We were tired of fighting about money. Every month brought arguments, sometimes loud, sometimes cold and silent. Bills, groceries, househelp, fuel, DSTV, rent and everything became a debate.
It wasn’t even about who earned more. It was about who felt unseen. So I made a suggestion that was genius.
“Let’s split everything 50/50. No more confusion, no more resentment. Equal.”
He agreed. In fact, he was visibly relieved. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. I felt like I had just solved all our problems. No more tension.
It worked for about three months.
Rent? Half.
Groceries? Half.
Fuel? Half.
Kids’ fees? Half.
We even created a shared Google Sheet. Colour-coded and everything. It was neat. Efficient. Like we were finally adults.
But then life happened.
One morning, I woke up and he was just… not okay.
I asked what was wrong. He said he was “fine.”
But I knew that “fine.” It was the Nigerian man, “fine.” The “I’m sinking but I won’t tell you because I’m a man” fine.
Eventually, after pushing gently, he admitted he had helped his cousin pay rent. He didn’t want to say anything because it was “his problem,” and we had already split the bills.
So I said, “Well, you should have told me. I could have covered more this month.”
He looked at me and said:
“That’s not the point, I don’t want to be rescued, and I want to feel like I’m enough.”
That line hit me like a slap.
I thought splitting things down the middle would protect us, but it didn’t. That it would keep resentment away and balance power. But what I didn’t understand was that emotional support is just as crucial, if not more, than financial equality.
It was a hard truth to swallow-fair doesn’t always mean equal.
Because while I was still emotionally available after work, he was drained.
While I could still carry some extra costs, he couldn’t ask for help without feeling small.
And that’s the thing about marriage in Nigeria that we don’t talk about: how money becomes a measure of worth. How “I can’t contribute this month” sounds like “I’m failing you.”
That night, I made a symbolic decision. I closed the spreadsheet, marking the end of our rigid financial arrangement.
I sat next to him and said,
“Let’s stop measuring. Let’s start carrying.”
Since then, we have continued to handle bills. But with flexibility and softness. Some months, he gives more.
Some months I do. But it’s no longer about 50/50.
It’s about both of us being okay, even when that means one of us is carrying 90 for a while.
Visit marriageandmoney.com.ng for money conversation templates to help you and the person you wish to share love and life with.
Adetutu Afolabi is a Personal Freedom Coach helping families build wealth through aligned values and intentional living. She believes strong relationships are key to lasting financial freedom
Copyright 2025 TheCable. All rights reserved. This material, and other digital content on this website, may not be reproduced, published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed in whole or in part without prior express written permission from TheCable.
Follow us on twitter @Thecablestyle