Couples Navigate Financial Anxiety Together in London

During my year studying abroad in London, I worked as a bartender, juggling school costs with minimum-wage jobs. My manager, Henry, a working-class Londoner, shared similar financial struggles. Despite my scholarship to Smith College, I relied on paychecks and student loans to make ends meet. Growing up on a small farm, I knew what it meant to face financial hardships; my family often qualified for free school lunches, and I vividly remember my mother’s distress at grocery bills.

As exams approached, I took extra bar shifts, spending long nights with Henry instead of my boyfriend back in the U.S. While my classmates planned vacations in Ibiza, I was developing a bond with Henry. Our conversations about life and his struggles with Type-1 diabetes created a unique connection. When I returned home, I felt a mix of longing and heartache, especially after Henry texted to meet me for coffee one last time, but I couldn’t reply due to a lack of phone credit.

After graduation, I moved back to London for a master’s program, and Henry helped me settle into a flat. We decided to share rent, a financially motivated choice that deepened our relationship. Over three years, we created memories—romantic walks, job celebrations, and cozy moments in our tiny apartment inside an old church. However, the financial strain was constant. I took on a second job to manage bills, and I often found myself asking my sister for loans to cover expenses.

Despite the challenges, our love flourished within our paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle. We relied on each other, but I began to wonder whether our relationship thrived on financial dependency. When we got engaged and planned to move to the U.S., I hoped for a fresh start and better financial stability. Moving to Massachusetts, both of us found jobs related to our interests, yet our financial struggles persisted.

Henry’s diabetes management became a burden due to high medical costs and complicated insurance issues. I proposed moving in with my parents to save money, which provided temporary relief but strained our relationship. Our lives shifted dramatically when my mother’s cancer returned, and we lost our beloved cats to illness. With bills piling up, we could barely afford rent. My sister lent us money for a security deposit, but the stress of financial instability took its toll on us.

When Henry expressed his desire for space and independence, I dismissed it, thinking it was a selfish request. I felt trapped in a cycle of survival, believing we had proven we could thrive on little. But I soon realized that our relationship was deteriorating. I moved back into my childhood home after my mother passed, while Henry packed up our life together. The loss of my mother compounded the grief of losing my partner.

In therapy, I began to re-evaluate my beliefs about happiness and stability. I had always thought that financial security would lead to a better life. Losing my mother forced me to confront the reality that life does not always follow a predictable path, and not everything can be controlled. In this process, I found a sense of acceptance. Despite the hardships, I learned to focus on my resilience.

Five years later, I returned to London and reconnected with Henry. We met in a familiar neighborhood, reminiscing about our past. He had dealt with his own family tragedy, and we shared our experiences in a way that felt healing. Our amicable divorce was a practical decision, and we both felt relief at the end of a complicated chapter.

Now, we both have new partners and lives. Despite the challenges we faced, our friendship endures. I learned that wanting more for myself was not a betrayal of our shared history but a step toward personal growth. Our experiences with financial anxiety shaped our relationship, teaching us what truly matters in life—support, understanding, and the willingness to grow individually and together.