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Companies are making it easier than ever to spend — and harder to know what you can actually afford

When Mirav Steckel opened each of her 15 credit cards, she thought the discounts and rewards they offered would save her money. Instead, her plastic portfolio pushed her into impulse purchases and forced her to reevaluate her spending habits.

“If it was a really bad day at work, my first thought wasn’t, ‘Oh, let me go home and chill.’ It was, ‘I’m going to go treat myself to something that’s going to make me feel better,’ but it got to a point where I was asking people around me for money to pay my cards off,” Steckel tells me. “That’s not the type of life that I wanted to live.”

Steckel chalked it up to financial illiteracy — she was 18, she didn’t know the crushing consequences of debt, and signing up for the cards was deceptively easy. Now 21, she has a new trick to follow her monthly budget: use cash. Seeing the physical money rather than making a seamless digital transaction has been instrumental to curbing her spending.

Steckel’s frictionless financial experience is an example of the cascade of credit card deals, Buy-Now-Pay-Later plans, and digital personal loans designed to grease the wheels of your spending and make it easy to obscure — or ignore — the purchases you’re on the hook for. Consumer spending gurus told me that while these products can benefit those who truly need a financial reprieve, they can also trap people in an endless debt cycle that is difficult to escape. And with the risk of renewed inflation and heightened economic uncertainty, some consumers are more willing to enter payment plans, putting less money down up front in the hope that conditions will improve in the future. The Federal Reserve found that 15% of Americans used BNPL in 2025, up from 10% in 2021. That’s coupled with 81% of Americans holding a credit card in 2025.

“If I make you wait or if I make you click through a bunch of things or physically pull out a wallet or, God forbid, cash, that will give you all these moments to pause and rethink things,” Scott Rick, a marketing professor at the University of Michigan, tells me. “I just want to be a hot knife through butter here. I want to make it as easy and frictionless as humanly possible.”

Welcome to the funny money economy, where credit is king and companies excel at making their products so easy to access that you don’t stop to think about whether you can actually afford to pay for them.

‘It’s gotten so easy to spend’

Maybe you know the feeling: You’re online shopping, and you only need that sweatshirt, but when you go to check out, there’s a $9.99 shipping fee. If you spend $15 more, though, shipping will be free. You don’t really need that jacket that you’ve been eyeing, but if you buy it, shipping is free. It’s a steal. Sure, it’s a little more than you’d expected to pay, but if you use a BNPL plan, the first installment fits snugly in your budget, and you can manage the other payments down the line. Congrats, you’ve been sucked into the funny money economy — fueled by the ease of technology and artful tools to prevent consumers from getting a full grasp on their financial situations.

The modern shopping experience is drastically different from what it was even just a decade ago, Abigail Sussman, a marketing professor at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business, tells me. It’s not only the switch from cash to credit cards, she says, it’s also the ability to store your card information on the web and automatically fill it in when prompted. Other forms of payment like Apple Pay make it easy “to spend without even looking at the price, frankly, without even really pausing to internalize it,” says Sussman. And even if you consider the number on your screen, it may not be the final final cost.

“I don’t think consumers are doing anything wrong. I think it’s just that the systems that are in place are really designed to make spending frictionless,” she says.

These changes also prey on our brain’s desire for instant gratification, says Kristina Durante, a social psychologist at Rutgers’ business school. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, humans were solely focused on survival — they weren’t thinking about what meal they’d have in two weeks. Our brains are still in that mindset, Durante says. While we can think about the future in an abstract way, the human brain doesn’t excel at accounting for the future.

“The part of our brain that wants what it wants when it wants it is so much stronger than the part of our brain that’s a brake system that says, ‘Wait, hold on, can we really afford this?'” Durante says.

Rick, the University of Michigan professor, says that in addition to the ease of shopping, some companies are using entertainment to pull consumers in. He referenced the TikTok shop, where ads for various products pop up in a user’s feed while they’re watching videos, and people can purchase them with one click. Or take Disney resorts, where a visitor can tap their wristband or use Disney dollars to make a purchase, leading the consumer to feel like they’re using “play money” even as their accounts are slowly drained.

‘It’s hard to keep track’

The mechanisms that make it so easy to spend also make it easy to get access to debt to spend even more. New technology allows companies to instantly approve new customers for credit cards, and there’s an expanded availability of specialized cards, like those intended for people with low credit or ones geared toward students with limited credit histories. These lower barriers are helping fuel a record amount of debt. The latest figures from the New York Federal Reserve show Americans’ outstanding credit card balances are at a record high of $1.28 trillion, up nearly 6% from one year ago. Over the same time period, the usage of alternative spending, like Buy Now, Pay Later products, has grown — a December 2025 report from the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau said that the six firms in its sample reported a combined 53.6 million consumers who took out a BNPL loan in 2023, a 12% increase from 2022, at an average amount of $848, up from $725.

When it comes time to settle up your accounts, companies are making it confusing to get a handle on where you stand. Credit cards have variable interest rates that can go up or down depending on a range of factors, including credit score. By offering rewards, points, and limited-time low-interest rates, a consumer might not realize what they’re signing up for until it’s too late, Ayelet Fishbach, a behavior science professor at the University of Chicago, tells me.

“Points don’t feel like much,” Fishbach says. “And so if you can convince me that I’m not paying with money, but with some monopoly money such as credit card points, that will obscure the price.”

BNPL products similarly use smart marketing and our own mental biases against us. Ying Lei Toh, a senior economist at the Kansas City Federal Reserve, says that while they could help some consumers responsibly make big purchases, they are structured to make people feel “less financially constrained” by breaking the cost into installments.

“It could really worsen the overspending problem and the indebtedness, and the possibility that people would really be spending way beyond their means,” Toh says. A CFPB report from 2025 found that Americans are taking on BNPL debt more frequently, and at larger amounts, with the average annual loan increasing from $745 in 2022 to $848 in 2023, up 14%. For credit card companies and BNPL providers, allowing consumers the option to split up payments could generate profit because some afterpay plans come with hefty interest rates and late fees. At the same time, the increased availability of these plans helps companies reach a demographic that might not have traditional credit cards or prefers to make payments in smaller installments.

Stephanie Blanks, 35, managed to escape the BNPL trap — but it wasn’t easy. When she had her first child about five years ago, she underestimated how much savings she needed. She ended up maxing out her credit cards and turned to BNPL to buy diapers, groceries, and clothes for her baby. Those small, twice-monthly payments turned into about $3,700 in debt.

“You’re like, ‘Oh, $10 every two weeks doesn’t sound bad at all. I can totally afford that,’ until you get 25 or 26 loans in and you’re drowning in them,” Blanks says. She started paying off that balance at the beginning of September 2025 and hasn’t used a BNPL product since. “It was just extremely overwhelming, and I felt like I couldn’t get out of the hole,” Blanks says.

BNPL plans aren’t all bad. When Gabby Raines, 29, moved in with her husband about 10 years ago, they needed a new mattress but couldn’t afford it all at once, so they turned to a BNPL plan. “It was a total lifesaver,” she says. She has since used BNPL to buy a treadmill and clothes, but even as a savvy, experienced buyer, the ease of signing up sometimes causes her to spend more than she intended.

“We live in a world of such instant gratification and overconsumption, which as Americans we are all guilty of, so sometimes we all should take a step back and really look at the consequences of what we feel like we need right now,” Raines said.

The serious consequences of the funny money

While being able to push off or spread out purchases can give you freedom in the moment, the expenses can pile up, and you might find yourself months later with dozens of loans and thousands of dollars in debt that you didn’t anticipate.

For some consumers, alternative forms of financing are a means of survival. When the pandemic hit, and she lost her job, Susan Cannon, now 73, used her credit cards to pay for groceries, bills, and complete needed home repairs. While it was necessary, it’s also come at a steep cost: Cannon is nearly $40,000 in credit card debt and struggling with sky-high interest rates. “I’ve always tried to put some in savings, but it’s gotten to where it’s all going toward interest,” Cannon says. “So it’s like I cannot get ahead.”

For many Americans, though, the funny money economy is a means to fuel nonessential consumption. The Bureau of Economic Analysis’s measure of personal expenditures, which includes spending on products like apparel and household appliances, stood at $21.4 billion in the last quarter of 2025, up from $19.2 billion in the last quarter of 2023. The keeping-up-with-the-Joneses culture ingrained in American society has fueled overspending, Sussman says. Your neighbors can only see what you’re spending — not the giant debt bill on the backend — which can aggravate the tendency to buy more than you can afford when you’re constantly comparing yourself to others.

The rise of social media has made that constant comparison a lot easier, Durante says, because instead of comparing our lives with our neighbors, we can compare ourselves with someone who lives across the country, or the world. “Your brain is categorizing someone far away as someone who is a competitor,” Durante says. Social media has also turned spending into a joke, with trends like “girl math,” a type of mental gymnastics in which someone might justify using a gift card as free money or consider returning an item as a way to make money. But girl math is really just “human math,” Durante says, because it’s another way that our brain is thinking about the present without accounting for the future.

“We have a brain built for scarcity living in a world of abundance. And there’s going to be a lot of poor decision-making that’s made because of that,” Durante says.

In the worst cases, funny money can lead to long-term strain. Consumers who fall behind on loans could find themselves facing wage garnishment, and their credit scores could take a hit, making it difficult to rent a home or get an auto loan. Bankruptcy filings increased 11% in 2025, indicating that more Americans are turning to the courts as a last-ditch effort to be absolved of their debt. Higher debt loads slow economic growth, as consumers put less money into the economy and more toward paying back what they owe.

The very nature of funny money, though, is that these tough consequences can be under wraps until they come crashing down all at once. And it’s unlikely these trends will reverse anytime soon, given pervasive economic uncertainty, Fishbach says. High inflation might lead a consumer to think that it makes economic sense to purchase something now even if they cannot fully afford it, “because the price might be higher later, tariffs might make it higher,” Fishbach says. And the existence of mechanisms like debt forgiveness, bankruptcy, and Buy Now, Pay Later products all feed into the funny money mindset, where it’s nearly impossible to predict your financial situation a year or even a month from now, making it easier for consumers to put off payments.

“People are smart, but they are busy, and you are not required to get a master’s degree in economics before you go to the grocery store,” Fishbach says. “We created a system that makes it very hard to make good financial decisions. “


Ayelet Sheffey is a senior reporter on Business Insider’s economy team, covering education, student loans, and the federal workforce.

Business Insider’s Discourse stories provide perspectives on the day’s most pressing issues, informed by analysis, reporting, and expertise.




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I quit my job because I couldn’t afford to rent or buy a house. I then moved to Thailand, where the cost of living is cheaper.

My stable job in the UK allowed me to save, but rental prices in my area would have taken up a huge portion of my income. Each month, I withdrew from my savings as everyday expenses became luxuries. I still had bills to pay, such as car finance, insurance, gas, phone, and a contribution to my parents’ mortgage.

I couldn’t move out of my parents’ house at 28. My goal was to buy my own place, but this was unrealistic. Renting was just as high as a monthly mortgage payment. Saving for a down payment while renting in the UK was impossible on a single average salary.

Even though I was employed, I couldn’t afford the life I wanted. I felt like I was surviving, not living. I was craving financial freedom and independence, but the UK couldn’t offer them.

Two years prior, I had traveled around Thailand and fallen in love with the food, the pace of life, and the value for money. It was a country that had always been on my mind, and eventually I reached a point where I couldn’t live comfortably in the UK anymore. I felt financially stuck and embarrassed that I was still living with my parents.

The only way out was to quit my job, become a freelancer, and relocate to Bangkok — a city filled with opportunity where housing costs half as much as in the UK.

Staying in the UK no longer felt sustainable

For months, I was figuring out what to do. I could spend years trying to catch up, or I could change my environment and live a more affordable lifestyle.

After researching Thailand and reminiscing about my travels there, I realized it was the perfect country to start my own business as a freelance writer.

While I was backpacking there previously, I ate freshly cooked meals for as little as $1. I looked into rental listings in Bangkok, and I was shocked. A modern one-bedroom condominium with a gym and swimming pool costs as little as $400 a month.


Sally seaton sitting at a table in a restaurant with bangkok skyline in the background

The author in Thailand.



In comparison, the average rent in my area of the UK was around $1,200 — more than a third of my monthly salary before bills. In Bangkok, I could pay half that and have more space and amenities.

I had been building a freelance writing business alongside my 9 to 5 job to create freedom to live in Thailand. By the time I decided to leave, I had one client secured. It didn’t guarantee stability, but there was no positive future for me in the UK.

Last June, I handed in my notice and booked a one-way flight to Bangkok. Within a month, I said my goodbyes, packed up my life, and left the UK behind.

My life in Thailand costs less, I get more, and I’m happier

Moving to a new country alone and starting my own business was terrifying, but I knew it would eventually give me the financial independence I couldn’t find in the UK.

Now that I’m my own boss, I still work hard. But the difference is that I’m building something for myself. In the eight months I’ve lived in Bangkok, my client base has grown. I earn slightly less, but my money stretches further.

I rent my own condominium for $500 a month, which includes a swimming pool, a gym, and a coworking space. My electricity bill is $40 a month, and water costs just $2.

Things that once felt like luxury in the UK are now part of my everyday life. I buy fresh fruit from local markets. I pay $6 an hour for a weekly cleaner. I don’t cook; I eat out every day without calculating whether I should skip it to save money.

Getting around is affordable, too. I no longer own a car. A train journey costs around $1, and bike rental rides start at $1.

Since moving to Thailand, I’ve embraced what the Thais call “sabai sabai” — a stress-free way of life. For the first time in years, I feel fulfilled, financially free, and happy.




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Jacob Zinkula

I was laid off in my 60s and can’t find a job after 11 months. I wish I could retire, but I can’t afford it.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Robin Peppers Daniel, a job seeker in her early 60s who lives in South Carolina. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

Last April, I received a notification that I had 30 minutes before I would lose all of my work access — and that within an hour, I would receive some paperwork. Then my boss called me with the news: I, along with several colleagues, had been laid off.

I was working for Wells Fargo in a management role, and had some suspicion that a layoff was coming. This wasn’t my first layoff. In 2018, I was laid off from Walmart, where I worked as an instructional design manager.

A little over a year later, I started working for Wells Fargo as an external regulatory reporting consultant and was later promoted to a lead control management officer role.

My last working day at Wells Fargo was in April, but I was technically still employed and received paychecks through mid-June, followed by a few months of severance. Nearly a year after being laid off, I’m still looking for a full-time role.

My search strategies haven’t landed me a role so far

After some reorganization about a year earlier, there was redundancy in certain areas, and I felt like my workload started to dry up. My husband and I decided to start financially preparing, which proved to be beneficial.

I’d already been casually looking for work, partially because I’d felt for a while that the role wasn’t a good fit for me. But it wasn’t until I was laid off that I updated my LinkedIn profile, and not until around June that I began actively searching for roles. I was initially focused on banking and corporate trainer roles, but I’ve become open to any position where my skills are transferable.

In terms of my job search strategies, I adopted the “open to work” banner on LinkedIn and posted that I was seeking work, which helped me connect with people who said they’d be open to referring me for roles. I’ve also tried looking for job postings on company websites rather than only on LinkedIn, where I’ve found that some postings can be outdated.

Despite these strategies, I was still struggling to land a job. There was one opportunity last year that I thought might work out. I had a referral from a former coworker who said she’d spoken about me to the hiring manager. After three interviews, I waited several weeks and eventually heard they were going in another direction.

I pick up substitute teaching shifts when I can, but I’m still unemployed

My husband and I have enough savings to be financially stable for roughly the next 18 months. In a perfect world, I would retire and get out of this work rat race, but right now, I unfortunately can’t afford to.

Last August, I applied to be a substitute teacher in my area so I could have some form of income once my unemployment benefits ran out. I used to substitute teach when my daughter was preschool age, and I enjoyed it.

However, I had to be very strategic about taking on substitute work. I live in South Carolina, but I worked in North Carolina — and was therefore subject to that state’s unemployment system. In North Carolina, you can earn a maximum of $350 a week in unemployment benefits for up to 12 weeks — $4,200 total. You can also earn up to $70 a week without impacting your unemployment check.

A full week of substitute teaching paid about $550, and depending on how many days I was needed, I had to make sure what I’d gain in income would offset what I’d lose that week in unemployment benefits.

I’m now considering teaching full-time

I’m pursuing an alternative teaching pathway in South Carolina that would eventually allow me to work as a full-time teacher after the initial testing is complete. The salary wouldn’t be what I earned in banking, but it would allow me to do something that I enjoy.

I’ve also started exploring part-time options that could hopefully provide me with income and benefits, including a small web design business my husband and I have run for years and a small skincare products business.

Read more about people who’ve found themselves at a corporate crossroads

I’ve realized this could be a really long-term unemployment spell

During much of my job search, I was fairly optimistic because I’d previously found full-time jobs through my network. Over time, I’ve realized that I could be unemployed for a while.

I think my age might be holding me back in my job search, and that some employers view me as overqualified, given my past work experience and education. As a result, I’ve been conscious of the way I present and talk about my experience level.

Nowadays, I’m only half-heartedly looking for full-time work. If a job posting has more than 100 applicants, I don’t apply. I’ve resigned myself to semi-retirement.

If I have any advice for struggling job seekers, it’s that tapping into my network and family has been the biggest help for me, even if it hasn’t led to a job yet. I’ve had some former coworkers — more acquaintances than friends — reach out to tell me about jobs. I really believe that in this market — where AI might be the one reviewing your résumé — it’s all about networking.




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I moved from Southern California to Michigan so I could afford to buy a home. Living here changed me in surprising ways.

Born and raised in Orange County, I never considered leaving California until I got married.

We wanted to buy a house and start a family, but generally, the ones we could afford were fixer-uppers in neighborhoods we didn’t love.

So, we began looking at other states where we had family. My husband, who moved from Michigan to Los Angeles in middle school, swore he would never go back — and I couldn’t identify Michigan on a map or tell you one fact about it.

We didn’t want to be beholden to a big mortgage, though, and in Michigan, we could purchase an affordable home in a town known for having some of the state’s top public schools. Even better, we’d be welcomed by my husband’s big Italian family, who lived nearby.

When we told our friends we were moving to Michigan, they were shocked. All any Californian knew about Michigan was that it was cold and snowy — why would anyone choose that?

Now, 20 years later, I can confidently say it was a great decision.

When I first moved to Michigan, I experienced some culture shock


Fresh produce at a farmers market in Michigan.

At first, I had to adjust to the feeling of making small talk at markets and shops.

Kristi Valentini



In Orange County, I was the kind of person who would bury my nose in a magazine to avoid chatting with a hairdresser. I rushed through the checkout line and never said, “How are you doing?” to someone I didn’t know.

If small talk was ever forced upon me, I gave away as little about myself as possible. I never understood the point in discussing my life — or even something as simple as the weather — with someone I didn’t know.

In Michigan, though, small talk is unavoidable. I quickly learned that there’s no getting around friendly cashiers and shop owners. I was begrudgingly polite, but it initially took some effort to hide my impatience.

Chatting with neighbors feels much more commonplace here, too, especially because my subdivision doesn’t allow fences.

I was shocked to go from Orange County’s 6-foot cinder-block backyard walls to wide-open lawns and zero privacy, practically forcing me to interact with my new neighbors any time I gardened or enjoyed a glass of wine on the patio.

Over time, I noticed that having friendly neighbors and being a part of a community made me feel safer and more relaxed


A green backyard in Michigan with several trees.

My new neighborhood has less privacy than my old home did, but I’m glad I’ve gotten to know my neighbors.

Kristi Valentini



The kindness of Michiganders started to change me.

In my first year of living in Michigan, our mailbox got hit by a car while my husband and I were at the gym. Our neighbors had cleaned up the mess and gotten the driver’s info for us by the time we got home.

I was so surprised they would do that for us; it struck me as something that probably wouldn’t have happened back in California.

Then, when we had a baby three years into living here, another neighbor further down the street — one I hadn’t even met yet — brought us dinner just because she saw a baby announcement sign in our yard. I was touched that a stranger would go out of their way to do that for us.

When we started taking our kids trick-or-treating for Halloween, I discovered that Midwesterners do that differently, too. They didn’t just spoil the kids. They set up tables of spiked hot chocolate and Jell-O shots for the adults and invited people to warm up by their driveway bonfires. It became a community event.

Eventually, I found myself initiating connections with neighbors, too — and even starting up some small talk. It began with other dog-walkers in my neighborhood as our pups sniffed each other, and at the grocery store as a pleasant way to pass the time while being rung up.

Living in Michigan has changed what I value in a hometown


The writer posing with her two children in costumes on Halloween.

Living in Michigan has made me appreciate community in a new way.

Kristi Valentini



When I visited California to see friends and family a few years after living in Michigan, I could tell how much I’d changed already. It seemed rude to me when people didn’t say hi when passing me on a sidewalk, or when cashiers didn’t make chit-chat.

Because now, I’m the kind of person who makes caramel apples for my neighbors. I chat with fellow shoppers about candle scents in Crate and Barrel and know about my hairdresser’s children and chickens.

I even decorate my front porch — something I’ve noticed that nearly everyone in my neighborhood does. Seasonal wreaths and flowerpots, chairs with pillows and throw blankets, encourage people passing by to come on up and say hi.

I do sometimes miss California’s backyard privacy, and I’ll never stop using SoCal slang like “cool” and “dude.” Still, I’m glad I moved to a place that helped me become a friendlier person and taught me the value of community. I couldn’t imagine raising my children anywhere else.




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Eliza Relman

Three generations live next door — and it’s helping this family afford both housing and elder care

Lauren McCadney had always wanted to live next door to friends or family. In her late 50s, she finally made that happen, though not the way she’d planned.

In 2020, Lauren’s mother, who had been living with her brother and his family in Frederick, Maryland, died. Lauren, who was going through a difficult divorce and doesn’t have children, decided she wanted to be closer to her family and help her brother care for their dad, who was dealing with his own health challenges.

In 2021, she moved from her home in Chicago to Maryland, renting a house a few blocks away from her brother, James, her sister-in-law, Lorri, and twin 20-year-old nephews, Drew and Carter. In 2023, the five-bedroom house next door to James and Lorri went on the market, and Lauren bought it and moved in with her sister, Cheryl.


Lauuren McCadney's family home.

Seven family members across three generations live next door.

Charlotte Kesl for BI



Now the seven family members live between the two houses, sharing caregiving responsibilities for James Sr., the family patriarch, and forming what they call a family compound.

Multigenerational living was once the norm in the US. Before World War II, it was almost unheard of for older adults to live independently or to receive care outside their families, while younger people often waited until marriage to move out. That changed for millions of American families as they lived farther apart, independent living services for older people became more accessible, and more women joined the workforce.

Now, as the costs of housing, long-term care for seniors, and childcare soar, that trend is beginning to reverse. The McCadneys are one of a growing number of American families moving back in together — or never separating in the first place. The number of people in the US living in multigenerational households — those with two or more adult generations — quadrupled between 1971 and 2021, according to Pew Research.

“I feel very blessed and fortunate that we have the situation we have,” Lauren said, “because I have friends who are the primary solo caregiver, and that is hard.”


Lauuren McCadney and family.

The McCadneys split caregiving duties and expenses.

Charlotte Kesl for BI



Sharing caregiving and expenses

The McCadney family splits caregiving duties — and everyone saves money in their arrangement.

Lauren, who retired from her career in tech marketing in 2024, renovated her house to suit her family’s needs, refinishing the basement into a separate living space for Cheryl and making the first floor accessible for their father, who has a neurological condition that makes walking difficult and affects his memory.

Cheryl, who pays below-market rent, takes care of Lauren’s dog while she’s on vacation. Their brother manages most of their father’s personal and medical care, while Cheryl spends a lot of time with him during the day. Lauren likes to take her father, who uses a scooter, to restaurants, breweries, and concerts.

When any family member goes on vacation or is otherwise occupied, they know another family member will be there to take care of the elder James.

By not putting the elder James in assisted living or a nursing home, the family is saving significant sums. “Unless you’re a billionaire, I don’t think that most people have the luxury of saying cost is not a consideration,” Lauren said.


Lauuren McCadney's father.

The family is saving a significant amount of money by taking care of the elder James at home.

Charlotte Kesl for BI



They also appreciate the peace of mind that comes from knowing their dad is being cared for by family. Plus, James Sr. wasn’t keen on moving into a facility.

“We know that he’s going to get much better care, and from a socialization perspective, from a stimulation perspective, from having a reason to get out of bed perspective,” Lauren said. “That’s something you cannot put a price on.”

Drew and Carter, who save on rent by living at home, also chip in, including by helping Lauren. They mow their aunt’s lawn, give her rides to the airport, and recently drove her to and from eye surgery.

“I do love that my boys have lived their formative years in a multigenerational household,” said Lorri, who’s a teacher. “It is, hopefully, clear to them that love is an action.”

Navigating challenges and an uncertain future

There are real challenges with caring for an aging family member. The siblings don’t have as much flexibility or privacy as they otherwise would. Cheryl said that before she moved in with Lauren, she “had grown accustomed to living alone and having flexibility to decide when to or not to interact with others.” Living with family has changed that.


Lauuren McCadney

The family aims to strike a balance between all three generations.

Charlotte Kesl for BI



James and Lorri are sandwiched between caring for their kids and their parents, all while juggling full-time jobs. Even as the couple is on the precipice of becoming empty-nesters, they’re responsible for someone who’s ever more dependent on them.

“I know there are times when James is exhausted and or frustrated,” Lorri said, “and as his wife, that’s hard to watch.”

James, who works for Maryland’s Department of Human Services, said there’s a constant balance to strike in doing right by all of his family members.

“Am I taking anything away from my children, or did I take anything away from them?” he said. “We hope that we’re doing all the right things.”


Lauuren McCadney and family.

Multigenerational living is on the rise.

Charlotte Kesl for BI



The McCadneys don’t know how long they’ll stay where they are. Lauren’s house requires a lot of maintenance that she’d rather not have to deal with as she ages. Lorri and James hope to someday downsize and spend more time at the beach in their travel trailer. As long as the elder James is living with them, the couple said they’ll stay in their home.

Lauren doesn’t know who will take care of her when she’s older. She and her friends talk about buying a piece of land and building several small homes on it, creating their own communal living arrangement where they could share a caregiver and help each other out.

“A lot of my friends are sitting around right now having this conversation, which is, ‘We don’t have kids, who’s taking care of us? How do we do this?'” she said.

While so much about the future is uncertain, she’s taking one day at a time for now.

“I’m just happy that everything works for right now,” she said.




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