Jo Nemeth (left), 56, who has lived without money for 10 years, and Sharon Brodie, 57, a social worker and domestic-violence advocate, have been friends for 28 years. Now they live together, and Sharon teasingly calls Jo her “wife”.

JO: We met in 1997 when we were both living in Ipswich, west of Brisbane, and I volunteered to help Sharon set up an organic food co-op. I remember thinking, “I’m so lucky to have met this woman, a new mum like me, who I can talk to about everything from global inequality to alternative parenting methods.”

I was going through a difficult break-up with my partner – the father of my baby daughter, Amy – at the time. He was a beautiful person, but he was also an addict. Sharon helped me through all that, not as a counsellor but as a friend.

When I decided to start living without money in 2015, I wanted her reassurance. I told her I was going to close my bank account, stop using money and live in the gift economy and she said, “Knowing you, I think that makes perfect sense.” She really saw me.

About a year later, her husband, Monty, died suddenly. I didn’t have a job and so had all this time and freedom, which allowed me to move in and take care of Sharon and her two teenage boys, Morgan and David, for a few months. We made a nest of mattresses and pillows on the floor of the lounge room and while our friend, Rose, held Sharon and cried with her, I got into the kitchen and cooked, cleaned, went to the shops and drove Sharon’s youngest son, Dave, to school.

When Sharon bought her dream home in Lismore [in northern NSW] in 2018, Amy and her husband, Sam, moved in to help cover the mortgage. I was happy living in a caravan in another friend’s backyard but then, when Amy fell pregnant in 2018, it made sense for me to move in, too.

Because I wasn’t going to be paying rent, we decided that my contribution would be to make the garden productive and do most of the cooking and household chores, and we joked that I was like Sharon’s “wife”. Whenever I made her a packed lunch for work, her colleagues would ask if we were lesbians and Sharon let them believe that for a while, just for fun. We are each other’s person, though.

‘Living with Sharon is like taking a masterclass in interpersonal relations. I can love people on a global scale, but she’s loving face-to-face, in her daily interactions.’

Jo Nemeth

We even have date nights. On our most recent one, we rode our bikes to a local restaurant and around town, chatting and laughing. Sharon pays; she loves eating out and I try to relax my moneyless ideas because it’s so much fun going out with her, but I’m not always so flexible. When she invited me to see a show down the coast recently, I got cross and refused to go because, to me, it’s not OK to drive around the countryside using fossil fuels just for your own pleasure. In terms of our attitudes to money and social justice, we often say we’re in the same book but not always on the same page.

Living with Sharon is like taking a masterclass in interpersonal relations. I can love people on a global scale, but she’s loving face-to-face, in her daily interactions, which I really admire. Together we’re like one person who can love everyone, everywhere.

SHARON: When I first met Jo, I was a 29-year-old social worker with grand plans to offer not just counselling but massage, workshops, naturopathy – and an organic food co-op. Jo answered our ad for volunteers and I could tell straight away she was capable and intelligent. She could speak three languages and was studying herbalism. She could also cut through bullshit. One day she said, “You always look like you’ve got it together, Sharon.” I felt as if she could see beneath my social-worker persona and wanted to know who I really was. It was such a relief.

In 1999, my husband, Monty, and I moved to Lismore, which was this divine little cosmopolitan hippie town back then. Jo would come and stay every couple of months and then, in 2002, she and Amy moved onto a nearby property.

The “wife” thing started when Monty would come home from work on a Friday night and find me, Jo and our friend, Rose, in the kitchen cooking, laughing and drinking red wine while our kids all played together in the living room. He’d say, “Hello, wives!” He loved that I had this sisterhood.

Having a friend who lives without money brings a level of accountability into your life. She’ll say, “Do you really need to buy that, Sharon?” – and, sometimes, I’ll say, “Yes, I do!” She also reminds me that after the coming economic, social and climate collapse, we won’t be able to use money anyway, but I’m not there yet. I’m still on the Titanic, clinging to the railings: Jo’s jumped into the icy water.

‘Having a friend who lives without money brings a level of accountability into your life. She’ll say, “Do you really need to buy that, Sharon?” ’

Sharon Brodie

In 2016, Monty was riding a motorbike when he was hit by a semi-trailer. I didn’t want to live after he died. Jo moved in and took care of me and the boys, who were 19 and 17. After a few months, I went back to work and Jo helped me fix up the house so I could sell it.

I bought the one we’re now living in – with my new partner, Tim, Morgan, Amy, Sam, and their three small children. It’s a big, messy, multi-generational household. Occasionally, there’s friction between Tim and Jo. He doesn’t feel the same sense of urgency about the world’s issues and she can be hard work because she demands the best from everyone. But she also sees the best in people. She restores my faith in humanity again and again.

Jo’s willingness to feed the chickens every morning means I can get up, eat my eggs on toast and go to work helping women in mortal danger from domestic violence. I can volunteer at the local theatre because Jo cooks, does the washing, manages the methane digester (for fossil fuel-free cooking) and our vegie garden.

My nature is: let’s do a million things at once, then we can relax, but Jo will often say, “Just sit in the garden, Sharon. Watch the chickens for a while.” People sometimes ask how I put up with someone living in my house rent-free. But it’s an absolute win-win, with occasional “You drive me crazy” moments. I’m living with this person I love who brings an incredible sense of peace into my life. I hope we can live together forever.

twoofus@goodweekend.com.au

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