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Within these lyrical pages lies a poignant narrative of love's trials and triumphs. A tapestry of human connection, it explores the delicate balance between vulnerability and strength, the erosion and restoration of trust, and the transformative power of emotional intimacy. It celebrates the resilience of the spirit and love's ability to heal and renew. This is a journey of rediscovery, where silent pains give way to the courage of authenticity, and fractured bonds are mended through the beauty of a love reimagined and reborn.
Andre Davis is a passionate writer exploring the intricate dynamics of family and relationships. With a keen eye for detail and a deep understanding of human connections, he crafts narratives that resonate with readers. His work delves into the joys and challenges of familial bonds, offering insights that inspire and provoke thought. In addition to his focus on relationships, Andre also writes on general topics, blending personal experience with universal themes.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026
LOVE UNDER PRESSURE
Andre Davis
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2025 by Andre Davis
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published by Spines
ISBN: 979-8-90222-012-1
To my wife, the heart behind every page and the reason I believe in forever.
This book was born out of conversation, heartbreak, and the hope that it would bring.
For generations, Black couples have loved in the shadow of struggle, sometimes silently, sometimes loudly, always courageously.
What follows is not a manual but a mirror: a reflection of what we inherit, what we endure, and what we can rebuild.
It blends research, history, and real-life stories to explore why Black marriages face unique pressures and how we can overcome them with honesty and grace.
To every couple fighting to stay together while the world pulls them apart, this is for you.
“Black love has always been revolutionary.”
It has survived forced separation, economic injustice, and the weight of unspoken trauma. Yet even the strongest love can fracture under pressure.
In Love Under Pressure, A. Davis brings together truth and tenderness. He writes with the voice of someone who has witnessed both the fire and the beauty of commitment.
This book does what few others dare it name: the systemic and emotional forces that shape our unions and provide fundamental tools to heal them.
Every chapter offers insight, strategy, and hope. You will find your story somewhere in these pages and, more importantly, a path to rewrite it.
Dr. Celeste Jordan, LMFT
Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist
Atlanta, Georgia
To my wife, your patience, laughter, and unwavering belief in me made this possible.
To every couple still fighting for their love, your courage keeps our culture alive.
To the ancestors who loved in secret and the elders who loved in silence, this book is your echo turned into language.
And to every reader: may you find not just endurance, but joy.
1. The Legacy of Love and Struggle
2. Modern Love, Modern Pressure
3. Healing Intergenerational Trauma and Building Lasting Intimacy
4. Financial Stability, Partnership, and Long-Term Planning
5. Legacy and Healing Summary
6. Black Men and the Burden of Emotional Suppression
7. Healing Between the Lines: Therapy, Masculinity, and Re-connection
8. The Silent Weight: Black Men, Mental Health, and the Cost of Suppression
9. Fathers, Sons, and the Future of Emotional Freedom
10. The Work of Forever: Love, Legacy, and Liberation
11. The Silent Burden: Black Men, Mental Health, and the Cost of Stoicism
12. Learning Survival: The Art of Emotional Freedom
13. Love After Healing: Building New Emotional Blueprints
14. Emotional Maintenance: Keeping Love Healthy in a Chaotic World
15. Rest as Resistance: How Joy Sustains Black Love
16. Rebuilding Trust: The Bridge Back to Love
17. The Language of Healing
18. Parenting with Purpose
19. The Blended and Broken Family
20. The Village Still Matters
21. The Next Generation
22. Faith After the Fire
23. Still, I Rise: The Resilience of Black Love
24. Redefining Masculinity and Femininity
25. When Two Become Purpose
26. The Legacy of Us
27. Freedom to Feel
Afterword
Reference
“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”
- James Baldwin
Before freedom, before legal vows, before rings and ceremonies, Black love in America began in defiance. On the plantations of the American South, love was a radical act of imagination. Enslaved Africans were forbidden to marry or build families with legal recognition; their partners and children could be sold away at any moment. Yet, within those impossible conditions, men and women found one another, whispered promises beneath the stars, and created rituals that said, We belong to each other even if this world denies it.
Jumping the broom became more than a custom; it was a declaration of love and unity. Couples would leap together over a broomstick laid on the dirt floor, marking a union that the law refused to honor. These moments affirmed what the world tried to erase: that Black people were capable of love, loyalty, and family.
But the trauma of those years embedded deep scars in the collective psyche. Separation was a constant threat. Mothers watched their children being sold to distant plantations; husbands vanished without a goodbye. That relentless instability created survival habits that echo across generations: an instinct to guard emotions, a fear of abandonment, and the silent belief that to depend on love is to invite loss.
Scholars such as Herbert Gutman (1976) and Wilma King (1995) have shown that even amid slavery’s brutality, enslaved families fought to stay connected. Letters, secret visits, and coded songs carried messages across distances. When people were separated, they formed fictional communities that served as substitutes for their blood relatives. That networked sense of family remains one of the cornerstones of Black resilience today.
Still, the economic system of slavery commodified relationships, teaching generations that love could be interrupted at any moment. The legacy of instability shows up today in attachment styles that therapists recognize as anxious or avoidant: the constant need for reassurance or the tendency to withdraw before being hurt. Understanding that these patterns are inherited responses, not personal failures, is the first step toward healing.
These patterns are not a result of “brokenness” but rather adaptations. They once kept people safe. In modern relationships, however, they can create cycles of conflict, miscommunication, and mistrust. When a partner seems distant or overly protective, what we might be seeing is not rejection, but a centuries-old reflex: If I show too much need, I might lose everything.
Healing begins with awareness, understanding that love is not meant to be earned through suffering or proven through sacrifice. It is intended to be shared freely, without fear of vanishing.
When emancipation arrived, freedom did not automatically repair the family. Thousands of newly freed men and women began searching for lost loved ones, posting ads in Black newspapers: “I am looking for my wife, Mary, sold in 1859.” Marriage certificates became sacred proof of self-ownership. During Reconstruction, churches overflowed with couples seeking to legalize unions that had existed only in spirit.
The act of marrying publicly became a statement: We are human. We are whole. We deserve recognition. The early decades after slavery saw a surge in marriage rates among Black Americans, higher than those of some white populations at the time. Sociologists such as E. Franklin Frazier later noted that this commitment to family stability became a core source of pride and collective identity.
Yet freedom came with new pressures. Poverty, racial terror, and discriminatory labor laws strained households. Husbands were often forced to migrate for work, leaving wives to manage homes alone. The same resilience that had sustained survival under slavery now had to be repurposed for a different kind of endurance, one that demanded emotional partnership rather than mere survival.
Those early marriages were often formed out of necessity rather than emotional compatibility. When survival is the goal, love becomes practical, a partnership of shared endurance. But even then, affection persisted in subtle gestures: a meal prepared after long labor, a quilt stitched from scraps, a hymn sung at dusk. Love, for Black couples, was never merely romantic; it was a declaration of existence.
By the early 1900s, millions of Black families had joined the Great Migration, leaving the rural South for cities such as Chicago, Detroit, and New York. Love became a story of distance and adaptation. In crowded urban tenements, couples navigated new gender roles, with women working in factories and men negotiating racial hierarchies in industrial jobs. Letters replaced conversations; money orders replaced presence.
This shift birthed a dual legacy. On one hand, migration expanded opportunities and forged new middle-class ideals of partnership. On the other hand, it fractured extended kin networks that had previously offered emotional support. Couples were now isolated, expected to be each other’s entire community while simultaneously fighting systemic racism in housing, employment, and education.
Sociologist Mary Pattillo (2000) describes how migration forced Black couples to “carry both love and protest in the same breath.” Every affectionate gesture was also an act of resistance against a society that questioned their worth.
Many men and women of that era learned that love meant sacrifice, working two jobs, sending money home, and holding on to faith that distance would not dissolve devotion. But the cost of that sacrifice was emotional exhaustion. Generations of couples passed down the lesson that survival always comes before softness. As one elder told his granddaughter, “We didn’t have the luxury of feelings; we just did what had to be done.”
Yet, amid the exhaustion, beauty bloomed. Jazz clubs in Harlem, Sunday picnics in Bronzeville, and community dances in church basements offered small sanctuaries of joy. Love found a way to sing, even when burdened by labor. These spaces became both emotional and political revolutions, proving that tenderness could survive under pressure.
By the mid-20th century, the fight for equality reshaped what marriage meant for many Black couples. The home became both a sanctuary and a staging ground for justice. Marches, boycotts, and freedom rides were organized around kitchen tables; families risked their safety together. Love, once primarily a tool of survival, evolved into an expression of shared purpose.
During this time, Black newspapers celebrated wedding announcements, showcasing newlyweds smiling in borrowed tuxedos and lace dresses, a public affirmation that dignity and partnership were inextricably linked. Sociologist Andrew Billingsley’s 1968 study Black Families in White America noted that the family was “the chief social institution of resistance.” When white supremacy tried to dismantle identity, the Black family rebuilt it nightly at the dinner table.
Yet behind the optimism lay fatigue. Many activists returned from marches to homes strained by absence and danger. The emotional cost of public struggle often went unspoken. Wives carried fear that husbands might not return; husbands bore the guilt of exposing their families to risk. These unvoiced burdens became cracks in the walls of intimacy.
The 1970s brought economic decline to many urban neighborhoods. Industrialization stripped away stable jobs that had anchored working-class Black families. Factories closed; unions weakened. Couples accustomed to balancing hope with hardship now faced uncertainty as a constant companion.
When money vanishes, resentment often enters quietly. Studies from the Urban Institute during that decade documented rising divorce rates linked not to infidelity or incompatibility, but to “economic incompatibility,” the psychological strain of scarcity. Partners fought not over love but over bills, and every late notice felt like an accusation of failure.
Despite this, the community remained a lifeline. Grandmothers opened kitchens, neighbors watched one another's children, and churches offered emergency funds. Love became collective once again, an echo of older survival patterns, but with a new emotional vocabulary. The phrase “we're going to make it” was both a promise and a prayer.
The 1980s and 1990s marked one of the darkest chapters in modern Black family life. The crack epidemic and the policies that accompanied it, mandatory minimums, three-strikes laws, and militarized policing, tore through communities like wildfire. Incarceration rates for Black men quadrupled in less than twenty years (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2000). Every arrest fractures a household; every sentence rewrites a child’s future.
For couples, separation became systemic rather than circumstantial. Letters and calls replaced pillow talk. Wives and girlfriends shouldered both parenting and income. Many turned pain into activism, founding support groups for partners of incarcerated men. Yet trauma seeped into distrust, secrecy, and the exhaustion of waiting for a return.
Therapists later identified “secondary incarceration trauma,” where spouses and children exhibit symptoms of post-traumatic stress without ever having been behind bars. Understanding these effects is vital; they shape how many Black couples navigate commitment, even today, guarded hope mixed with chronic vigilance.
Generations raised amid instability learned to equate love with duty. Expressions such as “stay strong,” “don’t let them see you sweat,” and “handle it yourself” became mantras that muffled vulnerability. Psychologist Joy DeGruy’s theory of Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome explains how unresolved historical trauma manifests as present-day relational conflict, quick tempers, mistrust, or emotional distance.
Consider how often couples argue about tone rather than content. A raised voice can trigger centuries of danger; silence can echo abandonment. These are not merely personal quirks; they are historical echoes. When partners learn to see the story beneath the reaction, empathy replaces blame.
Healing practice: At least once a week, set aside ten minutes for “story time.” Each partner shares one memory of love or loss from their family history. The goal is not analysis, but to witness and understand the roots of one another’s reflexes.
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
- Audre Lorde
In the twenty-first century, Black love stands at a complicated crossroads.
Technology connects people faster than ever before, yet intimacy often feels harder to sustain. The concept of partnership has evolved, no longer bound by strict gender roles or timelines, but that freedom brings new pressure.
Census data from 2023 show that marriage rates among Black Americans continue to lag behind other racial groups, while divorce rates remain disproportionately high. Scholars debate why: economic inequality, shifting values, and the lingering trauma of historical disconnection all play roles.
However, statistics alone cannot fully explain the story. Behind every percentage point are two individuals navigating love while carrying expectations, debt, trauma, and the hope of finding happiness.
Modern Black couples must balance legacy with innovation. They are the descendants of those who fought for the right to love openly, yet they face new barriers: overwork, digital distraction, and the constant comparison of social media.
Where older generations sought stability, younger ones chase authenticity. Marriage is no longer a social requirement; it is a choice, which makes it both liberating and fragile.
Sociologist Dr. Tera Hunter calls modern Black marriage “a negotiation between cultural survival and individual fulfillment.” Partners want both community belonging and personal autonomy. The challenge lies in reconciling those desires without losing connection in the process.
The modern couple lives in an age of curated perfection. Every anniversary dinner, proposal, or family vacation can be edited, filtered, and posted for public consumption.
Social media has transformed love into performance. Platforms like Instagram and TikTok celebrate “relationship goals,” but they also set unrealistic benchmarks. Couples start measuring success not by peace but by aesthetics.
This illusion has emotional costs. Research from the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships (2021) found that couples who compare their relationships online report higher dissatisfaction and more frequent conflict. Constant exposure to others' highlight reels creates an invisible competition. Love becomes a brand to protect, rather than an experience to live.
Black couples often feel this pressure more intensely because representation carries weight. Seeing positive portrayals of Black love is powerful, but when that image becomes idealized, it leaves no room for imperfection.
A disagreement can feel like failure; a separation can feel like betrayal of the culture.
This double bind, representing a community while trying to build a private relationship, adds a unique kind of stress. Psychologist Dr. Thema Bryant calls it “performative strength,” the expectation to appear unbreakable. But strength without vulnerability becomes armor, and armor prevents intimacy.
Reflection Prompt:
How often do you compare your relationship to what you see online? What would it mean to define love by peace, not performance?
Money has always been one of the most consistent stressors in marriage, but for Black couples, it carries additional complexity.
The racial wealth gap in the U.S. remains staggering — according to the Federal Reserve (2022), the median wealth of Black households is about one-eighth that of white households. This economic imbalance has a direct impact on the dynamics of love.
Financial strain often manifests as a power imbalance. Partners may unconsciously link earning potential to worth or leadership. Yet, modern households are shifting rapidly: more Black women now hold degrees and secure employment than their male counterparts. This evolution has upended traditional gender roles, challenging both partners to redefine partnership.
Sociologist Dr. Cheryl Gilkes describes this as the Black female paradox: women achieving unprecedented success yet struggling to find emotional reciprocity.
For men, societal expectations to be providers still linger, even when systemic barriers make that problematic. Many internalize shame for circumstances beyond their control.
The solution isn’t to return to outdated hierarchies but to create new definitions of partnership based on mutual respect and shared power.
A marriage is not a corporation; it’s a collaboration. When couples openly discuss their financial fears, they reduce the secrecy that breeds resentment.
* * *
Practice
Hold a monthly money talk that focuses not only on budgets but on feelings about money scarcity, security, guilt, or pride.
Financial transparency builds emotional trust.
Modern relationships often stumble not from a lack of love, but from uneven emotional labor —the unseen effort of remembering birthdays, planning meals, noticing moods, scheduling appointments, and maintaining connections.
Research from the American Psychological Association (2022) indicates that women continue to perform nearly twice as much of this invisible work as men, regardless of their income.
For many Black couples, the imbalance carries cultural weight. The “strong Black woman” archetype, born from generations of survival, celebrates independence but punishes rest. She is expected to handle everything: childcare, career, finances, and emotional nurturing.
Meanwhile, the “stoic Black man” archetype discourages vulnerability, teaching men to express protection through action rather than dialogue.
When these two myths meet in marriage, they cancel intimacy. Both partners over-function in one area and under-function in another. He fixes things instead of talking; she feels unseen while holding everything together.
Healing Practice
Name and divide invisible tasks. Create a weekly checklist not of chores, but of care. Who schedules doctors’ appointments? Who checks in after a hard day?
Balance responsibility and recognition. Love grows where labor is shared.
The smartphone has become both a bridge and a barrier. Couples text more than they talk, share memes instead of memories, and scroll beside each other in silence.
Technology has expanded reach but compressed attention.
A 2020 Pew Research Center survey found that nearly 40 percent of couples have argued about phone use during quality time.
Infidelity has evolved into micro-cheating: like old photos, secret DMs, or emotional investment in online friendships. Boundaries blur between harmless interaction and betrayal.
For Black couples, technology adds another layer of visibility. Online spaces can amplify both pride and pressure. #BlackLove hashtags celebrate unity, but when conflict arises, partners often withdraw rather than risk public scrutiny. Privacy becomes self-protection.
Conversation Starter
Ask your partner: “What does privacy mean to you online?”
Create shared digital boundaries, no phones at dinner, mutual respect for passwords, and understanding that transparency builds trust, not surveillance.
Faith remains a cornerstone of many Black households. Churches, mosques, and spiritual centers have long provided not just moral guidance but marital mentorship.
A 2019 Barna Group study found that Black couples who attend faith communities together report higher satisfaction than those who do not. Yet faith can also introduce tension when doctrine collides with modern values.
Older relatives may still uphold strict gender hierarchies, while younger couples strive for equality. Some are told to “pray the problem away” instead of seeking therapy.
The healthiest unions integrate both spirituality and strategy, prayer and practice.
Community expectations can also weigh heavily. In many Black families, divorce is not just personal failure but communal disappointment. Couples stay together out of obligation, eroding affection until resentment replaces the reverence they once felt.
Breaking that pattern requires courage, the willingness to choose truth over tradition when the two conflict.
Reflection Prompt:
How has faith or family shaped your definition of love?
Which beliefs strengthen you, and which need re-examination?
Case 1: Rashad and Brianna The Balancing Act
Rashad and Brianna met in graduate school, full of ambition and shared purpose. However, when Brianna’s career advanced more quickly, tension grew. Rashad felt left behind, while Brianna felt guilty about her success. Their love became a scoreboard.
Therapy helped them uncover deeper fears: Rashad’s belief that a man’s value is measured by income, Brianna’s fear of being “too much.” They began sharing wins as if they were ours, rather than mine. She started saying, “We got promoted.” He began leading at home by managing logistics, including bills, errands, and meal preparation, shifting the focus from income to impact.
Their story reminds us that marriage equality isn’t the same; it’s a balance.
Every couple has fault lines, unspoken assumptions, inherited fears, invisible hierarchies. Healing requires both awareness and action.
For Black couples, these practices aren’t luxuries; they’re acts of resistance. Choosing peace in partnership defies generations of survival-mode living.
Success in love has long been defined by endurance, how long you stayed, not how well you lived. But endurance without joy is survival, not success.
The new model must include rest, play, and purpose.
In thriving marriages, partners act as mirrors and mentors to one another. They call out greatness gently and hold space for imperfection. Love becomes not a test of strength but a training in grace.
Cultural critic bell hooks wrote, “Love is an action, never simply a feeling.”
To act in love means to communicate, compromise, and celebrate even when tired.
Black marriages succeed when they integrate the lessons of the past with the freedoms of the present.
A healthy marriage isn’t the absence of struggle; it’s the presence of repair.
Reflection Questions
Closing Thought
Modern love will always live under economic, emotional, and cultural pressure.
But pressure isn’t purely destructive; it forges diamonds.
The beauty of Black marriage lies not in perfection but in persistence, not in image but in authenticity.
When we stop performing love and start practicing it, we rediscover the quiet joy that has always sustained us.
“We learned early that when our money was right, our peace was stronger.”
- Michelle Obama
Money is never just about money. It’s about trust, safety, control, and identity. For couples, especially Black couples, finances often serve as the mirror that reflects more profound emotional truths: Do we feel secure? Do we share values? Can we depend on each other when life shifts?
In many relationships, financial conflict isn’t rooted in greed but in fear. Fear of scarcity, fear of failure, fear of repeating a parent’s mistakes. When two people with different financial histories come together, they merge not only their bank accounts but also their belief systems.
One partner may view saving as a means of safety because they grew up in an unstable environment; the other may view spending as a celebration because it represents freedom from deprivation. Without understanding the underlying reasons behind behaviors, couples often mislabel each other as “cheap,” “irresponsible,” or “controlling.”
A healthy financial partnership begins with transparency, replacing assumptions with open dialogue.
Ask each other, “What did money mean in your childhood?” The answers reveal how love and finances intertwine.
To understand modern financial tension in Black marriages, we must examine the backdrop: a racial wealth gap centuries in the making. According to the Federal Reserve’s 2023 data, the median wealth of Black families in the U.S. stands around $45,000, compared to $285,000 for white families.
This disparity didn’t emerge from poor budgeting; it’s the result of systemic exclusion:
The ripple effects of these policies still shape modern marriages. Many Black couples start partnerships carrying disproportionate debt (especially student loans) and fewer assets. This creates pressure not only to survive but to outperform to become the generation that “finally makes it.”
Sociologist Dr. Darrick Hamilton calls this the “psychology of catch-up.” Couples internalize the idea that success must be fast and flawless, leading to burnout and shame when financial struggles arise. Instead of seeing money as a shared mission, partners see it as a scoreboard.
Economic stress increases the likelihood of marital conflict by nearly 40% (APA, 2020). But within the Black community, that stress often intertwines with identity. A job loss or business failure doesn’t just threaten stability; it can feel like confirmation of societal stereotypes.
For men, unemployment can trigger deep shame tied to the historical expectation of being the “provider.” For women, financial independence can evoke feelings of guilt or resentment, especially when it shifts power dynamics within the home. These emotional currents run silently until they erupt during moments of crisis.
To counter this, couples must prioritize partnership over performance. Financial leadership should flow from strengths, not gender. One person may manage budgeting, while the other oversees investments; one may handle short-term expenses, while the other plans long-term goals. Equality in money isn’t sameness, it’s synergy.
In many Black households, money remains deeply intertwined with pride; though necessary for dignity, it can also sabotage teamwork. A partner might hide financial hardship to “save face,” or refuse help to maintain the illusion of control. Others equate financial dominance with love’s leverage, believing that whoever earns more has more influence.
Yet, love that hinges on hierarchy rarely endures. True partnership thrives when both people understand that money is a resource, not a ruler.
Sociologist Dr. Linda Chatters notes that Black couples who view finances as shared stewardship rather than individual achievement report higher levels of relationship satisfaction. Stewardship reframes the goal from ownership to legacy. It asks, “What are we building together?”
But building together requires humility. Many of us watched our parents struggle silently, masking their fear behind a façade of confidence. Healing those patterns means learning to say, “I’m worried,” or “I need help.” Vulnerability with money is as intimate as vulnerability with emotions.
Practice:
Once a month, hold a “financial feelings” check-in. Ask:
Money may test love, but it can also strengthen it if both people commit to honesty over ego.
Money triggers the same parts of the brain as fear and reward. For many couples, financial discussions aren’t logical; they’re emotional survival language.
When someone says, “We need to save,” they might be saying, “I need to feel safe.”
When someone says, “Let’s enjoy our money,” they might mean, “I need to feel alive.”
Understanding this emotional coding is essential. Research from the University of Denver (2021) found that couples who discuss their emotional associations with money, rather than just budgets, experience significantly lower financial conflict.
Common Emotional Archetypes:
Most couples contain a mix of these types. When differences go unnamed, they create power struggles. When they’re acknowledged, they create balance.
Healing Practice:
During your next money talk, ask your partner, “What emotions come up when you think about our finances?”
Listen to the feeling, not just the figure.
Wealth is not defined by income; habits define it. Building wealth as a couple requires three ingredients: shared vision, discipline, and time.
Start by defining what wealth means to both of you. Is it freedom from debt? The ability to travel? The peace of owning a home? Vision turns saving into purpose.
Create a “couple’s budget,” not a single person’s spreadsheet, but a living document reviewed monthly together. Discuss not only expenses but emotions tied to each category.
According to a 2022 CNBC survey, couples who set joint budgets report 60% higher satisfaction with their financial life.
Every Black couple must consider wealth building as a form of activism. Investing in stocks, real estate, small businesses, or education challenges historical exclusion.
Start with automatic transfers to savings and retirement accounts. Small amounts compound faster than we realize. If possible, explore group investment clubs or cooperative ownership models in your community.
Set two savings goals: one for security (emergencies) and one for joy (dreams). This dual-account method prevents guilt around spending and keeps the relationship emotionally balanced.
