My secret money behavior pushed me and my husband of 29 years to the brink of divorce… that is the change I made to save lots of our marriage

I felt the usual flush of excitement as I raced to the front door last autumn and grabbed my parcel from the delivery driver before my husband could reach the door. I had no intention of letting Andrew see what I’d bought.

It wasn’t a birthday present or a thoughtful surprise. It was another guilty purchase from a second-hand fashion site: a beautiful black coat, £20, originally £250, from Bella Freud for Marks & Spencer.

Even in the sale it had been £150, so I told myself I’d snagged a bargain.

Upstairs, behind a locked bedroom door, I tried it on but there was no warm glow of retail satisfaction. Instead, I felt sick, as £20 or not, I couldn’t afford it.

For years, I’ve soothed stress with spending. Family crises, anxiety, unemployment – I’ve always told myself there is nothing a haircut, highlights, new pair of trainers or a new dress can’t help fix.

Until recently, I’d earned a good salary, around £50,000 a year, and the odd £20 or £50 here and there didn’t feel dangerous. But my circumstances have changed.

Last spring, menopause symptoms forced me to leave my unsympathetic employer. I made a decision to continue freelancing but also retrain as a secondary school teacher, studying for a Postgraduate Certificate in Education (PGCE) in English. 

This is a one-year qualification that prepares you to be a teacher. I also had the option of teaching media studies or politics – something I’d long wanted to do.

At the same time, Andrew, also 55, left his six-figure job as a software engineer to pursue a PhD in the psychology of AI three years ago.

To boost our income, we decided to rent out our granny flat, which is attached to our four bedroom home in Bishop’s Stortford, Hertfordshire, on Airbnb.

Until I left my job, we had always kept our finances largely separate. Each month, he would pay a share of the mortgage and bills into my account, and I managed the direct debits.

But two years ago, our mortgage rose by £500 a month when our term ended and we opted for another fixed rate (it would have shot up even more, by £800, if we had gone on to a standard variable rate).

At the same time, our energy bills also soared and the cost of our weekly food shop crept up. My work was not as plentiful as it had been and so our income took a hit at the worst possible moment.

I had also taken out a loan in 2023 to cover home repairs and appliances after our bathroom flooded into the kitchen.

I had planned to repay it within four years. But suddenly, over two years in, the extra £900 a month repayments became overwhelming.

So when my new coat arrived in the post, it immediately became a symbol of my shame and financial denial.

Andrew has always been more frugal. He will wear shoes until there’s a hole in them and he shops at Aldi and Lidl, while I go to Sainsbury’s or Waitrose for ‘top-up shops’ that add up alarmingly fast.

He’ll do a £100 bulk shop twice a month; I’ll spend £30 here, £40 there. Because our accounts were separate, it was easy to pretend our habits didn’t affect each other.

But when our income dropped last summer and we had to tighten our belt, our separate financial realities became a source of marital tension.

At one point, Andrew made a hurtful comment about me ‘not pulling my financial weight’. I was furious because I had, at various times in our 29-year relationship, been the main breadwinner.

I had also sacrificed career progression to be home when our daughters, now age 12 and 17, came back from school.

As our financial tensions simmered, we considered booking marriage counselling, but that was another sore point – we would have to fork out £75 for a one-hour session.

Instead I phoned my bank, Lloyds, on their customer helpline and told them I needed to speak to someone in their financial assistance team. I know from my financial contacts that banks have specially trained staff to deal with situations like ours.

I explained my situation and admitted I was struggling with my loan repayments. The woman on the phone was calm and practical, and probably did more to help than any therapist could have.

We talked through my options with the loan and we agreed to reduce my repayments to £50 a month. But she also went one step further – we talked through all my day-to-day spending and we agreed on a revised repayment plan.

During the conversation – and it felt like a conversation even when I was going through my expenses – I suddenly felt a new sense of freedom.

I was in a space, emotionally, where I felt equipped to take account of my spending. I’d been so busy, so frantic, so overwhelmed that just 30 minutes on the phone helped me unravel my emotions from my finances.

In the weeks since, I have stopped pretending I can shop my way through uncertainty. Spending money to ease my overwhelmed mind just meant I was getting even more overwhelmed.

Andrew, for his part, agreed we needed to combine our finances more, and admitted his comment came from anxiety, not resentment.

He used part of a smaller pension pot to pay down some of the loan we took out to refurbish the extension on our house.

He acknowledged that I had made compromises on my career; I recognised the effort he had poured into launching the rental business.

Most importantly, we made one fundamental change: we now run all our finances through our joint account.

This means Andrew now knows exactly what I spend and on what and I know what he spends.

I still get paid into my personal account but transfer all my income each month and only use my joint account to spend. Andrew does the same. This means we can see every penny that each other spends.

We still have our own accounts, this is something Sara Maxwell, founder of Wealth Coach agrees can help some couples. She says: ‘There are always a lot of conversations to be had by couples as to how they combine their finances.

‘Some do throw everything into a joint pot but this might not work if you don’t necessarily agree on everything.’

Maxwell said most couples tend to keep a joint account into which they pay a set amount each month and a separate account for themselves.

For now, all our finances are being combined. I have kept my bank account to receive child benefit and pay the extras – including mobile phone insurance and AA cover but that money will be fed in through from the joint account.

Maxwell tells me that I have taken the first step to addressing my emotional spending by acknowledging it.

I will complete my PGCE next year and as my finances recover from being a student, Maxwell told me it might be helpful to have a financial wish list. She says: ‘This can include anything from lipstick to a holiday.’

The purpose is to have a treat fund that allows me to have ‘joy spends’.

She also advises me to have a 24-hour thinking window before splurging on anything.

My joy spends can then come from a restrained place where I have budgeted for them.

She also told me to take my cards off Apple Pay, so when I’ve got disposable income, I don’t go and spend it all on Vinted.

My husband is pleased with the new me and our combined finances.

Moving to a more unified system forced us to have more transparency so that every expense is visible. It may not be romantic – but it is honest.

Here’s how combining our money saved our marriage and what we learned on the way.

1. Joint accounts aren’t always enough

We had a joint account for bills, but it didn’t give a clear picture of our overall spending. Now, more of our income flows into shared accounts, and we review it together.

It’s not about policing each other. It’s about understanding patterns. My ‘small’ shops were more than Andrew’s bulk buys. His £100-a-month tobacco habit was quietly draining funds too – and pushing up life insurance premiums by £30 a month. I can now see this and it gives us a much fuller picture of our spending as a couple. This makes it easier to set a budget each month.

2. Keep personal pensions personal

Whatever your domestic arrangement, maintain your own pension pot. Andrew and I both have individual pensions. That independence matters, particularly for women who may take career breaks or reduce hours for family.

It can be tempting to rely entirely on a husband’s pension but this can create an imbalance in the relationship. Retirement provision should never depend entirely on a spouse.

‘Financial intimacy is healthy, but dependency is risky,’ said Maxwell.

3. Build an emergency fund – and agree its purpose

We keep three months’ worth of mortgage and bills in an emergency savings account. It used to be six, hopefully we can build them up again.

We also agree together what constitutes an ‘emergency’. A leaking roof? Yes. A kitchen upgrade? No!

Because I’m more impulsive, Andrew manages the emergency fund. It plays to our strengths. Financial teamwork isn’t about equality in every task; it’s about fairness and trust.

4. Talk about money histories

Andrew grew up in a household where his father was the main – often only – breadwinner. He rarely saw him and wished he had. That has shaped his desire for a better work-life balance.

I grew up believing financial independence meant freedom. Spending felt like autonomy. My mum had separate finances from my father and stepfather.

Neither situation was ideal. My parents argued over money when they divorced and my mum and dad fought for years in court over who would pay for what. It’s perhaps no wonder I get so emotional about money. I’ve been known to cry when I get paid.

5. Don’t ignore emotional spending

Retail therapy worked for me for a while. I know friends who can afford to throw money at their problems but in my case, it was affecting my marriage.

I still love clothes. I need my gym membership and my Peloton so until I’m on a full-time salary again, those will have to be my therapy.

We came close to serious damage. Financial stress magnifies every fault line in a marriage. But paradoxically, losing income forced us into deeper honesty.

That black coat still hangs in my wardrobe. I wear it often. Not as a symbol of guilt, but as a reminder: secrecy costs far more than £20.

Combining our finances didn’t just stabilise our bank balance. It restored something more valuable – the sense that we are, once again, on the same side.

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