I cut up up with my boyfriend – however I did not realise I could not afford our snug life-style as a singleton

Calling my sister to borrow her Netflix login details while sitting in my ice cube of a flat – I refused to put the heating on and instead opted to wear numerous layers – I thought about how different single life is to what I had expected when I broke up with my boyfriend three years ago.

We were together almost seven years before we split in early 2021. 

When we moved in together, I went from a fairly rancid shared house (where my roommate and I formed a trauma bond after being tasked with killing a rat, and were advised by our landlords to urinate in the garden to deter the foxes), to a decent flat with my partner in south-east London.

By no means the grandest of homes, it felt like I’d finally arrived into adulthood – we had underfloor heating! A concierge! We bought throw cushions and lamps for mood lighting, and lots of (fake) plants.

As well as the obvious costs like rent and bills, we also shared a Spotify Premium Duo account that offers a cheaper rate for couples, a Netflix subscription, supermarket shops at Waitrose, and Christmas and birthday gifts for our families.

Holidays to Iceland and New York were split equally, and we took turns buying rounds in the pub, paying for meals out at nice restaurants a few times a month, or spending our cash on gig tickets.

But what I didn’t realise was that our new middle-class lifestyle was largely affordable because we were splitting the costs down the middle.

Although I started the conversation about our break-up, we mutually agreed it was for the best. The harder choice was what to do with the flat – but eventually I made the decision to carry on with the tenancy alone.

After splitting from her boyfriend in 2021, Sophie stayed in their one-bedroom flat on her own  – since then she’s been shocked by how much her rent and bills have soared

I thought I was braced for the huge jump in costs, but it was still a shock. 

My rent and bills doubled to a worrisome figure, almost wiping out my savings. And then there were the other, more surprising costs of singledom.

I couldn’t face life without Spotify Premium, but sharing my sister’s Netflix account soon became impossible with the streaming service’s new rules, so I’ve since cut back to their most basic package and have to watch shows with adverts.

Even things like being unable to share an Uber home after a night out have been a hit to my finances, while little luxuries like fancy hair care products or expensive exercise classes have been sacrificed.

I’ve swapped romantic meals for two from Waitrose for shopping for one at Aldi and switching a £5 pack of Lurpak butter to Aldi’s cut-price Norpak. Sure, I could probably find smarter ways to budget – but let’s be honest, it’s never been one of my strengths.

There’s not even the possibility of getting a housemate to cut monthly costs, as my tiny flat consists of just a bedroom, living area and bathroom.

Of course, this is all personal choice. I could have moved out of my place at the same time as my ex and gone back into a house share.

But at 28 I didn’t particularly want to live with a group of strangers in a grotty house again. While this is a rite of passage for anyone in their late teens or early 20s, it didn’t feel right to be going backwards after getting used to a higher standard of living.

Sophie has swapped romantic meals for two from Waitrose for shopping for one at Aldi – but says singletons are penalised in a world that is geared towards couples

And living with a friend somewhere nice wasn’t an option – almost everyone I know is loved up and living with their partner.

In fact, three years on, those same friends are beginning to get married. 

I absolutely love a wedding. But it’s just one more occasion when being single puts you under financial strain. 

Couples get to share the cost of their hotel room and split the price of the gift, while I pay twice as much just to look equally generous.

Last Christmas, my sister suggested we split the cost of gifts for my parents. 

I’d pay half and she and her partner would pay half. I didn’t think it was particularly fair that I should pay half the cost so they could effectively contribute a quarter of the payment each.

My few single friends tell me I’m not alone in carrying this single burden. 

It’s awkward and distasteful to bring up the subject of money with loved-up friends: it’s not that they don’t care, but it can be harder for them to understand our point of view. I was probably guilty of the same when I was with my ex.

In all honesty, it had never really occurred to me that my money would take such a huge hit when I left my partner – and while I like to think it wouldn’t have affected my decision, I can’t wholeheartedly be sure that I wouldn’t have thought twice.

Last year, data showed a third of Britons continue their relationship because they can’t afford to live on their own while mortgage rates skyrocket; another quarter said they could afford to live alone, but their standard of living would radically decline.

The fact is society is geared towards couples – and when it comes to money, that means big penalties for splitting up.

Everything from Spotify Duo subscriptions to supermarket ‘dine in for two’ offers to holidays. So while I don’t particularly miss my ex, a bit more money in my back pocket every month would certainly be nice.