Living together seems to be a great financial move so far. With four adults splitting the mortgage and other costs, it is easier for each of us to save more of our income, which will give us the financial freedom to pay for childcare or reduce our work hours later, when we need more time and money for our families. We can also more easily afford investments in the house itself, like installing solar panels or weather proofing the attic, which will reduce our carbon footprint and save us more money in the long run.

What if something goes wrong and one couple breaks up or some or all of decide we can’t stand to be crowded together in one house with growing families? We’ve started a series of discussions and are drafting a four-way contract now—when times are good and our relations with each other are strong—for these kind of contingencies. Our legal agreement, almost like a pre-nup, has provisions for if one of us dies, or falls behind on our payments, or if one couple moves out but the remaining couple needs to buy their equity gradually over several years so financial strain won’t force them to sell the house and move.

But beyond all these practical and financial aspects of the arrangement, the real advantage of co-housing is how living together curbs feelings of isolation. People talk a lot about how important it is to have privacy, but I’ve noticed that my own desire for privacy is sometimes more of an excuse not to take social risks. What I’ve learned from a decade of living with other people is that it is actually really good to have people in my life who see me in moments when I’m openly struggling—not just when I’m doing well. The times I would never post about on Facebook. But it’s usually those moments, when I probably most need to connect with friends, that I’m least likely to make plans to see them. Particularly for introverts like me, it’s easy if I’m feeling tired or discouraged to want to just escape by sitting at home and watching Netflix.

For many people, their romantic partner is the one person with whom they feel comfortable showing their struggles or weaknesses. While Rebecca and I certainly support each other in that way, it has actually been great for our relationship that we don’t try to be each other’s only source of support and amateur therapy.

Good housemates can help share that load and can also come in pretty handy as counselors or mediators when there are challenges with the relationship itself. This happened not that long ago, when, like most engaged couples, the stress of the final weeks of “wedding-planning jail” was bringing out the worst in us. Rebecca and I were on the road to spending a whole evening fighting about when and how we could possibly get everything done (instead of actually doing anything of course). Luckily, we realized we were stuck and decided to reach out to our smart and caring housemate who was just one room away. She helped us work through the jumble of stress and raw feelings that our fight was surfacing and we both left the conversation feeling a whole lot better.

I certainly still have fears. I worry that one day, maybe we’ll stop getting along, or we’ll decide that the house isn’t big enough for the increasing number of people, or that our careers will pull us toward living in different cities. Our house family may break apart. But just like with my marriage, my hopes for how much richer our lives can be together are stronger than my fears about what could go wrong.