Hi Reader

I had a meeting this week with a couple I'll call Dave and Sarah. They are exploring working with the team and me to help them plan and live their retirement.

They are both (in their words) "about 5 years from retirement". Financially sorted, decent pensions, no debt issues, classic textbook case, should be straightforward.

We're having a really great conversation about what they want life to look like going forward. We're going through some of their numbers, everything's looking good, they're on track, they'll be comfortable, and then Sarah says something that makes me genuinely pause and sit a bit more upright.

"The thing is, Dave just wants to save it, and I just wanna spend it."

The funny thing is, Dave nods, he doesn't even try to deny it, he just sits there looking mildly guilty like he's been caught doing something wrong.

And I'm trying not to laugh because this is literally the opposite dynamic in my house! My wife Diane is the saver who questions whether anything is actually worth spending money on, I'm the one suggesting we do things that cost more than a Wetherspoons breakfast, and we're both convinced the other one is slightly mad.

But it's the way Sarah said it that stuck with me, not frustrated exactly, more resigned, like she's been having this same conversation for years and knows they're about to have it for the next 20 more unless something changes.

Here's the thing... I have this conversation in some form with almost every couple I work with, this fundamental clash between partners about what money is actually for in retirement, one person wired to accumulate and protect, the other wired to enjoy and experience, and it doesn't matter which way round it is, it causes the same tension in every household.

Which is why I wanted to write about it this week, because navigating this is a huge part of the work I actually do with people. Retirement planning isn't just about whether the numbers work; it's about whether you and your partner can actually agree on what you're retiring to without killing each other in the process.

What's actually happening here

The saver, whoever that is in your relationship, has spent decades building this pot, watching it grow, probably making sacrifices to get it to a decent size, and now you're asking them to start depleting it, watching the number go down instead of up, and that feels absolutely horrible.

Even when the maths says it's fine, even when the projections show you'll be comfortable until you're 95, their nervous system is screaming, "we're eating through our reserves, this is dangerous, stop spending immediately."

And honestly, that's not irrational, it's actually quite sensible. The saver has been responsible for decades, they've built something significant, they've delayed gratification, and now someone's asking them to voluntarily make the number smaller and trust that it'll all work out fine.

But here's where it gets more complicated, because it's not always about fear of running out; sometimes it's about something else entirely.

Let's talk about Diane and me (and I need to be a bit careful as a few readers know her well!)...

Diane's version is about wastefulness; she's got this worst-case-just-in-case frugality that was drilled into her by her dad, and it runs deep; it's not "we can't afford this," it's "but is this wasteful?"

And that's a completely different conversation because wasteful is subjective and emotional and basically impossible to defend against.

I'll suggest something, and she'll ask, "Do we need the nice hotel or will the cheaper one be fine?" and technically she's absolutely right, the cheaper one would be fine, we don't need the nice one, but also if we only ever do what we need and nothing we want, then what exactly was the point of saving all this money?

And I know I'm being unfair here because I've got my own version of madness. I'll suggest spending £500 on an experience without blinking, but I'll spend 20 minutes researching which brand of kitchen roll represents the best value per sheet; my spending logic is completely inconsistent, and Diane is right to question it.

Her version of extravagance is quite modest actually, we're not talking about flying first class, we're talking about whether it's wasteful to get a coffee out instead of making one at home, and she's got a point, we don't need to spend £3.50 on coffee, I just like it and think life's too short to deny yourself small pleasures, but that's my programming not objective truth.

For the spender, and I'm definitely in this camp, along with about half my clients, including Sarah, retirement is finally the moment you get to enjoy what you've built. What's the point of all that saving if the primary achievement is having been really good at not spending it?

But the spender has their own issues, and I see this in myself constantly. There's this underlying anxiety that if we don't spend on experiences now, we'll miss the window, we'll get old or ill and regret not doing things, and that fear can make you push for spending that isn't actually necessary just because you're trying to avoid future regret.

And if I'm honest, sometimes I suggest things not because I particularly want them but because I'm trying to prove a point about living fully, which is possibly even more ridiculous than Diane's fear of wastefulness.

Neither perspective is wrong; that's what makes it so incredibly annoying to navigate, and why it's such a massive part of the work I do with couples approaching retirement.

Why this gets worse in retirement

When you were working, this tension was easier to manage because money was still coming in, you could spend on some things and save the rest, and the pot kept growing anyway; everyone got something they wanted, peace was maintained through the magic of continued employment.

But in retirement, that income tap shuts off, and suddenly every pound spent is a pound that will never be replaced, and the saver feels that loss acutely, whilst the spender feels the restriction acutely, and you're both right and both frustrated.

And this is where couples like Dave and Sarah come to see me, looking slightly haunted, because they've realised they're about to spend the next 20-30 years having the same argument on repeat, and that sounds absolutely exhausting.

You can't just split the difference; you can't spend half what the spender wants and save half what the saver wants, because you're living one shared retirement, making joint decisions about where to live and how to spend your days, and those decisions cost money.

Dave keeps questioning whether things are necessary, whether they're being wasteful, whether the cheaper version would be just as good, and he's not wrong to question it; he's built a decent pot by being careful and sensible for 40 years.

Sarah wants to travel, do things, actually use the money they've saved, and she's not wrong either; they've got enough, they're in good health, and this is exactly what they saved for.

And I'm watching them and thinking, you two are about to retire with plenty of money, and you're going to spend the next 20 years having the same argument about whether every experience is worth its cost, unless we can find a framework that works for both of you.

Which is exactly why this conversation needs to happen now, in the planning phase, not five years into retirement when you've both entrenched into your positions and stopped even trying to understand each other's perspective.

What this is probably really about

And this is the bit I end up explaining to clients constantly, the money isn't the actual issue, it's what the money represents and what spending it means to each of you.

For the person with the frugality programming, spending money on non-essentials feels morally questionable, like you're being wasteful or indulgent or not being a good steward of your resources, and that judgment is really hard to shake, even when the logic says it's fine.

And that's actually quite admirable in a way, they've been responsible their whole lives, they've made sacrifices, they've built something significant, of course, they're protective of it.

Diane can look at our bank balance, acknowledge we're fine, agree intellectually that we can afford something, and still feel uncomfortable about spending on it because somewhere deep in her brain, her dad's voice is going, "but do you really need that?" and she's trying to be a good steward of what we've built.

And she's not wrong to question my spending logic because, honestly, I can be a bit cavalier about it. I'll justify £150 on dinner because "experiences and memories", but then I'm also the person who once spent 45 minutes choosing between two nearly identical pairs of trainers because one was £12 cheaper. My internal value system makes absolutely no sense.

For the spender, it represents freedom, possibility, the ability to actually live the retirement you've worked towards, and the constant questioning of whether things are worth it feels restrictive.

But the spender needs to acknowledge, and I include myself in this, that sometimes we're not actually spending on things we genuinely want, we're spending to prove a point, to rebel against decades of being careful, to avoid future regret, and those aren't actually good reasons to spend money.

I fear that we'll get to 75 or 80 and realise we've got plenty of money, but we're too old or too ill to actually do the things we wanted to do, that we'll have wasted the healthy years being careful and sensible.

Diane fears that we'll spend freely now, and then something unexpected will happen, and we'll wish we'd been more careful, and that's also completely legitimate.

We're both trying to avoid different versions of future regret, and neither of us knows which version is more likely to happen.

The work I actually do

And this is where the actual planning work comes in, because this isn't just a relationship issue you muddle through; this is something we can actually address and navigate if you're willing to have the uncomfortable conversations.

Part of what I do with clients like Dave and Sarah is create a framework for these decisions. We model out what you can actually afford to spend, we stress test it against every horrible scenario you can imagine, and then we create spending parameters that both people can live with.

For the saver, having a plan that shows "we can spend this much and we'll still be fine even if everything goes wrong" permits them to actually enjoy some of the money without the constant anxiety.

For the spender, having actual numbers that show "yes, we can afford to do these things" gives them ammunition, but also having boundaries that show "actually, we can't afford everything you want to do" provides necessary reality checks.

Because honestly, left to my own devices, I'd probably spend too much trying to avoid future regret, and Diane knows this about me, which is why she questions things, and she's right to.

But more than that, it's about getting both people to articulate what they're actually afraid of and what they actually want, because most couples have never had that conversation properly; they've just had 40 years of surface-level arguments about specific purchases.

Dave and Sarah need to have the conversation about what "wasteful" actually means to Dave and whether protecting against wastefulness is more important than actually living, and what "living" actually means to Sarah and whether it requires specific experiences or if she's just reacting against feeling restricted.

And that's exactly the kind of thing we work through in the planning process, not just the numbers but the psychology, the programming, the fears, the different visions of what retirement should look like.

Diane and I are still figuring it out, honestly. Even with me doing this for a living, we're getting better at it. She's learned that some experiences are worth the cost. I've learned that not every experience I suggest is actually something I want or need; sometimes, I'm just being defensive about spending.

But it's ongoing, it doesn't just resolve, you have to keep checking in because what feels like wasteful shifts and what feels like living shifts, and you're both changing.

The question

Which one are you, the person who questions whether spending equals value, or the person who thinks not spending on experiences is wasting your life?

And more importantly, can you see why your partner sees it differently, not because they're wrong but because they're trying to avoid a different version of future regret?

Because most couples are having surface arguments about whether the hotel is too expensive when the real conversation is about two different fears of getting retirement wrong, and until you have that deeper conversation, you'll never find a way through that works for both of you.

And this is exactly the kind of conversation I facilitate with clients all the time, because retirement planning is about so much more than just the numbers, it's about navigating these fundamental differences in how you see money and life and what you want your retirement to actually look like.

The saver isn't wrong to want security, and the spender isn't wrong to want experiences; you just need a framework that gives you both enough of what you need without either of you feeling like you're compromising on what matters.

So which conversation do you actually need to have?

P.S. - If this dynamic is playing out in your house, hit reply and tell me about it, I'm genuinely curious whether everyone's having the same fundamental argument in different forms, and whether the saver-spender split is always as clear as it seems or if it's more nuanced than that.