladder. This was 20 years ago, and in each case around 15 per cent of the price of each house. On paper, it seemed sensible. In practice, it reduced their financial buffer significantly. When unexpected health costs arose later, their sense of security disappeared almost overnight. “We thought we were being sensible in helping their children,” the wife told me. “Now we’re just hoping nothing else goes wrong.”
Another woman in her early seventies used savings originally set aside for her travel to fund childcare, so her daughter could return to work. She does not regret the decision, but she acknowledges that her own retirement has become more constrained. “I assumed my later years would be simpler,” she said. “Instead, they feel financially stretched in a different way.”
Not all support is a one-off, either. One man in his late sixties told me he lent several thousand pounds to his adult son when his home was at risk of repossession. It was meant to be a temporary rescue. But further requests followed, to clear debts and cover periods without work. A repayment plan exists in theory, but he has quietly stopped expecting the money back.
Then there are cases where the support has no clear endpoint. One woman I know has spent years helping an adult daughter with rent, car costs and accumulating debts, despite little movement towards financial independence. “I don’t know how to stop,” she told me, “without it feeling like I’m abandoning her.” What began as occasional help has become a steady drain on her modest pension savings. She has no idea when this will end and she worries about what will happen to her daughter when she is no longer able to help her.
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Sometimes the consequences aren’t just a reduced buffer, but total insecurity. A couple in my wider circle helped both their adult children with first-home deposits. They wanted to give them a good start in life. Then illness struck and both parents became unable to work. Without a financial buffer, their own home was repossessed. The painful irony is not lost on them.
There is a wide misconception that baby boomers are a uniformly wealthy generation. While some benefited from rising house prices and defined-benefit pensions, many others, particularly women, freelancers, and those who have taken career breaks, can have modest pensions and limited savings. Support for adult children often comes not from surplus wealth, but from carefully accumulated security.
There has also been a shift in the life course that policy and financial planning narratives have not fully caught up to. Financial dependence no longer ends in early adulthood. It can now extend well into a child’s thirties or forties, particularly in high-cost areas. For retirees on fixed incomes, this creates a new kind of uncertainty.
Some older people continue working part-time, not only for the purpose but to maintain financial flexibility. Others reduce their own spending, postponing home maintenance, travel or leisure. A few admit to dipping into emergency savings more often than they ever expected.
There is also a psychological tension that is rarely acknowledged. Many older adults feel caught between empathy for their children’s economic realities and anxiety about their own long-term security. They know longevity is increasing, care costs are unpredictable, and their savings may need to last decades. Yet immediate family needs often feel more pressing than distant risks.
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In this sense, the Bank of Mum and Dad is not simply financial. It is rooted in love, obligation and changing economic conditions. However, it can also mask structural problems. When parental support becomes normalised, responsibility subtly shifts away from wider policy solutions on housing affordability, childcare costs and student finance.
It also risks deepening inequality, as those with supportive parents gain advantages that others simply cannot access.
Within my own peer group, I see growing divergence. Some have been able to help generously while remaining financially secure. Others have given smaller amounts that nonetheless significantly altered their retirement plans. A few now admit, quietly, that they worry about outliving their savings, something they had not anticipated a decade ago.
Personally, I understand the tension. Like many in my generation, I believe in supporting family where possible. But I am also acutely aware of the importance of my financial self-sufficiency in later life. Retirement is not a short phase but a life stage that may last 20 or 30 years and requires ongoing resources and independence.
What concerns me most is the lack of open conversation. Many retirees feel unable to set boundaries for fear of appearing selfish, even when the financial strain is real. Yet unspoken sacrifice can lead to hidden stress, reduced wellbeing and long-term insecurity.
We are often told that boomers had it easy. The reality is far more nuanced. Some did benefit. Others experienced divorces, career interruptions, health challenges or caring responsibilities that significantly reduced their reserves. Now, in later life, they are navigating not only their own ageing, but the ongoing financial needs of their families.
The Bank of Mum and Dad may be helping younger generations stay afloat in a difficult economy. But it is also quietly reshaping what retirement looks like for many older adults.
Instead of a gradual winding down, retirement is becoming a balancing act, part independence, part ongoing support. And while love motivates much of this giving, the long-term implications deserve far more attention than they currently receive.
