My boyfriend and I floated back to my apartment after dinner and a comedy show, feeling the warmth of pizza and laughter. As we cuddled up on the couch, we began to talk about moving in together.
By then, we’d only been together for six months. We knew this was fast, but the beginning of our relationship had felt idyllic, with a sense of ease that neither of us had experienced before.
We agreed that if things continued to progress, we’d move in together when my lease was up. A little over a year into our relationship, we were finally about to make it happen.
Our initial goal had been to rent a two-bedroom house, but the Denver housing market was more competitive than we’d expected. So, after months of searching with no luck, we decided that he and his cats would temporarily move into my 700-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment instead.
Excitement and nerves coursed through us as we told all our friends that he was moving into my space. I made plans to reconfigure the living room, hunted for a credenza to house his vinyl records, and even found a cat tree for his furry friends.
We never ended up moving in together at all.
Planning for our future felt easy until we had to talk about money
When planning to move in together, I knew we needed to have a direct conversation about finances; how we’d split rent and our bills.
As excited as I was about our future, I noticed myself feeling anxious to broach this topic with him. For the first time in my life, I was in a relationship where I made more money than my partner, and talking about this discrepancy in our incomes felt fragile and vulnerable.
He was paying astronomically low rent in his current apartment, so moving just about anywhere would mean shifting his budget — a reality I thought he seemed ready for and comfortable with.
When we decided he’d move into my apartment, we discussed splitting rent 50/50. I would also pay for utilities and some other household expenses to account for our income gap.
Then, the day after I thought we’d agreed on this, my partner asked if we could have a talk.
I sat down at my dining room table to meet his gaze. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and his face was pale as he told me that he didn’t feel comfortable splitting the rent 50/50.
He explained that he didn’t feel it was “fair” that I would be saving so much money and he wouldn’t. Then he shared a rent breakdown he felt was more equitable, but I wasn’t on board.
I tried renegotiating terms to a 60/40 split based on our actual incomes — one that would still lower his rent — but that didn’t work for him, either.
Our breakup wasn’t because of money, but because of values
The conversation shook me, unearthing doubts about our relationship.
It felt like living together wasn’t “worth it” for him if he wasn’t saving money, or upgrading to a larger home, that I wasn’t worth it. I felt alone in fighting for a future I thought we had planned together.
The whiplash of his words and choices burst the pink cloud of our relationship, leaving a smog of confusion behind. I couldn’t understand how he could sound so excited about our plans, then change his mind so quickly.
It dawned on me that this conflict wasn’t just about money, but rather about a fundamental difference in our values, and what it actually means to commit.
I paused our plans to live together while we tried to heal from the rupture in our relationship, but my trust in him was fractured. Four months later, we agreed it was best to part ways.
In this relationship, I had tried to ignore the discrepancies in how we viewed money and the tensions between us when the subject arose. I now realize the importance of being able to lean into this vulnerability — and plan to address financial concerns more directly with my next partner, in hopes that we’ll share a similar vision for our lives.
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