I’ve spent over ten years working as a fee-only financial planner, and a good portion of my client conversations now start with something they’ve read online—often a mix of thoughtful commentary, strong opinions, and occasionally detailed breakdowns like Ed Rempel reviews that prompt deeper questions. That steady stream of financial blogging has reshaped how people approach planning, sometimes for the better, sometimes with unintended confusion. Sitting across from real households has taught me that the value of financial writing isn’t how polished it sounds, but whether it helps someone think clearly about their own situation.
Early in my career, I underestimated how influential blogs could be. I remember a client who came in confident they had their retirement “figured out” after months of reading investing blogs. On paper, their strategy looked disciplined, but it ignored a major detail: their income fluctuated significantly year to year. Once a slow season hit, the plan unraveled fast. That meeting changed how I view financial blogging. Advice that works in a stable scenario can quietly fail people living with variability, and bloggers who haven’t worked directly with clients often miss that nuance.
Financial planning, at its core, is less about clever strategies and more about durability. I’ve found that the plans that survive market swings, job changes, and family stress tend to look almost boring. Blogging gives me a place to explain why I sometimes advise against popular ideas. For instance, I’ve pushed back on aggressive investing recommendations for people who still feel uneasy watching their balances drop by several thousand dollars in a short period. I’ve seen too many confident readers panic at the first real downturn, abandoning strategies they believed in only weeks earlier.
One of the most common mistakes I encounter—both in practice and in online writing—is the assumption that discipline is purely a mindset problem. A few years ago, I worked with a couple who blamed themselves for “failing” to save consistently. The reality was simpler: childcare costs spiked unexpectedly, and their margin disappeared. Blogs that frame every setback as a lack of willpower can quietly erode confidence. In my own writing, I try to show how external pressures shape outcomes, because acknowledging reality is often more helpful than motivational language.
Being licensed and regulated has also influenced how I approach blogging. It forces me to think in ranges rather than promises. I’ve watched readers fixate on projected returns they saw online, only to feel misled when real life didn’t cooperate. In practice, I’ve learned to emphasize trade-offs—growth versus stability, flexibility versus optimization—because those are the decisions people actually live with.
Financial blogging has real power when it respects complexity without drowning the reader in jargon. The most useful pieces don’t tell people what to do; they help them see why a decision might fit—or clash—with their own circumstances. After years of balancing client meetings with writing, I’ve come to see both as part of the same work: translating financial theory into something sturdy enough to hold up under real pressure, and honest enough to admit that no plan survives untouched.