Painful but Clever Lessons from Lending Money to Cheats
No classroom, textbook, or seminar could have imparted the wisdom I gained through the tough experiences of lending money.
Ironically, the lost money turned into tuition fees for the school of hard knocks, teaching me invaluable truths about financial responsibility and boundaries.
This isn’t a tale of bitterness or regret; it’s a journey of growth. If you’ve ever lent money to someone and regretted it, my story might resonate with you.
The First Knock: Trust vs. Responsibility
Once a friendly person told me that he was in a tight spot and urgently needed money. I didn’t hesitate — I handed over what he needed, confident that he would repay me as promised. Weeks turned into months, and the repayment never came. I found myself making excuses for him, convincing myself that he would honour his word eventually.
But instead of repaying me the old money, he asked me for more, telling me, with hesitation and embarrassment, that he had got into unexpected trouble. Another plea for help. Moved by emotions, I felt sorry for him and lent him the requested amount, even reproaching myself for being selfish and suspicious.
Then came another gentleman, who had lost his job, and told me his problems, as friends do. He told me that he had resourceful relatives, but his high self-respect wouldn’t allow him to ask for help from anyone. For him, it was better to be hungry than to compromise his honour.
He didn’t ask me for any money, though I knew that he was in dire need. Then one day, he hesitated and told me that he considered me his brother and asked for a little sum, promising that he would repay me the money at the said date. I felt grateful to help him and then glad because he returned the money as promised.
I got convinced of his honesty; he walked the talk by keeping his word. Time passed, and I gave him money twice or thrice and received it back.
Then one day, he came to me, appearing really anxious. With a choked voice, he asked me for a whopping sum, and I gave it to him. After all, he had already won my trust.
This time, my good intentions backfired because when, after a few years, I asked him to repay me the sum, he drastically decreased the original amount. I had not transferred him the money online, nor had I made him sign a note. I also had no witnesses because it was a question of his dignity. There wasn’t any proof, so I had to bite the bullet.
And the most curious part? He still has to pay even that decreased amount.
It was the time when several bad loans, all given in the spirit of serving others, left me financially strapped. For the first time in my life, I felt the sting of scarcity — not because I wasn’t earning enough, but because I was giving too much.
I vividly remember the day it hit me. Though I had lent others money for their children’s school fees, it was ironic that I had to ask money from others for the very same reason. My credit cards were used up, bank accounts were depleted, and I realised I didn’t have enough money to cover it.
That moment of helplessness was my wake-up call. I wasn’t just jeopardising my finances; I was risking my family’s security. It was about responsibility, and I had failed to prioritise my primary duty: ensuring my family’s well-being.
The Eye-Opener: Savings Aren’t Optional
As the debts piled up, I started noticing something curious about the people who borrowed from me. Many of them had savings and assets — policies, fixed deposits, even properties. Yet they hesitated to dip into their reserves when they needed money. Instead, they’d reach out to people like me, claiming urgency.
At first, I felt indignant. Why should I deplete my resources to help someone who wasn’t willing to touch their own?
But then I realised the deeper lesson: financial stability isn’t just about how much you have; it’s about how you manage it. These borrowers were protective of their own wealth, even if it meant risking someone else’s. That realisation pushed me to rethink my own approach to money. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up with nothing to protect.
Right at this time, I heard about financial experts suggesting that everyone should have an emergency fund: accumulated earnings of six months reserved for surprises. Life is unpredictable. Accidents, prolonged illness, job loss, or anything similar can push you into troubled waters, and it’s during this time that you can tap into your emergency fund.
The realisation that I hadn’t even prepared for a month’s emergency went down in me like a Roman candle.
I began setting boundaries — not just with others, but with myself. I stopped lending money unless I was prepared to write it off as a gift. I felt in control of my money. For the first time ever, I drew up a roadmap for my finances: budgeting, saving, frugality.
At the same time, watching myself gradually climbing out of debts gave me a sense of security I hadn’t felt for a long time.
Yes, I’m grateful to have true friends who offered me money, and got angry when I hesitated in asking from them. Unlike me, my friends had the judiciousness of choosing the right borrower. Their kindness taught me that lending money isn’t inherently wrong; it’s about discernment and responsibility.
The Hardest Lesson: Saying No
Saying no didn’t come naturally to me. It felt uncomfortable, even selfish. But every time I hesitated, I reminded myself of the helplessness I’d felt when I couldn’t provide for my family. That memory gave me the courage to set boundaries, even if it meant disappointing others.
One day, a friendly person called, asking for a significant loan. I could hear the urgency in his voice and felt the familiar tug of obligation. But instead of giving in, I calmly explained my stance. I told him that my family’s financial security came first and that I couldn’t risk jeopardising it.
It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I had already felt how hard it had been for me to ride over the flood of guilt that my submissiveness had triggered when I wasn’t able to provide for my family, and under no circumstances was I willing to go through it again.
Now I knew I had to become a responsible guardian of my family – not an emotionally foolish guy who was too quick to lend money.
Graduation Day: A New Perspective on Money
Looking back, those painful experiences shaped my financial philosophy. They taught me that money isn’t just a tool for transactions — it’s a measure of responsibility, a means of protection, and a reflection of priorities. I’m no longer the person who says yes to every request, nor do I feel guilty for saying no.
If there’s one thing I’d want you to take away from my journey, it’s this: your financial well-being is as important as your desire to help others. Lending money may feel like an act of kindness, but it’s only truly kind if it doesn’t come at the expense of your own stability.
In the school of hard knocks, every loss is a lesson. And while I’ve paid my fair share of tuition fees, the education I’ve received has been priceless.
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