I Relied Heavily On My Wealthy Ex. When We Broke Up, I Had To Re-learn How To Think About Money.

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Courtesy Jamie Valentino

• Three years ago, I broke up with a wealthy ex and set out on my own, and it was a wake-up call.
• I realized I had tied up not knowing about money in my identity, and I had to stop relying on him.
• I may miss the glamour that my life with him afforded me, but I'm glad to be financially independent.

I recently marked three years since my official breakup with my ex, Brandon, and it took serious willpower not to wish him a happy anniversary. Our turbulent, on-and-off relationship was chaotic enough that I went celibate for a year afterward, but we've managed to look back on it with humor and a shared sense of accountability for our respective mistakes.

Regardless, I swore I'd never return to Brandon, and I kept my word. But I've been too afraid to cut him out of my life completely.

While it's not uncommon for exes to become friends, especially in LGBTQ+ breakups, my ex got upset when I described our relationship as platonic. I felt obligated to remove myself from his life to help him make space in his heart for someone else, but I selfishly struggled with the reality of not having anyone to fall back on — especially financially.

Moving in with a wealthier partner made it easy to lose sense of the lifestyle I could afford

I should've predicted it would be challenging to end communication with someone I've depended on so heavily — emotionally, financially, and for all the little joys that come with being with someone who treated my happiness like their own.

The problem was that Brandon's controlling nature and short temper simultaneously became the source of my misery.

So, on that note, I landed in Tulum Pueblo in June 2021, seeking an escape from a household fueled by fights. Switching my expenses from dollars to pesos allowed me time to recalibrate my future without him. I didn't know my budget or what I could afford because Brandon covered all our bills and then some.

I was proud of myself for not letting financial comfort keep me in an unhappy relationship any longer. Yet, there I was, dragging my overpacked luggage aimlessly up the scorching streets — sweating from nerves and heat — wondering what the hell I was going to do.

I arrived at my monthly sublet ready to pave a new beginning, only to be met with a glare from my landlord. She had forgotten to mention that payment was cash only and still blamed me for not having it. I couldn't move in until I procured the money, which would take a few days due to ATM withdrawal limits.

Even after I left Brandon, he was the only person I felt comfortable asking for help

"I'm going to be homeless!" I panicked to Brandon on the phone.

"You're asking me to help you leave me?" he said halfheartedly.

I didn't actually ask Brandon for help, but he wasn't wrong. I called him subconsciously (or maybe consciously) in times of trouble, knowing he'd try to find a solution. He suggested sending me money via Western Union, which I could access immediately.

Unexpectedly, he instructed me not to pay him back, advising me to save my funds for another emergency. It appeared he understood my situation better than I did.

Though I relied on Brandon's help to secure a roof over my head that night, I laid down and closed my eyes, convinced I didn't need him. Unfortunately, as I kept learning, life was more nuanced than my best intentions.

I called Brandon when my phone was stolen while I was living in Colombia the following year, when my LASIK payment plan reached its grace period with interest piling up like an avalanche, and most pathetically, when I simply overspent, clinging to a lifestyle that was no longer mine, even in pesos.

My problem was rooted in the fact I had never cared or learned about money

I never learned how to save money and used to believe my aloof relationship with money was admirable. I didn't date Brandon because he was well-off, but it facilitated existing in the contradiction of not prioritizing money while treating it like no object.

Still, my millennial generation and Latin culture raised me on the values of hustling and earning my way. I'd never feel comfortable asking a family member or close friend for even a small loan, so Brandon was right: We were not platonic.

I faced the reality that I was one of millions of Americans whose lives could be upended by suddenly needing to cough up a few thousand dollars. Letting go of Brandon would've replaced my safety net with concrete.

Let's be honest: Emotional support is abundant when you have people who care about you. However, when the problem is financial, even loved ones become like ostriches, burying their heads in the sand until the crisis ends.

The best way to avoid falling is knowing no one is there to catch you. Knowing that was how I made it on my own before I met Brandon. Whether I meant to or not, I needed to stop taking advantage of his unconditional love for me.

As I returned permanently to U.S. soil this year, I began looking for an apartment. Once again, habit tempted me to call him since I needed a guarantor for the place I had my eye on. But I kept looking, determined to find the life that belonged to me.

It was less glamorous than I expected, but it was a more affordable price than my integrity or happiness.

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