‘I can’t AFFORD my FRIENDS’

Relationships can falter when fortunes change – but can you find common ground?

The ‘peer wealth gap’ is familiar to many of us, particularly as we rebuild our lives after the pandemic. Of course, it’s nothing new – it was perfectly illustrated by an episode of Friends in the 1990s. When the six go out for a meal in a swanky restaurant, the less-affluent Joey, Phoebe and Rachel order tap water and the cheapest side dishes, while the others choose freely from the menu. When Ross divides the bill equally, an awkward conversation ensues. ‘I just never think of money as an issue,’ Ross shrugs, to which Rachel retorts, ‘That’s because you have it.’

Money can create tension in close relationships. And when it comes to friendships, it can cause unwelcome stress, especially when you have less disposable income than your pals. So if you’re struggling to keep up with the Joneses – whether they are friends or neighbours – you’re not alone. And while we can’t magic a pot of gold, it’s worth remembering there are things money can’t buy.

Psychotherapist and coach Sarie Taylor says that while it’s understandable to feel awkward about differing financial situations between friends, it’s vital not to get hung up on them.

Friendship is about joy, love and connection – none of which comes from money. How many of us have decided to be someone’s friend because of how much money they have? Take a look at your personal relationship with money. Perhaps you link it to worth and success? Often, our ideas are more about how we see ourselves than what others think of us.

We all have insecurities. Compassion for ourselves and acknowledging we’re doing our best is key. There will be times when we need to lean on the support of others. Imagine if the tables were turned. Would you resent treating a friend whose company you enjoyed? Of course not! Enjoy your friends and remember: you are so much more than your bank balance! ✢ Find Sarie Taylor coaching at worldwidewellbeing.co.uk

‘IT’S ALL ABOUT CONNECTION, NOT MONEY’

Sarah*, 54, from East Sussex, knows tricky situations can easily arise.

I vividly remember the last time my best friends and I saw each other before the pandemic swept away my old lifestyle. We were at our favourite spa, chattering away as our nails were painted, planning a weekend in Paris. Lockdown put paid to that, of course, as well as the international business training company my husband and

I had run for eight years.

Our post-pandemic landscape was very different. Our income had capsized and we were struggling to rebuild the firm online. We’d never been rich, but we’d been comfortable. Not any more! Our modest savings were rapidly vanishing on monthly bills.

In the past, when I was stressed and under pressure, I’d naturally turn to my friends, but I was conscious of a new divide because their lives had been untouched. They either had salaried jobs in sectors that hadn’t been affected, or were married to wealthy men. It was wonderful to be finally reunited for a get-together, but looking at the gastropub menu, I exclaimed, ‘How can they charge £16.50 for a Caesar salad?’ The others looked blank – they had no need to check the prices. I couldn’t help feeling envious of that lack of anxiety.

When talk turned to a shopping day in London, I silently calculated the cost. With the train, coffee, lunch, drinks and taxis, it would cost at least £150 before I even entered a shop. I had to be honest. ‘I just can’t afford it right now,’ I said, explaining the financial hit we’d taken. They were understanding, but when they insisted on paying for my lunch, I squirmed with embarrassment. I couldn’t bear to be pitied when we’d always been equals.

The next time we saw each other, I ignored their protests and picked up the bill for coffee and cakes, paying on a credit card, for the sake of my pride.

‘I COULDN’T HELP FEELING ENVIOUS OF THAT LACK OF ANXIETY’

They were diplomatic, didn’t rub my nose in it by talking about the holidays they’d booked or the clothes they’d bought, but that made me sad. Why shouldn’t they share the things they were excited about, as we always had? Did they save those conversations for when I wasn’t around?

Not enjoying Cinderella-hood, I’d shop online for second-hand clothes. ‘You rock the vintage look,’ one of the girls said one day. She meant the compliment kindly, but I couldn’t help feeling patronised, especially as I knew her new coat would have cost more than my food and fuel for a month.

I tried to stay positive, but deep down, I was terrified I’d lose my favourite people because our lives just weren’t compatible any more. I hit an all-time low when they finally went on that Paris weekend – without me.

They posted a Facebook picture from a luxury spa with the caption, ‘Mani-pedi day!’ I felt demoralised, to the tip of my toes – literally! – and booked myself a basic pedicure in the cheapest beauty place in town to try to lift my spirits. As my feet were stuck into what looked like a plastic washing-up bowl full of tepid water, the contrast between that and my friends’ glam salon was so extreme that even I could see the funny side. But there was no one to share it with.

A few months later, one of the girls had a 50th birthday party in her garden. I’d fretted for weeks about my outfit, but after a few glasses of fizz, I began to relax for the first time in ages.

Late that night, slightly tipsy, my girl gang and I snuggled under a blanket by the firepit, gossiping and giggling. It was like old times – and it brought home to me that no one cared I was wearing an old dress, or that I’d done my own highlights. Money could come and go, but we’d always be the same people inside, who loved each other for who we were, not what we spent.

‘I was conscious of a new divide between us’