Thirty-odd years ago when I was in my mid 30s, I saw an advertisement for a free financial counselling session at an inner-city community centre.

I was interested: first, because the counsellor bore the same name as a dear brother of mine, a hopeless financial manager whom my father had bailed out more than once.

But less flippantly, I wanted to buy my own place.

I was over communal living. I met with the counsellor, having done the required preparation.

I had tallied up my expenses, my income, and set down three goals. I really only wanted advice on what I'd have to do to buy a place of my own, but to meet the required brief I added a toaster and a heater, both of which I needed at the time.

The counsellor looked at my paperwork and proceeded to strike a line through "buy my own place", and matter-of-factly said, "On your income you can't afford to buy a property; put your name down for public housing".

He then said, "Let's focus on the toaster and the heater."

When I recounted the story to my sister she remembered they had a spare heater in their garage, and a friend told me she had a thoroughly cleaned toaster that her kids wouldn't use because of a dead mouse incident. I accepted both!

Some time later a friend told me a local housing co-operative was looking for someone with a disability on a low income to move into one of their flats. I qualified and I applied.

I was unsuccessful but was given membership and told I'd be advised when something came up.

The co-op had 43 properties – some were relatively recent "infills" but most were "spot purchases", that is, heritage houses sprinkled unsuspectingly throughout this sought-after suburb.

The households were mixed but were predominantly sole mothers with children. Over the next couple of years I battled on in an expensive, low-grade rental.

In time, I was offered a small Victorian terrace in a prime street nearby. I jumped at it and haven't looked back.

While co-op living is not always rosy, the positives outweigh the negatives. The rent is 25-30 per cent of a tenant's income, and when the income meets a high-ish ceiling, a market rent kicks in.

In my case, the rent structure has been a real safety net, particularly during periods of hospitalisation and lengthy rehabilitation.

At a recent party the main topic of conversation was the inability of the guests' adult children to buy into the housing market.

Our host bemoaned the money she'd spent on her kids' private schooling – she wished she'd put it towards a property instead.

The solution is surely investment in more public housing, or the more palatable title, social housing. Build it well and maintain it properly.

Money reader Beatrice Kelly is retired and volunteers at Woor-Dungin, an organisation that works with a number of Aboriginal communities to advance their goals.