Why Single Women Are Falling Behind Financially—And Why It’s Not Their Fault

I wasn’t sure I should write this.

In fact, as I sit here with a knot in my stomach and the urge to soothe myself with something sweet and comforting, I’m wondering if I should hit delete instead. Because this post feels risky. It feels too raw. Too honest. And way too vulnerable for someone who’s supposed to be a money coach.

But I’m going to write it anyway.

Because the truth is, I’m a single woman who’s been trying her damndest to build wealth, create safety, and live a meaningful life over the past five years—and I feel like I’m falling further and further behind.

Not for lack of trying. Not for lack of smarts or effort or creativity. I’ve built a business. I’ve done the inner work. I’ve taken the scary leaps. I’ve survived a pandemic and a natural disaster and more economic uncertainty than I ever imagined. And still, I look around and wonder… what did I do wrong?

Meanwhile, I watch many of my friends in dual-income households with growing retirement accounts, vacations, and safety nets. I love them. I really do. But I can’t lie—sometimes it stings. Not because they’ve done anything wrong. But because I feel like I’m running a marathon alone while everyone else has a relay team.

This isn’t a post about blame. It’s not even a post with a happy ending or tidy financial tips. It’s a moment of truth-telling. A love letter to the women doing life on their own who wonder, quietly and often in shame, if maybe they’re just not trying hard enough.

I’m here to say: It’s not you. It’s the weight of doing it all alone in a world that rewards partnership, stability, and inherited safety nets. And if your chest tightens reading that—me too.

The Cost of Doing Life Alone

No one talks about the silent tax of being single.

I don’t just mean the literal costs—though yes, they add up fast. Every bill, every grocery run, every vet visit or car repair, every insurance premium… it’s all mine. There’s no second income to absorb the hit when life throws curve balls. There’s no one else to split the mortgage payment or catch the overflow.

But the emotional toll? That’s the part that’s hardest to name.

When you’re single, especially as a woman, you become the planner, the provider, the protector, the emergency contact, the emotional processor, the retirement funder, and the sole safety net. There’s no “we” in the crisis plan. There’s just me.

And let me tell you—doing all of that, while trying to build a business, navigate a pandemic, recover from a literal hurricane, and stay hopeful about your future? It’s exhausting. It’s heavy. And sometimes, it breaks your heart a little.

And yet, society tells us we should be fine. We should be independent and empowered and grateful and positive. We’re told to be “strong single women”—but no one tells you what to do when your strength runs out.

So I’m saying it here: even when you’re doing everything “right,” even when you’re working hard, healing yourself, and chasing your dreams, it can still feel like you're falling behind. Not because you're failing—but because the game is rigged to reward a very different setup.

The Comparison Trap

It’s hard not to compare.

I try not to—I really do. I know everyone has their own challenges, their own struggles behind the scenes. But when I scroll through social media or sit across the table from friends who’ve had a steady dual-income household for 10, 15, 20 years… I can’t help but feel the sting.

I see the fully funded 401(k)s, the home remodeling, the vacations, the savings cushions, the sense of stability—and I wonder: What am I doing wrong?

It’s a quiet shame that creeps in during the in-between moments. When I open my bank account and feel that lump rise in my throat. When I try to plan for retirement but have other budget items to consider first. When I hear the words “just save more” and want to scream.

And then I remember: I’ve been doing this alone. Building a business from scratch. Covering my own health insurance. Weathering literal storms—like Helene—and economic ones too. Taking out business loans not for expansion, but for survival.

My coupled-up friends aren’t the enemy. In fact, many of them are loving, generous, and supportive. But the comparison is hard to turn off when the systems we live in keep showing us how far behind we are—as if our worth is measured in net worth.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re working just as hard—or harder—but somehow can’t catch up, I want you to hear this:

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You’re not behind because you’re lazy or irresponsible or bad with money. You’re navigating a structure that wasn’t built with your reality in mind.

Why It’s Not Your Fault

Can I tell you something that surprised even me while writing this?

I almost didn’t.

As I started to put these words down, my stomach clenched. I had this flood of thoughts like, “What if this makes my coupled friends feel bad?” or “This sounds too raw… maybe I should tone it down.”
And then, I wanted to eat something comforting—just to not feel what I was feeling.

But underneath all of that noise was the quiet, painful truth:
I’ve felt like a failure.
In life. In business. And yes, even as a money coach.

I know that’s not the shiny, empowered brand story we’re “supposed” to tell. But I’m tired of keeping that part in the shadows. Because what I’ve come to realize—after a full year of carrying this—is that I haven’t failed.
I’ve survived in a system that wasn’t built for people doing it alone.

Here’s the reality:
🟣 The world is financially designed for couples—from tax benefits to mortgage approvals to retirement contributions.
🟣 Business loans, grants, and relief programs are often built on assumptions about scale and stability that many solopreneurs don’t have.
🟣 There are systemic barriers that make wealth-building significantly harder for single women, especially those of us running a business without a financial cushion.

But no one talks about this because shame keeps us quiet.
We don’t want to look like we’re complaining. We don’t want to be “too much.” We don’t want our truth to make anyone uncomfortable.

And yet—not saying it has hurt more than speaking it ever could.

So I’m saying it:
It’s not your fault if you’re single and financially exhausted. It’s not your fault if you’re working your ass off and still can’t seem to get ahead. It’s not your fault if you’re wondering why doing everything “right” hasn’t worked.

The system wasn’t designed for your brilliance, your heart, your hustle—or your humanity. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means the system is overdue for a reckoning.

Carving a New Path Forward

So where does this leave us?

Honestly… still in the mess.

There’s no tidy takeaway here. No five-step plan to financial freedom. No “just do this and it’ll all be okay.” I’m still in it—still navigating, still grieving, still showing up, still trying.

But here’s what I do know:

🟣 Telling the truth is a kind of wealth.
🟣 Naming the invisible weight is how we start to lay it down.
🟣 Community—real, messy, honest connection—is one of the few things that can hold us when systems don’t.

I’m not writing this from the other side. I’m writing it while I’m still mid-chapter. And maybe that’s what we need more of—stories from the middle, from the trenches, from the “I don’t have it figured out but I’m still here.”

If you’re a single woman reading this—especially one who’s trying to do meaningful work in the world, build a life on your own terms, and stay afloat—I want you to know:

You're not alone. You’re not failing. And you don’t have to pretend it’s all okay when it’s not.

You can grieve.
You can rage.
You can rest.
And you can still hold on to the tiniest thread of belief that things can shift.

Not because we hustle harder. But because we tell the truth. We take up space. We build community. And we stop pretending that doing it all alone is sustainable.

P.S.
I’ve carried these words for over a year, afraid they’d sound too raw, too much, too unfixable. But today, I’m choosing to share them—because not saying them has hurt more.

If any of this hits home for you, I’d love to hear from you. No pressure, no fixing. Just connection. Because sometimes, that’s the most powerful currency we have.