While our house was under construction, my former husband had recurring dreams putting me at the wheel of a car steering the family down a steep and winding road, heading toward the precipice.  Alternately, I was piloting a small plane (I wish!), in which my husband and two children were likewise headed for a fiery crash.  It didn’t take training as a Freudian analyst to get the message of his unspoken night-time dread.

I had been the driving force for our moving into a house.  To get us out of the small two-bedroom apartment, in which our pre-teen son and daughter shared a room.  A couch, one easy chair and the piano were wedged into the living area, above which a narrow loft fit a desk and computer -- my husband’s haven.   This was to be temporary, until we sold our home of ten years, having relocated from another state.  Within six months, the arrangement was looking too comfortable for my husband, who liked being free of the burdens associated with home-ownership, and resisted the financial commitment.   By his own admission, he could live in a cave (as long as he was with those few he loved, and had access to his computer game). 

The female of the species seek proper shelter for their families and, without us, I’m not sure men would have ever left caves (though they would have discovered power tools).  Our family became isolated, with no community; I worried that the school system was large and chaotic.  My husband’s focus was on his career, in fitting in his new work environment.  He gave little credence to my concerns about the children’s well-being (“They’ll be fine”) and showed no inclination to changing a living situation that became increasingly unsatisfying.  The children and I felt displaced and strangers in this apartment complex.  The longer this transitional phase persisted, the more extended the lag in rebuilding a sense of belonging and friendships that meant home.

My views “prevailed” in this instance.  Our marriage didn’t collapse then; it survived nearly four years in our new home.  Over time, unaddressed differences in attitudes around money – what it means, what to do with it, and how we negotiate decisions -- were a big source of the alienation and resentment undermining our relationship.  The therapists we consulted (we called them “the Wise Women”) unwisely recommended we put off talking about money issues – even though we recognized money had become a problem.  I wish they had just admitted that, like most therapists, they didn’t feel competent discussing finances.  Guarding their professional credibility, they didn’t refer us elsewhere; a crucial mistake.  I realize that traditional talk therapy for couples must be a challenging specialty – certainly I can’t see that any of the counselors we sought out at different times helped us make significant breakthroughs.  There has to be a better way.

It’s become clear to me that conflicts about money actually manifest deeper differences around values, security, life purpose, and power-sharing.  Obviously, as this story tells, we disagreed on the importance and meaning of home, even on what makes a home.  Like many couples, discussing differences related to finances was a potential minefield.  The symptoms of our particular stand-off were ominous.  Had we known how to safely go deeper (assuming we could agree on that goal), and explored together what money meant to us in terms of security, we might have seen the basis for our conflicting priorities.  That would be the better way.

I believe such unaddressed differences are common among couples.  How money comes between us points to contrasting beliefs of what is important.  Because money is entwined with everything, money can serve as a lens to get a better view of your relationship.  Masquerading as judgments like “thrifty” (aka “tightwad”) or “spendthrift” (as opposed to “enjoys giving and appreciate life’s good things”), and lost in arguments like whose views are the “right” ones, are valuable clues pointing to deeply personal beliefs about what matters in life.   So those fights about money?... Or energy spent avoiding fights?...  It’s not about the money.