Am I Wrong for Not Helping My Broke Friend Because She Got a Tattoo?

It was a crisp Wednesday afternoon when I walked into work, the clock ticking in the background as the fluorescent lights hummed. I was tired, but in good spirits, as I had just received a text from my friend, Emily, complaining about being broke. Again.

Emily and I had known each other for years, ever since high school. She had always been the type to talk about her financial struggles—always living paycheck to paycheck, complaining about how tough things were, and telling everyone she couldn’t afford to eat. I’d been there myself. I still struggled at times, though things had improved over the years. But it wasn’t easy. We didn’t come from rich families. But I worked hard, and I knew how to manage my finances now. I had a system that worked for me.

But with Emily, it felt different. She never seemed to really make an effort to change her circumstances. Every month, it was the same story. Complaints. No savings. No budget. She didn’t seem to care. That is, until the other day when she sent me a text saying she couldn’t afford food.

I felt a twinge of sympathy. I knew what it was like to go days without food. The shame of not being able to buy groceries, of looking at the clock and knowing that by the end of the week, there was no way you’d make it through. I’d been there. So, I decided to offer help.

I’d worked out a meal prep system that worked wonders for me. I’d prepped meals for two weeks, filling my freezer with containers of healthy meals I could grab and heat up whenever I was hungry. I made about ten portions of three different meals, rotating the menu based on what was on sale, and freezing them for convenience. I had a surplus of meals at the moment—about 25 extras—so I figured I could spare a few for Emily. After all, she was my friend.

I texted her, offering to drop off some of my surplus meals for her.

"Don't worry about it, I'll bring you something," I said, hoping to ease her worries.

I was getting off work later that day when I decided to check social media. I opened up Snapchat and watched her story, expecting the usual posts. But what I saw took me by surprise. There, in her snap, was Emily—smiling, posing in front of a tattoo parlor. She had gotten a new tattoo.

I froze. I recognized the place. It was one of the most popular parlors in the area, and I knew their prices. I had been considering getting a tattoo myself, but the thought of spending money on something so unnecessary in my current financial situation had held me back. I noticed the price on the tattoo flash sheet—it was $180.

Wait a minute. She was broke. Or so she had claimed. She had just told me she couldn’t afford food, yet here she was, dropping $180 on a tattoo. Something didn’t add up. I thought about it for a moment and then sent her a text:

"Hey, how did you afford that tattoo? You said you were broke and couldn’t buy food. But you're getting tattoos?"

It was direct, maybe a little too direct, but it needed to be asked.

She replied almost immediately: "I’m always able to scrounge up cash for new tattoos."

I couldn’t believe it. She knew I was helping her out because I thought she was struggling. I had offered to share my surplus meals, but now I felt like I’d been played. If she could afford tattoos, why did she lie to me about being hungry? I tried to keep my calm, but it wasn’t easy. So I texted back:

“Sorry, but if you’ve got money for a tattoo, you don’t need my meals. I’m not going to help if you’ve got money for things like that.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a flood of angry messages came through.

"Are you serious?" Emily wrote, her words laced with fury. "You’re being classist. You’re telling me poor people can’t have nice things? I’m not some charity case, I don’t need your pity."

I felt my blood pressure rising, but I remained steady, trying to see the situation clearly.

"I’m not saying you can’t have nice things," I replied. "But you can’t claim to be starving and then turn around and spend $180 on a tattoo. It’s not about classism, Emily. It’s about honesty. And I just don’t appreciate being lied to."

The conversation spiraled. I was hurt, and she was furious. There was no middle ground, no understanding. Just walls built on accusations. I started wondering: Was I wrong for standing my ground? Was it too much for me to ask for some consistency in her actions?

The next day, I decided to take a step back. I didn’t message her again. I thought about it, trying to rationalize my feelings. Was I being unreasonable? Maybe I was. But then again, maybe I wasn’t.

That night, I sat in my apartment, letting the frustration wash over me. My phone buzzed. A message from Emily.

“I’m sorry for the things I said. I was mad, and I shouldn’t have said that about you.”

I stared at the screen. Her apology felt hollow. Could I trust her now? She had made me feel guilty for offering help in the first place, and now she was trying to backpedal. I didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, I sat with my feelings. How long had she been doing this? How many times had she lied to me about her finances, only to go behind my back and do things that didn’t align with what she had claimed?

I decided to call her. I had to hear her side of the story face-to-face.

“Emily, we need to talk,” I said when she answered.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for everything,” she replied quickly, almost nervously.

“I get it. But why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just be honest with me about your finances instead of playing me like this?”

She was quiet for a long moment, and then she spoke.

“Because I was embarrassed,” she admitted. “I was embarrassed that I had to ask for help. I didn’t want you to see me like that. But I realize now, I should have been honest with you.”

Her honesty hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt the tension in my chest ease a little. Maybe she wasn’t trying to hurt me, after all.

“I understand, Emily. But we can’t move forward if you keep making decisions like that.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’ll try to do better. I just don’t want to lose you.”

I let out a long breath. “You’re not going to lose me. But you have to earn back my trust.”

The next few weeks were difficult. Our relationship was strained. I found myself questioning whether I could continue helping her, whether I could continue to support someone who lied to me and spent money recklessly.

But as the days passed, Emily slowly began to show that she was serious about changing. She started budgeting her money more carefully. She was more open with me about her finances, and she started paying me back for the things I had helped her with. It wasn’t easy, but it was a step in the right direction.

By the time I saw her again, things had calmed down. We had learned to communicate more honestly, without the accusations and misunderstandings. Emily had grown up a lot since the incident, and so had I.

I never thought I’d be in this situation. But in the end, I learned that sometimes, it’s not about being right or wrong—it’s about understanding the bigger picture, the context of the situation. And learning how to navigate those tough conversations, even when they’re uncomfortable.

Emily and I might have had a rough patch, but the one thing I’ve learned is that, sometimes, you have to make mistakes to grow. And it’s the willingness to grow that makes a difference.