What happens when your partner’s career is thriving but you’re barely surviving?

Since my partner Kayleigh and I met four and a half years ago, we’ve always split things equally – the rent and bills for our shared flat, the cost of holidays, weekly shopping and meals out. But this year, almost overnight, we suddenly found ourselves earning vastly different incomes. While Kayleigh’s TV show In My Skin was released on BBC and she was hired on other big writing gigs such as Killing Eve, the podcast reporter job I was due to begin in April was cancelled the day we went into lockdown, and I’ve been struggling financially since.

According to reports by Relate, a quarter of people said money was their biggest relationship issue as a result of the pandemic, and finances were the second highest source of tension for couples after childcare. And while Kayleigh has been an amazing support, both emotionally and financially, I’ve spent the year cringing on the frequent occasions I’ve had to ask for help.

Money worries and debt are difficult to tackle even in strong relationships – adding strain and altering power dynamics. For me, they’re tied up with my sense of self and how I want my partner to see me. When we met, I was a “success” with a full-time job on a national newspaper, and treated her to weekends away and dinners without thinking about it. She’s been happy to pick up the bills this year – she’s pragmatic and knows it makes sense for us to work as a team – yet I still find it hard to accept.

Jo Coker, psychologist and spokesperson for the College of Sexual and Relationship Therapists, points out that in long-term relationships, we shouldn’t see helping each other financially as a “loan”. She has used joint money within her marriage to study. “I just think of it as part of the family financing,” she says, “the point of a relationship is you fundamentally have each other’s back.”

We’re in our thirties, and while many older couples merged finances when they got married or dealt with shifts in earning power during the child-raising years, one of the best things about being gay is that, with no gender role blueprints, you default to equality. Neither of us ever imagined a “breadwinner” style situation, where one of us would support the other, and I’ve found it increasingly uncomfortable.

During the summer, our sweet old cat had to have teeth taken out and I sweated on the pavement outside the vets as they told me it was going to cost close to £1,000 – not covered by insurance. I felt guilty about calling Kayleigh, asking her if she would be able to pay. That guilt makes me avoidant: I don’t want to talk about money, because it makes me feel bad. And that has also meant that I avoid talking about future plans that would involve money that I don’t have, such as buying a house.

I have consciously made the effort to clean and cook more often. There are different currencies in relationships that need to be acknowledged, says Coker. “If you had to pay for somebody to do the cleaning, the shopping and the cooking, that would cost a lot of money. Those jobs are an equal contribution to the finances of the house.”

The key thing is communication, says

Anna Goodwin, a finance expert who offers training and mentoring. “Be open about money and how you were brought up.” Agreeing a budget might be helpful, to avoid any awkwardness or resentment: “It might be that the person earning more contributes more towards household costs, or tops up the money of the lower earner.”

I am very lucky to be with a partner who happily offers her support without judgment or expectation. At the same time, it’s been a bit of a personal reckoning that has challenged my own insecurities. I’d be the first to offer a friend the easy wisdom that selfworth shouldn’t be tied up in money or career, and I still stand by that. But it’s easy to believe in the abstract – harder when you’re brushing the cat’s few remaining teeth again so your partner can do the “real” work keeping you all in fish-flavoured toothpaste.