The Future of Wealth Is Relational

There’s an adage that people with wealth often spend their money to buy back their time. And indeed, when I think about the people I work with, most of whom are strapped for time, I notice how frequently this shows up in the way they arrange their lives.

Time is the most finite luxury we have in this world, so it makes sense that when people have the ability, they “buy” more of it back. I’m not surprised that so many people work to outsource aspects of their day-to-day lives. They use meal delivery services or hire chefs so that they don’t have to spend hours driving to grocery stores, shopping, prepping food, and cleaning up afterward, unless, of course, they’re doing those things because they bring them deep fulfillment or joy. They invest in people who can help them keep their homes clean. Long gone, for many, are the Saturdays I remember as a child when we would wake up and spend what felt like the entire weekend cleaning the house. Even people who genuinely enjoy cleaning may do the math and decide that their time is better spent elsewhere, particularly when they have so little of it to begin with.

And we could go on and on.

There’s an entire market of services designed to take the administrative and domestic labor of everyday life off people’s plates. House managers who come in and support the ebb and flow of a household, wiping down counters, restocking paper goods, ordering things that need to be ordered, coordinating appointments, and attending to the countless little tasks that make a home function.

All of this speaks to the challenges of our limited time, and the ways that those with sufficient financial resources are attempting to reclaim some of it.

But there’s something else that I believe many of these people are investing in, and it’s something I don’t think we talk about nearly enough: they’re investing in healthier, more functional, and more deeply satisfying relationships.

There’s a certain kind of peace that comes from going to sleep at night and feeling a profound sense of fulfillment in your relationships.

There’s no low-grade, chronic stress about your sex life. There’s no persistent feeling that something important has been left unsaid, or that there’s a conversation you desperately need to have but are afraid to initiate. You’re not crying yourself to sleep after another argument, or lying awake replaying the same conflict that you and your partner have had countless times before. There’s no ongoing acrimony or sense of dread when you think about the people closest to you.

You look forward to spending time with family because the conversations feel enriching. Your friendships feel emotionally deep and satisfying. When there’s conflict, you have some confidence that you’ll be able to navigate it together, that difficult conversations don’t necessarily have to threaten the relationship itself.

Of course, even the healthiest relationships experience conflict, hurt, disappointment, and periods of disconnection. I’m certainly not suggesting that relational health means the absence of these experiences. But there’s an enormous difference between having difficult moments within relationships that generally feel safe and fulfilling, and living with an ongoing sense of relational distress that never quite gets resolved.

And I think many of us underestimate just how much of our emotional energy gets consumed when our relationships aren’t in a good place.

How much time do we spend thinking about the argument we had with our partner? How many hours are spent anticipating a difficult family gathering, trying to figure out how to set boundaries with a parent, or feeling lonely in a marriage where we don’t feel particularly understood?

How much emotional and mental labor do we expend trying to navigate relationships that feel chronically strained?

When I think about what it means to be wealthy, I think there’s something profoundly rich about being able to move through your day without so much of your emotional energy being consumed by relational distress.

And I suspect that more and more people are beginning to recognize this.

I feel like I can speak from personal experience here, because there was a phase of my life, particularly in my twenties, when my relationships were incredibly volatile.

I remember what it was like to be in those up-and-down, roller-coaster relationship dynamics, and the toll they took on my health and mental well-being. I know what it’s like to navigate family estrangements, to spend years with chronic anxiety, worry, and grief over family relationships that were absolutely salvageable and healable, provided both people valued going in and doing the work.

I know how much space those relationships can take up in our minds, and how much of our emotional energy can be consumed by relationships that aren’t in a good place.

And here’s the thing. I think sometimes people take a rather fatalistic view of these circumstances. There’s this sense that certain relationships are simply beyond repair, that people don’t change, or that the patterns we’ve inherited from our families are somehow inevitable.

But as an experiential therapist who specializes in Emotionally Focused Therapy and trauma-focused therapy, I do see a path forward for many, many relationships.

There are ways to find healing and peace, and a greater sense of ease in our families and partnerships. That doesn’t mean every relationship can or should be repaired. Certainly, there are circumstances where distance or estrangement is necessary, particularly when there are ongoing patterns of abuse, coercion, or an unwillingness to take accountability. And relational repair isn’t something that one person can accomplish entirely on their own.

But I do believe that many relationships have far more capacity for healing than the people within them might initially imagine.

And having experienced both sides of this myself, I cannot overstate how valuable it is to move through life with a greater sense of peace in our relationships.

I also think this shift has something to do with the realities of modern life, and how increasingly difficult it has become for many of us to access meaningful connection.

We’ve seen growing conversations about the disappearance of third spaces, the places outside our homes and workplaces where people have historically gathered, developed friendships, and participated in community.

Our schedules have also become increasingly fragmented. Many people work unconventional hours, freelance, run their own businesses, or have jobs that blur the boundaries between professional and personal life. Even when people have flexible schedules or unlimited paid time off, that doesn’t necessarily mean their availability overlaps with the people they love.

And when I think about how difficult it can be to coordinate even a simple dinner with friends, I wonder about the cumulative impact of these changes on our sense of connection.

It’s become harder and harder to arrange our lives around the people who matter to us.

And perhaps because of that, there’s an increasing premium on making sure that the time we do spend together actually feels rich, deep, and satisfying.

If I only have a few hours each week to spend with a partner, I don’t necessarily want to spend those hours cycling through the same unresolved arguments. If I have a limited number of opportunities each year to visit family, I want those visits to feel meaningful rather than spending weeks anticipating the emotional fallout.

And if my friendships are an important source of emotional connection, I want to be able to show up in those relationships with a degree of authenticity, vulnerability, and mutual care.

It makes sense to me that, as people become more protective of their time, they might also become more intentional about the quality of the relationships that occupy it.

I think a lot of people are living in relationships that feel mediocre at best.

Patterns of avoidance and poor conflict resolution loom large. People are struggling with family estrangements, tension at holiday gatherings, marriages in which sexual intimacy has become a source of chronic distress, and difficulties experiencing a felt sense of safety in many of their closest relationships.

And these struggles aren’t necessarily indicative of a lack of love.

Sometimes people care deeply about one another but have spent decades learning ways of relating that simply aren’t working very well. They’ve inherited patterns from their families of origin, developed protective strategies in response to trauma or attachment injuries, or never had the opportunity to learn how to navigate conflict in ways that preserve emotional connection.

As a couples and family therapist, I spend much of my professional life sitting with people who are trying to understand these patterns and find new ways of relating to one another.

And something I’ve been noticing, particularly among people who have the financial resources to do so, is a willingness to invest an extraordinary amount of money, time, and emotional energy into getting their relationships into a better place.

They’re not necessarily waiting until their marriages are on the brink of ending, although certainly some people do. They’re coming into therapy because they want their relationships to feel better. They want to understand why they keep having the same arguments. They want a sexual relationship that feels fulfilling for everyone involved. They want to repair longstanding attachment injuries or find ways to reconnect with family members after years of distance.

And they recognize that these things are worth investing in.

When I think about how much time and money people dedicate to physical health, exercise, hobbies, aesthetics, and other aspects of their well-being, it doesn’t surprise me that they’re also beginning to invest more intentionally in one of the cornerstones of their lives.

Their mental health. Their emotional patterns. Their ability to navigate conflict. Their capacity to experience intimacy, vulnerability, and connection.

The very fabric of how they experience themselves and the people closest to them.

I also think we’re living in a changing world when it comes to what people value.

It’s been interesting to observe what feels, at least in certain circles, like a shift away from consumerism and toward a greater appreciation for quality, craftsmanship, and intentionality.

I think there’s a reason why so many millennials especially covet things like mid-century design. There’s something about that aesthetic that represents quality craftsmanship, longevity, and a sense of time and space. And I can understand why there’s been a growing rejection of mass-marketed clothing and goods in favor of things that feel more thoughtfully made and designed to last.

There’s also been an interest in minimalism, and in the idea of having fewer things, but things that we actually enjoy and value.

And when you’re able to afford many things, I can understand why you might eventually begin craving fewer of them.

Of course, I recognize the privilege inherent in that position. It’s much easier to embrace minimalism when you have the financial security to purchase what you need, or replace what you’ve chosen to live without. And I’m certainly not suggesting that consumerism has disappeared, or that everyone has the resources to prioritize quality over cost.

But I do wonder whether these changes reflect something about how certain people are beginning to think differently about what constitutes a good life.

And I wonder whether our relationships might become part of that same shift.

I want to be careful here, because I certainly don’t believe that having more money means having healthier relationships, nor do I believe that relational health is something we can simply purchase.

There are people with enormous financial resources who experience profound loneliness and relational distress. And there are people with very limited resources whose relationships are deeply connected, supportive, and fulfilling.

Financial wealth doesn’t necessarily translate into emotional or relational wealth.

I also think it’s important to acknowledge that access to high-quality mental healthcare remains deeply unequal. The ability to invest thousands of dollars in couples therapy, family therapy, or individual trauma treatment is simply not available to everyone. And the very systemic pressures that make relationships difficult to maintain, including financial instability, demanding work schedules, caregiving responsibilities, and a lack of community support, can also make it extraordinarily difficult for people to access help.

So I don’t want to romanticize the idea of relational health becoming another luxury available primarily to people who can afford it.

But I do think there’s something important about recognizing that our relationships are worth investing in, whatever forms that investment might take.

For some people, that means therapy. For others, it may mean making more time for friendships, participating in community, learning about relational patterns, or becoming more intentional about how they show up with the people they love.

And perhaps one of the things we can learn from people who have the resources to invest heavily in relational health is the value they are beginning to place on something that has always mattered.

One of my greatest hopes, however, is that in the same way that certain lifestyle choices and services have historically been associated with wealthy and privileged individuals before becoming more widely available, we eventually see a similar shift with couples and family therapy.

I think about how, fifteen years ago, shopping at Whole Foods carried a particular association with luxury and affluence. Today, while it’s certainly still not affordable or accessible to everyone, it’s become a much more familiar part of the grocery landscape.

Or Pilates, which for years carried an association with a relatively select group of people who could afford boutique fitness classes. Now, when I go to a Pilates studio in my hometown, I’m sitting alongside people of a wide variety of ages and backgrounds.

And I really hope that couples and family therapy become something similar.

Right now, I see more and more people with a certain degree of financial privilege accessing these services. They’re able to dedicate substantial amounts of time, money, and emotional energy to improving the quality of their relationships.

But my hope is that one day we see couples and family therapy in the same vein as going to the gym, receiving routine healthcare, or taking our cars in for maintenance. Something that we recognize as a worthwhile investment in the health and longevity of an important part of our lives.

And I don’t mean that people should have to spend money on therapy indefinitely, or that everyone needs professional help to maintain healthy relationships. Rather, I hope we continue moving toward a world where seeking support for our relationships is ordinary, destigmatized, and accessible to people across socioeconomic backgrounds.

Because more than a person’s nail extensions, or certain decor in one’s home, having a lasting sense of peace in our relationships truly is one of the most priceless things I believe we can invest in.

There’s also been a tremendous amount of conversation lately about which professions will be disrupted by artificial intelligence, and whether therapy itself is among them.

I don’t want to speak from a place of hubris here, because I do believe that therapy spaces are already being influenced by AI, and I suspect that influence will continue to grow.

But the kind of therapy I specialize in is highly experiential.

When I’m sitting in a room with a couple or a family, we’re not simply talking about communication strategies or providing information about how relationships work. We’re actively engaging with emotional experiences, attachment patterns, protective responses, and the ways people have learned to relate to one another over the course of their lives.

We’re creating opportunities for people to experience something different in real time.

Sometimes that means helping a partner access and communicate a vulnerability they’ve spent decades protecting. Sometimes it means supporting a parent in responding to their adult child’s pain in a way that neither of them has experienced before. Sometimes it involves slowing down a moment of conflict enough that two people can recognize the fear, shame, longing, or hurt underneath the protective strategies they’ve come to rely on.

And those experiences unfold between human beings, with all of the emotional complexity, nonverbal communication, and relational responsiveness that entails.

I don’t know what AI will ultimately be capable of, and I think it’s important to remain humble about predictions in a field that’s changing so rapidly. But I have a difficult time imagining a future in which the particular kind of deeply experiential, relational work I do with multiple people in a room can be fully replicated by AI.

I suspect there will continue to be enormous value in having another human being help us understand and reshape the relationships that matter most to us.

And again, I say all of this understanding that I’m writing as a couples and family therapist, so there’s clearly a bias here.

At the risk of sounding like I’m making a hard pitch for my own services, I should probably also mention that, at the time I’m writing this, my caseload is already full, with a waiting list.

I’m writing this much more in the spirit of the heart and soul of what I believe in.

I believe that our relationships and our attachments deserve to be secure and safe. I believe that we deserve to experience a sense of ease, fulfillment, and emotional connection with the people closest to us. And I believe that many of the relational patterns that cause us so much distress are patterns that we can come to understand, work through, and change.

I also like to believe that when we work toward cultivating safer and more secure relationships on an individual level, within our families, partnerships, friendships, and communities, that something about that work spills out into the broader world as well.

That perhaps people who feel more secure in their relationships, who have learned how to navigate conflict without dehumanizing one another, who have experienced what it means to be genuinely heard and understood, might carry some of those capacities into the other spaces they occupy.

Into their workplaces, their communities, their friendships, and the ways they engage with people who are different from them.

I don’t know that I can draw a straight line between the work that happens in my therapy office and the broader health of our society. And I certainly don’t think therapy alone can address the systemic forces that contribute to disconnection, inequality, and relational distress.

But I do hope that my work contributes to something larger than the individual relationships I’m supporting.

I like to think that helping people find greater safety, connection, and understanding with one another changes something about the world we live in, even if it’s on a relatively small scale.

And perhaps that’s part of why I believe so deeply in the value of investing in our relationships.

I keep returning to this idea that many of the people who come to see me already understand something that I think the rest of us might benefit from considering.

To go to bed at night feeling fulfilled and content in one’s relationships is to be incredibly rich.

And I don’t mean that in some sentimental sense, or as a suggestion that love somehow makes material resources unnecessary. Money matters. Financial security matters. Having enough time, stability, and support to meet our basic needs matters enormously.

But I think we can sometimes become so focused on the things we’re working toward, the homes we want to own, the careers we want to build, the experiences we want to have, that we lose sight of how much our everyday quality of life is shaped by the relationships we inhabit.

What does it matter if we’ve built an extraordinary professional life but dread going home at the end of the day? Or if we’ve created a beautiful home but find ourselves feeling lonely within it? Or if we’ve accumulated the resources to travel the world but struggle to experience genuine connection with the people we’re traveling alongside?

I’m not suggesting that everyone needs a romantic relationship, a traditional family, or even a large social circle to experience a fulfilling life. Relational satisfaction looks different for different people, and I think there’s enormous value in recognizing the many ways human beings create connection, belonging, and community.

But I do believe that the quality of our relationships deserves far more attention than many of us have historically given it.

And perhaps that’s one of the shifts I’m beginning to notice.

People who have spent years investing in their careers, businesses, homes, and financial futures are beginning to invest that same degree of intentionality in their emotional and relational lives.

Not because healthy relationships are something money can simply buy, but because they’re recognizing that the time we spend with the people we love is some of the most valuable time we have.

And increasingly, they’re deciding that the quality of that time is worth investing in.