It started with one ‘emergency’ purchase. A plush Egyptian cotton duvet set that was finally on sale, but still eye-wateringly expensive. I couldn’t quite afford it until payday, so I casually whacked it onto my credit card with the quiet promise I’d clear it next month.
It didn’t feel like real money — more like a harmless splurge Future Me could deal with. But when next month rolled around, Future Me was still paying it off… while Present Me was busy adding dinner with friends, an unexpected bill, and Friday night’s food shop to the card. Before I knew it, my debt had crept up to nearly £9,000.
And here’s the part I’ve never said out loud: my partner has no idea.
We share everything — the mortgage, holidays, and the kind of unfiltered bodily oversharing you only get with long-term love — but when it comes to the quiet, creeping panic of debt, I clamp my mouth shut. Not because I’m afraid of him or think he’d blow up, but because I worry he’d see me differently. Less capable. Less together. And yes, I’m ashamed.
If you’ve ever hidden a financial truth from someone you love, you’ll know the weight you bear isn’t just about the numbers on a statement. It’s the constant hum of carrying something alone. For me, it means quietly shifting payments around while nodding along to conversations about weekend plans. Smiling as I agree to book concert tickets, all the while knowing there’s nearly 10 grand of debt lurking in the background; a figure I have no idea how to clear.
And I’m not alone. A recent study by ClearScore found that one in six of us — around 17% — are hiding debt from a partner, whether that’s a loan, a credit card balance, or an overdraft.
For some, like me, it’s about dodging judgment. For others, it’s about avoiding a row that somehow ends with a full audit of who’s been buying what since 2021. In fact, the same research shows that one in five of us often argue with our partner about money, while a similar number (22%) find the subject so awkward they’d rather avoid it altogether.
It all makes sense to Dani Palmer, CMO at Loqbox, the UK’s leading credit-building business. “Let’s be honest. You’re not just in a relationship with your partner, you’re also in a long-term situationship with money. And it’s… complicated,” she says.
“That’s why some people hide debt or savings from their partners. It’s less about the numbers and more about the feelings they stir up: fear, shame, pride, or just wanting to avoid an awkward conversation. We all bring our own money backstory into a relationship, often shaped long before we met, and sometimes they don’t match.”
The financial flip side
Financial secrecy doesn’t always mean maxed-out credit cards. Sometimes, it’s the opposite — and it can be just as loaded.
According to smart-money app Plum, 38% of Gen Z and millennial women have a secret savings pot. Not for blowout shopping sprees, but as a safety net — money that’s theirs alone. For some, it’s an ‘in case of emergency’ stash. For others, it’s the freedom to make a financial decision without having to explain or defend it.
For Erin, 27, from Birmingham, that judgment isn’t hypothetical, it’s something she’s experienced. “If I save, I’m seen as boring. If I spend, I’m reckless. There’s no middle ground,” she says. “I save because it gives me peace of mind, not because I’m trying to be frugal or impress anyone.”
Her version of financial secrecy might look nothing like mine — she’s sitting on a cushion of savings, I’m quietly drowning in credit card debt. But the emotional driver is surprisingly similar. We’re both keeping money truths from our partners to hold onto a sense of control.
But when you don’t talk about it? That’s when financial secrecy can calcify into something far more damaging. It’s what Daren Banarsë, senior psychotherapist at IN Therapy in central London, calls ‘financial infidelity’.
“It can be just as damaging as cheating,” he says. “It doesn’t just break trust, it can shake the very foundation of a relationship. I’ve seen couples together for years suddenly questioning what they thought was solid. It’s not just the deception that hurts, it’s the emotional breach that comes with it.”
And the toll on the secret-keeper can be just as brutal. “The stress of hiding something big can lead to anxiety, insomnia, and even physical symptoms like headaches or digestive issues,” Daren explains.
“Intimacy often suffers, because that sense of psychological safety is gone. Many couples fall into cycles of surveillance and defensiveness — one partner watching every penny, the other feeling constantly monitored. Left unchecked, it can push partners into parallel lives: still together, but emotionally disconnected.”
How to start the conversation
Okay, so that’s terrifying-slash-depressing. But what can I do about it? How do I even begin to start talking about this with my partner when the thought of spilling my financial truth makes me want to run away to Bali (I’ll whack it on the credit card… joking), and never come back?
Daren says the key is to start small. “Don’t wait for the ‘perfect’ moment — it rarely comes,” he says. Break it down into steps you can handle. The first conversation doesn’t have to be the whole truth; it can simply open the door.”
Timing matters too. “Don’t bring it up mid-argument or as you’re heading out the door. Choose a moment when you both have time and space — maybe a Saturday morning coffee or a quiet evening in — so it feels less like an ambush.”
When you do speak, focus on how you feel. “Try, ‘I’ve been feeling anxious about our finances,’ or, ‘I realise I haven’t been fully open with you and I want to change that’,” Daren suggests. “Leading with vulnerability invites empathy, which makes it easier to work through the details together.”
If you do open up, the work doesn’t stop there. For the person who’s kept the secret, Daren warns, rebuilding trust means showing up with consistent transparency. “That might mean sharing account access, giving regular updates, and being clear about your plan for paying it back. Trust doesn’t come back overnight, but it can be rebuilt when your actions match your words.”
Finally, let go of perfection. “You don’t need to have every answer straight away,” he says. “What matters is showing a willingness to be open and to work through it together. That openness builds trust far more than pretending everything is fine.”
It’s advice that makes sense. And, honestly, as I sit here with my £8,789 of debt and my clamped lips, the secrecy still feels heavy. But for the first time, I’m thinking about ways to set it down. Not in a single Love Island-worthy dramatic reveal, but bit by bit, with the same kind of consistency it took to build the debt in the first place. For now, I’ll take Dani’s and Daren’s advice on board: start small; keep it regular; focus on connection, not perfection. Wish me luck.
