The cost of the housing crisis isn’t just measured in the price of a new-build, length of the line to view a damp rental, or the number of headlines about potential homes rotting into the ground, but the relationships fractured and destroyed as a result. We spoke to experts and the people experiencing this first hand about the issue.
30 year old Andy had been dating his girlfriend for two months when he moved into her parents’ house. Moving from the countryside to Dublin without accommodation, the decision made financial sense – but he had some reservations. “I was worried that her parents would think that I’m freeloading but to be honest they were very clear that the two of us can stay as long as we like as long as we pull our weight around the house and make contributions towards the bills.”
This story isn’t uncommon. A 2022 EU study found that 40% of all working people in Ireland aged between 25 and 34 still live at home with their parents. Luckily for Andy, the less than ideal experience had only confirmed that the relationship was meant to be, “having been thrown straight into the deep end I’ve learnt so much about my partner so quickly. It’s real life and we work as a team to make sure we make each other feel comfortable.” Andy and his girlfriend are saving up to move out together, “it’s much cheaper to rent a room and split the cost than move out alone.”
40% of all working people in Ireland aged between 25 and 34 still live at home with their parents.
For many, a relationship can be a ticket out of the family home to freedom, particularly in Dublin where the average rent for a room with a single bed is €823, compared to €864 for a room with a double bed. Given the nature of the housing crisis, can we be surprised that couples are being forced into cohabitation under less than ideal circumstances? On paper, living together can make financial sense—splitting rent or a mortgage, sharing bills, and leaving behind the family home, a cramped college house-share, or moving to a bigger city. However, this isn’t always equal a happy ending. In Northern Europe, it’s now more likely for cohabiting couples to break up than start a family together – a phenomenon which has coincided with rapidly rising rents, house prices and cost of living. Between 2015 and 2023, house prices in the EU rose on average by 48%, in Ireland they rose 127.5% between 2013 and 2023.
Relationship expert Jessica Alderson, co-founder of So Syncd, explains that the housing crisis is forcing many couples to move in far earlier than they might choose under normal circumstances. Traditionally, cohabitation marks a natural progression—a gradual blending of lives and responsibilities. But when financial necessity rather than mutual desire rushes that decision, it can upend the natural timeline of a relationship, leading to added “stress and strain on the relationship.”
“It might seem fine at first, but eventually, cracks start to show, and the whole thing can come down.”
Alderson compares this rushed step to skipping the foundation when building a house. “It might seem fine at first, but eventually, cracks start to show, and the whole thing can come down.” For some couples, the early cohabitation quickly reveals if they are truly compatible and present opportunities for closeness; for others, it accelerates problems that might have taken longer to surface.
“Suddenly, you’re sharing space and responsibilities with someone at a much earlier stage than what feels “right”. The level of intimacy and commitment that comes with cohabitation can be overwhelming if one or both partners aren’t ready for it, which can lead to resentment and emotional distance.”
For some, Ireland’s housing crisis is just one of many systemic barriers shaping their relationships. 29 year old Emma and her boyfriend’s journey was dictated not just by rent prices but also by Ireland’s asylum system. Emma’s boyfriend came to Ireland as an asylum seeker and was placed in accommodation where she couldn’t visit, forcing their relationship to progress unnaturally. “For two years, we endured the long, dehumanising asylum process, waiting in limbo while his future remained uncertain,” Emma told District that the process took a toll on their mental health, and eventually his application was denied.
Emma’s boyfriend had to move in with her, not because they were ready for it, but because otherwise he would face homelessness. “Moving in together should be a joyful milestone, but for us, it came with immense stress.” The cramped apartment was not big enough for 2, but with soaring rents and his uncertain immigration status, moving out of her tiny apartment and into somewhere bigger isn’t an option. “If we moved and he had to leave, I couldn’t afford rent alone.”
“Moving in together should be a joyful milestone, but for us, it came with immense stress.”
“In an ideal world, we’d have taken that step naturally. But that wasn’t an option.” Now, they wait—on immigration decisions, on a housing market that feels impossible to access, and on the chance to build their life together on their own terms.
Moving slowly is often seen as the healthiest approach to a relationship, but when the alternative is homelessness or deportation, many, like Emma, have little choice but to sacrifice both physical and emotional comfort, to keep themselves or their partner safe. And what about those who take that leap, only to find their relationship unraveling under the pressure?
This was the case for Connall. After breaking up with his ex-boyfriend, they managed to repair their bond and were even occasionally sleeping together. When his ex’s lease ended, the uncertainty of his visa situation left him unable to secure a place to live. “Landlords wouldn’t give him a lease because of how up in the air his visa seemed to be,” Connall explained. With no other option, Connall offered him a couple of months’ stay. However, those months stretched into eight, an experience that made both of them realize the emotional toll of cohabiting with an ex. “It definitely prevented both of us moving on.”
“It definitely prevented both of us moving on.”
Property experts are witnessing the legal and financial fallout from this at work. According to Robin Edwards, a property buying agent at Curetons Property Finders, many young couples are compelled to fast-track major housing decisions “just to make things work financially.” With skyrocketing rents, cohabitation becomes less a romantic milestone and more a survival strategy.
“I’ve worked with several clients [who live together despite being separated] and it can be really tough. Sometimes I feel more like a relationship counsellor than a buying agent.” This financial pressure can force couples into binding arrangements before they’re emotionally ready, sometimes revealing incompatibilities only after they’re tied to onerous rental contracts or mortgages. Robin has seen cases where even divorced or separated couples continue to live together because affordable alternatives are scarce. One couple, divorced for nearly three years, shared a single living space with strict scheduling for common areas, while another client accepted a lower home offer just to escape the awkwardness of cohabiting with an ex.
In Edwards’ view, the housing crisis is reshaping how people form, maintain, and even exit relationships, forcing many to make life-altering decisions under duress rather than through mutual choice. He warns, “If you’re moving in together just to save money, make sure you discuss exit strategies—what happens if things don’t work out?”
“If you’re moving in together just to save money, make sure you discuss exit strategies—what happens if things don’t work out?”
The housing crisis in Ireland is not just a financial issue; it is fundamentally reshaping how relationships are formed, progressed, and often ended. It’s uncomfortable to see external economic realities as in any way involved with our romantic life, but this is now more than squabbles over splitting the bills and leaving the lights on. The cruel reality of the housing crisis is forcing Irish people to make choices nobody should have to make. The choice between turning down a job and enduring long distance or moving in with a girlfriend’s parents after only two months; between the freedom to move on or watching an ex become homeless; living comfortably or watching the love of their life be deported.
The cost of the housing crisis isn’t just measured in the price of a new-build, length of the line to view a damp rental, or the number of headlines about potential homes rotting into the ground, but the relationships fractured and destroyed as a result. So long as housing remains an unscalable barrier to basic stability, the very fabric of our personal connections remain at risk.
