How We Spend Our Money Is None of Your Business

When I met my husband, we quickly learned that we had a similar blueprint for how we spent our money. We both prioritized travel and experiences, and didn’t focus so much on personal belongings, having “things,” or on anything that was considered fancy or expensive. We had no desire to dine in five-star hotels, buy million-dollar homes, or keep up with the Joneses in any way.

One of our first dates was a road trip, destination unknown. We ate in dive restaurants with newspaper for table cloths and slept in a cheap little motel with two twin beds, noise from the interstate buzzing in our ears.

My perspective on how I spend money was shaped by a death in my family, of someone quite young, when I was 18. From then on, I knew it was important to not squander opportunities to see, do, or experience. My husband feels similarly, though for different reasons; he spent the first twenty-odd years of his life in rural and then suburban Australia. Once he realized how much opportunity the world held, he wanted to see it all.

Despite our shared desire to experience the world, we weren’t reckless with our money. We built up a nice savings during our first year of marriage. We lived in a city where the cost of living was low. We traveled, but often domestically, and always abided by our budget travel mentality: we ate at local restaurants; stayed in hostels, inexpensive hotels, or bed and breakfasts; and we found free or inexpensive ways to enjoy the place we were visiting. At home, we grocery shopped sales, used coupons, and kept a tight monthly budget.

Then we moved across the country, to a much more expensive city, which cost thousands of dollars. And then my husband changed jobs, leaving us without his income for a month. And then our dog died, after spending $8,000 worth of time in intensive care. And then we got hit with two huge medical bills, because health insurance in this country is bullshit. And then we needed to replace all four tires on our car.

And then. And then. And then.

Within a year, our savings was gone.

And then.

My husband — unexpectedly and inexplicably — was let go from his job.

Eff.

It’s not our practice to disclose our intimate financial details to the world, and so not many people — apart from my mom and sister, because I tell them everything — really knew the intimate details of our situation.

But of course we shared the news of our new situation with family and friends. It’s what you do, in close support networks. It’s a matter of courtesy, at the very least: This is what’s going on with us. We wanted you to know. At the most, it’s a way to ask for and offer emotional support to the people you love: Doesn’t this suck? I need someone to talk to. I’ll be here for you if this ever happens to you, too.

Most people that we spoke with were nothing but supportive. They commiserated with tales of their own job loss (which made us feel less alone) and how they got back on their feet (which made us feel hopeful). When you’re feeling down, it’s helpful to know that you have a supportive network waiting for you, ready to say, at the least: Hey — that sucks. I get it.

What we weren’t expecting was for people close to us to attack us — to use this terrible opportunity to point out how financially irresponsible we were.

Oh, yeah. I couldn’t believe it, either.

We were told that we spent money irresponsibly, that we traveled too much, ate out too much, and had a reckless lifestyle. We should, they told us, be more like them: rarely travel, buckle down, buck up, and get our lives together. It was time to act like grown-ups.

If we had asked these people for money, maybe it would have been appropriate for them to offer us such sage advice. Or even for them to tell us to fuck right off.

But we didn’t.

If we had mentioned anything about money, or being tight in our budget, or worried about the future, maybe I could see where they would want to offer unsolicited advice.

But we didn’t.

If we had asked for any advice, at all, then sure. Give all the advice you want! We would have asked for it, after all.

But we didn’t — my husband felt obligated to tell them before they found out through a third party. He didn’t want to hurt them by not disclosing the information forthright.

Because, you know: That’s what close support networks are supposed to do. Be supportive.

But they attacked him. Attacked us. While he — we — were already down.

Is it ever appropriate to attack another person’s financial decisions? Maybe, if that person is costing you money, or hurting you, somehow.

But if you just have a difference of opinion? Is it ever appropriate to even argue about it?

No. I don’t think it is. I think you should mind your own business.

We don’t need to agree on how we spend money, or on what our priorities are in life. If your decisions don’t affect me, then it’s totally cool if you want to fill your basement with balloon animals and Betty Boop figurines; or never travel, or never go out to eat; or dedicate a whole room in your house to your wealth, fill it with money, and swim in it, Scrooge McDuck style.

We spent our money to follow a dream to move to a state we loved; to travel to places we longed to see; to try to save the life of a member of our family.

We spent our money on life. It happens. It happened.

And even if we didn’t? If we spent it on sexy parties and put gold rims on our Subaru Forrester and took bubble baths full of champagne and truffle oil?

It doesn’t matter.

It’s our money.

And how we spend our money is no one else’s business.

After about six weeks, we’re still searching for the right job for my husband. We’ve learned that it has to be the right opportunity, not just any opportunity. For me, as soon as I heard the news I took my freelance business into overdrive — with incredible results. I set a financial goal for the month of July, and by July 15 I had already surpassed it. So, in one way, his job loss was my job kick-in-the-ass; I had no idea I was capable of producing so much, making so many connections, and meeting goals I hadn’t thought possible.

We pulled back from the relationships that were unnecessarily harsh to us, and re-established our bonds with the people that offered advice in good faith and loving support. We realized how much we valued the people who treated us with kindness and empathy. During a hardship — and during our lifetimes, hardships will happen, whether they are financial, emotional, or physical — it’s important to have a network that you know you can count on.

After this particular hardship, our network—and our relationship—is stronger than ever.

Kristin Diversi is a star-child. A unicorn/monkey hybrid, she spends her days hopscotching dreams and moonbeams. After graduating magna cum laude with a BA in History and an MS in Nutrition, she delighted her parents and the student loan companies by deciding to follow her heart and do absolutely nothing related to any of her degrees. She is a full-time writer and editor and would love to connect with you on Twitter, Facebook, or Medium.

She is deeply flawed and terribly whimsical.

Dream big. Be bigger.

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