Money Confessions: When Independence Costs More Than I Bargained For

I swiped right and boom! It was a match. Back in 2017, on a Friday night, we met for the first time at the then Mojo’s in town—a blind date preceded by a torrent of chats and late-night video calls. I was buzzing with excitement but also a tad nervous. As the independent girl I am, I jumped at the chance to pay the bill. He insisted otherwise, but I was determined to prove that not all girls were out to “eat” men's money.

On our second date,, and we split the bill 50/50. But from then on, I kept paying. Not that I was complaining—there’s a feeling that comes with taking care of the check, a sense of empowerment. My mom always told me never to go on a date I wouldn’t be able to pay for. Little did I know, I was letting it go too far.

Fast forward to 2019, when we moved in together. Even though I had moved into his house, I felt the need to take charge. Sure, he paid the rent, but I covered the utility bills, groceries, and all our outings.

Just before the pandemic, we had our massive wedding—guess who had to chip in? Yep, yours truly. By this time, my husband had resigned himself to my way of doing things, no longer pushing back. I think I broke a good man.

When the pandemic struck, we had just moved into a bigger house—the “matrimonial house,” as we called it. The rent was higher, and since my husband worked for a startup, unfortunately, it did not survive the storm. The company closed down and he inevitably lost his job. Suddenly, I was the sole breadwinner.

That’s when I felt the shoe pinch. 

Our rent was almost triple what it had been, and it felt like climbing a steep hill without a safety net. I pressed on, determined to make it work. But by mid-2021, I was sinking into debt, drowning in bills I couldn’t pay.  Sadly, I had bulldozed my way trying to prove to my husband that I could handle everything and was too hard-headed to ask for his help,  he took a backseat and let me have it all. 

He tried to find jobs, but in my frustration, I felt he wasn’t trying hard enough. When online gigs began popping up, I subtly suggested he take one. “I prefer the old-school way, I mean, who can trust these online schemes?” he said, shrugging off my suggestion.

Meanwhile, I was pregnant, sinking deeper into debt, feeling stranded and overwhelmed by my own choices. It was a dark place, and I fell into a deep depression. Thank God for my friend Sue, who, on the eve of my baby shower, sat me down for a reality check.

“Girl, with a baby on the way, your financial situation is only going to get tighter. You need to resolve this ASAP,” she told me. Her advice was hard to swallow: we had to give up our apartment in Kilimani and move to a more affordable place on Kiambu Road. My husband shrugged it off, resigned to whatever I decided.

I was reminded of my dad’s saying: “Nguruwe hujikaanga na mafuta yake”—a pig cooks itself in its own fat. I learned this the hard way.
In my quest for independence, I had deprived my husband of his pride as a provider. Sure, helping out here and there is great, but I had overshadowed him in a way that hurt our relationship.

The pivotal moment came at a marriage counsellor’s office. It was our last stop before divorce—fights had become our norm. “You need to let him lead,” the counsellor said. We had to unlearn so much. 

Now, we’re working on things, slowly but surely. We’ve reduced our counselling visits from once every week to once a month, taking baby steps toward healing. I’m learning to give up control, allowing my husband, whom I nearly lost, to reclaim his role.

I had done a number on him, and it’s a journey to mend that.
So, take heed when your mom warns you about “hawa wasichana wa mtandao!”—I was one of them, lost in my independence, unaware of the damage it was causing. They come with their perks!

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