I didn’t think it would be this difficult.
I’ve handled a lot in my life—tenure, raising two kids, navigating campus politics, surviving the first year of online teaching (barely). But for some reason, when it came time to get serious about planning for retirement, I found myself staring at a wall of names and titles, wondering what any of it actually meant.
I live in Fort Collins. I’ve been a professor at CSU for nearly 25 years, and while I wouldn’t call myself wealthy, I’ve saved diligently, contributed to my retirement accounts, and tried to make smart decisions. But as I approached my mid-fifties, I realized I had more questions than answers.
Could I afford to retire at 62 if I wanted to?
How should I start drawing down retirement accounts?
Would I be penalized if I took money from the wrong bucket at the wrong time?
And maybe most pressing of all—how do taxes fit into all of this?
I needed help. But not just any help. I wanted someone who wouldn’t treat me like a portfolio, or worse, a commission opportunity.
The Alphabet Soup of Advisors
The first time I Googled “financial advisor near me,” I was hit with a list so long and jargon-filled, I nearly closed the browser.
CFP, CFA, CPA, RIA, IAR… It felt like I needed a financial advisor just to help me pick a financial advisor.
Eventually, I started calling a few. Some were friendly, others seemed too slick. One lady launched straight into an annuity pitch without even asking about my current situation. Another offered me a “free” financial plan, which sounded generous until I read the fine print and realized he made his money selling insurance products and mutual funds.
That’s when I started learning about the two types of financial advisors: those who are fee-only, and those who earn commissions.
Let me tell you—there’s a world of difference.
A Subtle Shift with Big Implications
I’ll be honest: when I first heard “fee-only,” I thought it just meant “more expensive.” Turns out, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
A fee-only advisor charges a flat fee, an hourly rate, or a percentage of assets they manage. That’s it. They don’t make money from selling financial products. No commissions, no kickbacks, no incentives to push a certain fund or insurance policy.
Meanwhile, many other advisors—some of whom also call themselves CFPs—make their income by selling you things. Life insurance, annuities, actively managed funds with high fees. And while some of those might be suitable for certain people, I learned the hard way that they are often sold to people who don’t need them.
One advisor I spoke with kept talking about how important “guaranteed income” was, and how “everyone” should have a fixed index annuity. It sounded nice at first—who doesn’t like the word “guarantee”? But after a bit of research (and a long night on Bogleheads.org), I realized what he was pushing came with high surrender fees and complicated terms that seemed designed to benefit the company, not me.
That conversation sent me down a rabbit hole I didn’t expect. I started reading forums, watching interviews with fiduciary advisors, and even went through some of the CFP Board’s own materials. And what I learned made me feel, frankly, a little angry.
“You’re Not Their Client. You’re Their Customer.”
I read a quote in a book—unfortunately, I don’t remember the title—but it said something like this:
“When an advisor earns commissions, you’re not their client. You’re their customer.”
That hit me hard.
It explained why some of the people I spoke to seemed more interested in getting me to buy something than understanding what I actually wanted. I didn’t need a product. I needed a plan. I needed someone to look at my TIAA accounts, my 403(b), my Roth IRA, my rental property, and help me make sense of it all.
That’s when I got serious about finding a fee-only fiduciary—someone who is legally obligated to act in my best interest, and who doesn’t get paid more for steering me into something complicated.
Meeting the Right Advisor
I found him through a recommendation in a Fort Collins women’s networking group. He was a CFP, fee-only, and had worked with a number of academics and university professionals. When we met, he didn’t start with a pitch. He asked me about my values.
He wanted to know what retirement looked like for me.
Did I want to keep teaching part-time? (Yes.)
Did I want to travel? (Absolutely.)
Was I helping my kids with college? (One yes, one no.)
And only after all of that did we even look at the numbers.
It was the first time I felt like I was being seen as a whole person—not just an account balance.
He ran projections that included taxes, social security timing, Medicare premiums, and even possible healthcare scenarios. He showed me how to make withdrawals in a tax-efficient order, and helped me weigh whether to convert some of my traditional IRA to a Roth before I retire.
It was the kind of comprehensive planning I had been looking for all along.
What I Wish I Knew Sooner
Looking back, I wish someone had told me these things earlier:
- Not all CFPs are fee-only. The designation alone isn’t enough. You have to ask how they get paid.
- “Free” advice often isn’t free. If someone’s giving you a plan at no cost, it’s likely because they’re hoping to sell you something.
- Fiduciary matters. It’s not just a buzzword. It means they are required to act in your best interest. Ask them directly: “Are you a fiduciary 100% of the time?”
- You don’t need to be rich. Many fee-only advisors offer hourly or project-based services, even if you don’t have millions in assets.
Closing Thoughts from a Professor Who Thought She Knew Better
I’ve spent my life in education. I thought I was pretty financially savvy. But navigating this world taught me that intelligence doesn’t protect you from bad advice—it just makes you more likely to blame yourself for falling for it.
So I’ll say this as clearly as I can: if you’re looking for financial guidance, find someone who sits on your side of the table.
Ask them how they’re paid. Ask if they’re fee-only. Ask if they’re a fiduciary, always. And don’t be afraid to walk away if something feels off.
We’ve worked too hard to let the fine print—or a slick pitch—undo the progress we’ve made.
If anyone local is looking for a recommendation, I’m happy to share who I’m working with privately. I know how daunting this process can be, and I’d love to help someone else skip the missteps I made along the way.
—A fellow neighbor who learned a few things the hard way
