A colleague once asked if my partner struggled with addiction. A family friend assumed I must be in an abusive relationship. The conclusion, apparently, was that something had to be wrong, because why else would two people in a committed relationship choose not to cohabit?
The truth is much simpler: our relationship is healthy, stable, and very much intact. We just don’t live together.
Living apart isn’t a red flag it’s a choice
There’s an unspoken script we’re expected to follow in relationships. You meet, you fall in love, you move in, you build a shared life under one roof. Deviating from that script is often treated as a warning sign rather than a valid alternative.
But not living together doesn’t automatically mean intimacy is lacking, commitment is weak, or the relationship is unstable. Sometimes it simply means two people know what works for them and are willing to choose it, even if it looks unconventional.
For me, living apart wasn’t born out of bad experiences or fear. I spent most of my adult life single, and in that time, I grew deeply attached to my independence, my space, and my freedom. These weren’t things I wanted to “fix” or outgrow, they were things I valued.
My partner came to the relationship with his own reasons. After previously cohabiting with an ex, buying a home together, and then navigating a painful breakup and property sale, he’d learned firsthand how deeply stressful shared living can become when a relationship ends.
When we realised we were aligned on this, it gave us a foundation built on honesty rather than expectation.
Cohabitation isn’t the relationship milestone we pretend it is
Relationships are supposed to involve compromise. But some compromises just create resentment, especially when they affect how you live every day.
Most of the tension I hear about from couples who live together isn’t dramatic, it’s the dull, grinding stuff. Chores. Mess. Money. Who’s doing more.
Living apart sidesteps a lot of that.
I’m particular about my space. I like it calm and minimal. My partner is clean but sentimental. Neither of us is wrong, but sharing a home would mean constant negotiation.
This way, we each come home to a space that actually works for us, without the background friction that builds when “compromise” starts feeling like loss.
Independence doesn’t weaken intimacy
People assume living apart means less intimacy. For us, it’s meant more.
We don’t just bump into each other at home every night, so when we do see each other, it’s on purpose. We make plans. We put in effort. The time matters because it isn’t automatic.
Four years in, it still feels good. It hasn’t gone flat or predictable. Having our own lives means there’s still space to miss each other, and that keeps things alive in a way that sharing everything all the time often doesn’t.
Of course it’s not perfect
Living apart comes with drawbacks. There are moments when I wish he were just there, especially during hard days, late nights, or when a spider appears without warning.
Financially, it’s not ideal. We’d save significantly by sharing expenses, and during a cost-of-living crisis, it’s hard.
It also requires communication. Living separately makes it easier to avoid issues rather than confront them, and we’ve had to work through moments of insecurity, jealousy, and mismatched schedules.
This arrangement isn’t effortless, it takes work!
Choosing what works, not what’s expected
Living apart won’t suit everyone ,and that’s fine.
But it shouldn’t automatically be seen as a problem, or something that needs justifying. For some couples, it’s simply a deliberate choice that makes the relationship easier, calmer, and more enjoyable.
For us, it works. We’re happy, we’re committed, and we’re not interested in bending our relationship to match someone else’s idea of what it’s supposed to look like.
Right now, living apart makes sense, and that’s enough.
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