Mum and Dad lived on credit cards, so I did the same. Years later, I realise how damaging it has been – I could have owned a home by now
Some people inherit their parents’ features or good nature, but in the genetic lottery, I got my parents’ terrible money habits – lucky me.
As a child, I thought spending money you didn’t have was the norm. My parents worked hard but barely had enough to cover household bills and groceries, so they relied on credit cards to live. My dad worked in manufacturing, and my mum worked for Royal Mail. Both were paid weekly, so there was never an opportunity to save. It was just about making it to the end of the week.
Mum was in charge of the finances, and I’d often see her scribble calculations on the backs of bills, working out how much she could use from each credit card to cover household expenses. I thought that’s how everyone lived.
I knew we weren’t well off compared to some of my friends because, unlike them, we didn’t have a car or go on fancy holidays, but I had no idea how much my parents made or owed because they came from a generation that didn’t talk about money.
My mum’s system of juggling credit cards worked until it didn’t. When I was 15, a perfect storm of my mum moving from weekly to monthly pay and maxing out credit cards left the family finances in crisis. Mum was writing cheques she had no idea would clear, and I heard her on the phone to credit card companies begging to increase their limits, only to be refused. She made one final call – to Citizens Advice – and made an appointment to speak to one of their debt advisers.

On the day of the Citizens Advice appointment, my mum finally told me the total debt figure—£30,000. For a 15-year-old, that was more money than I could ever imagine, and it made me sad there was nothing to show for it. That money had been used on surviving, not on treats and jet-setting.
After the chat with the debt adviser, my parents entered an Individual Voluntary Arrangement (IVA), an agreement to make regular payments to an insolvency practitioner, who divides the money between creditors. This would leave them enough monthly money to pay rent and bills and buy groceries, with a small amount they could put aside for emergencies. We lived in social housing, so there was no threat of losing the house, and after five years, they would be debt-free. They made it sound so easy.
What I didn’t see was all the tears and fights my parents had when I wasn’t around. I didn’t find out until years later that my mum had hidden the extent of the debt issues from my dad and that he didn’t find out how much trouble they were in until the night before the appointment with the debt advisor. I also didn’t know that an IVA would put a mark on their credit file that would take years to lift. If I had known that, I probably wouldn’t have ever gotten into debt myself.
I left home at 17, and the day after my 18th birthday, a letter from my bank wishing me a happy birthday, along with an application for my first credit card, popped through the door. I figured I had nothing to lose; the card would be great for emergencies. A fortnight later, I had my first credit card, having learned nothing from what had happened to my parents.
At first, I barely used my credit card, but something strange happened. The less I used it, the more the bank increased my credit limit. Within the first year, the limit had gone from £500 to £2,000, and I used the card to fund nights out, festivals and fancy meals. When I was 19, the bank offered me a £1,500 bank loan, and I figured that could come in handy, so I took that as well. I was barely making Minimum Wage but seemed to be approved for credit every time I tried, so I accumulated two more credit cards and two department store cards before turning 21.
I used one credit card to fund a trip to New York and figured that, unlike my parents, if I were going to get into debt, I’d have something to show for it. I spent most of my twenties in low-paid jobs and partying up a storm. My credit limits kept increasing, with the first card I took out now at £7,000. At first, I paid the minimum amount every month, then started skipping payments when I couldn’t afford them. Late charges and unarranged overdraft fees racked up, and the letters I got informing me of charges became more threatening, with talk of legal action and bailiffs showing up if I didn’t arrange a payment.
At 27, with all my credit maxed out, I realised I needed help, so I spoke to my parents about moving home. I didn’t tell them I was in a lot of debt, just that I was struggling with the cost of living.
I searched online for debt advice and found the charity Stepchange, who sent me paperwork to calculate what I owed and work out my essential outgoings. Even on minimum payments, I was coming up £200 short a month, so there was no way I’d ever have been able to keep on top of my debts. I was shocked when I added everything up and discovered I’d accumulated £20,000 of debt in the 11 years since I got that first credit card.
I spoke to a Stepchange adviser, and we agreed to set up a debt management plan, but she explained that this was not a decision to be taken lightly. She reckoned it would be seven years before the bad credit would leave my record and warned me that I might struggle to be approved for a mortgage in the future. I was gutted, but I had no way of keeping on top of payments, and the anxiety over the threat of legal action was keeping me awake at night, so I agreed to set up a payment plan.
I finally spoke to my parents and explained the extent of my debt. They seemed shocked – I had hidden my debt issues well, and when they asked, “How did you let this happen?” I couldn’t help but explode with anger. “Look at the example you set for me! You made it seem okay to run up debts, and I had no idea a debt management plan might ruin my life.”
My parents thought the example they set would be a cautionary tale, but instead, I had racked up debt like there was no tomorrow, thinking I could later bundle it into one monthly payment without consequences. This is what happens when you try to shelter your children from the true extent of your money issues – you don’t prepare them properly for the future.
By this point, my parents were on the other side of their debt issues and had started putting away the money they had previously paid to their IVA into a high-interest savings account. They had both progressed to higher-paid jobs and could enjoy holidays they paid for in cash, not on credit cards. This was the financial example I wish I’d had growing up, not the chaotic credit card juggle I witnessed as a child.
I spent five years paying off my debt, making big changes to my life in the process. I realised that if I wanted to save, I would have to make sacrifices, so I lived a lot more frugally, stopped going out as much, sold a lot of unwanted stuff on eBay, and didn’t go on any holidays. I obsessively saved every spare penny because I would need a rainy day fund without credit cards to rely on. I had paid off my debt management plan by 33 and was determined never to get into that mess again.
I’m almost ashamed to admit that the pandemic was the best thing that ever happened to my finances. All I could do was save money, and with no commute, I took on extra work to boost my bank balance. I moved into my own rented flat and was proud to pay for all the furniture, fixtures and fittings with my own money, not credit.
By 2024, I had £10,000 saved towards a house deposit. It’s devastating to realise that I’d be a homeowner by now if I’d been able to save money in my twenties instead of partying it away on credit cards, but I can’t undo the past, I can only look forward to a future where I might own a home of my own.
I wish I’d been taught about personal finance at school because my parents were rubbish at talking about money, and I went into the adult world with no real clue how credit worked. Maybe if we’d been able to have honest conversations about money when I was younger, I wouldn’t still suffer the consequences of making bad choices all these years later.