Dear Diary: I Earn ₦450,000 Monthly But I Can’t Buy Anything Without Permission

Dear Diary,

Today, I stood in the Shoprite parking lot for fifteen minutes, staring at a gift I wanted to buy for my friend’s baby shower. ₦25,000. I could afford it ten times over. But I couldn’t buy it. Because I had to call my husband first to ask if I could spend the money.

My own money.

I earn ₦450,000 every month as a senior analyst. The alert comes in on the 28th like clockwork. And on the 29th, like clockwork, I transfer every single naira to my husband’s account. He calls it “financial alignment.” He says married couples should consolidate their resources. He says he’s better at managing money and making it grow.

What he doesn’t say is that I now live on an allowance. Like a teenager. Like someone who doesn’t wake up at 6am, sit in Lagos traffic for two hours, and spend her entire day solving complex problems for a company that pays her well for her expertise.

Last week, I wanted to send ₦50,000 to my mother. Her blood pressure medication had finished and she needed to refill. Something I could have handled with one transfer. Instead, I had to call my husband during his meeting. I had to explain. I had to wait for him to “check our budget.” Then I had to call my mother back and tell her the money was coming, but late. She said thank you. I said sorry. For my own money. For my own mother.

This morning, my colleague Zainab was talking about the writing course she just enrolled in. ₦150,000 for three months. She was so excited, showing us the syllabus on her phone. I wanted to enroll too. I’ve been wanting to for months. But I already know what my husband will say: “Is it necessary right now? We’re saving for a house. Can’t you learn from YouTube?”

He’s not wrong about the house. We are saving. But Diary, we’ve been saving for three years. His car got upgraded last year. He bought a new laptop six months ago for his “business.” But when I mention something I want, something I need, something for my growth, suddenly we’re on a tight budget.

I’m not broke, Diary. I earn ₦450,000. That’s more than many people I know. But I feel broker than I did when I was earning ₦80,000 in my first job, because at least then, the money was mine to control.

My husband is not a wicked man. He’s not squandering the money. He pays bills, he saves, he invests. On paper, we’re doing well. But I’m suffocating. I’m a grown woman with a career, and I have to explain why I need ₦10,000 for a hair appointment. I have to justify buying new work shoes. I have to ask permission to take my friends out for lunch.

Yesterday, something happened that made me realize how far gone I am. My card declined at the salon. The hairstylist I’ve been going to for two years watched me fumble with my phone, trying to reach my husband. He didn’t pick up. I sat there for thirty minutes, under the dryer, making small talk while internally panicking. When he finally called back, he asked why I didn’t tell him I was going to the salon. I did tell him. Last week. He’d forgotten. But somehow, that became my fault.

I paid the woman and smiled. But inside, I was crumbling.

I’ve started doing something I never thought I would do. I’ve been keeping small amounts from the money he gives me back as “allowance.” ₦5,000 here, ₦3,000 there. Hiding it like I’m committing fraud. With my own salary. I opened a separate account last month. I’m thinking of asking HR to split my salary payment. ₦150,000 to my regular account, ₦300,000 to the new one.

Is this what my marriage has become? Strategy? Secrecy? Hiding money like I’m planning an escape?

I don’t want to hide. I want to have a conversation. But every time I bring it up, it becomes an argument about trust, about submission, about how I’m trying to be independent in a marriage. He makes me sound selfish. He makes me sound like I don’t care about our future. But Diary, how is having access to my own salary selfish?

My friend Ngozi says I’m not thinking straight. She says most women would be grateful to have a husband who handles the finances and lets them rest. But I don’t want to rest. I want to participate. I want to decide. I want to be able to buy a gift without calling anyone. I want to invest in myself without permission.

I’m tired of feeling like a child in my own life.

Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to HR about splitting my salary. I’ll send him ₦300,000 like always. The rest is mine. For my mother. For my courses. For my sanity. He might be angry. He’ll probably say I’m breaking our agreement, that I’m being secretive, that this is not how marriage works.

But Diary, this is not how life should work either.

I’m not asking to be reckless. I’m not asking to abandon our goals. I’m asking to be a partner, not a dependent. I’m asking to have a say in how my salary is spent. I’m asking to feel like an adult in my own marriage.

I earn ₦450,000 every month. I work hard for it. And I deserve to have access to it.

This has to change.

And it starts now.

Have you ever felt like you’re working hard but have nothing to show for it? Share your story in the comments. You’re not alone.