Ask Cassandra
Dear Cassandra,
I’ve been with my partner O (he/him) for nearly ten years. We met at our performing arts high school, and we had an instant connection. It was thrilling to meet someone who loved music as much as I did, and we fell for each other deeply and immediately.
There was no question about what we would do after high school—we were staying together. We went to the same conservatory, and joined the same orchestra. Then he went solo.
He thrived as a solo artist. I won’t share any specifics but we’re talking big events, big money, the kind of opportunities you don’t walk away from. He didn’t want to travel the world without me (he said he wouldn’t go if I wasn’t there, and he wasn’t joking) and I wasn’t getting many big breaks of my own, so I kind of shelved my career to support his. I quit the orchestra, and followed him around the world.
And gradually I became aware of just how much world there was, and how much I’d constricted myself to a world that was made up of just this man and me. My life sounds like a dream to most people. I’ve traveled all over the world, eaten at the best restaurants, visited all the sights, and seen him perform at the most exclusive venues. He showers me with affection and buys me anything I want. In every new city he puts money in my hands and tells me to go shopping.
I do love him and we’ve shared so much, but the terrible thing is that I don’t think I can be what he needs anymore. I want to stop touring, start applying to orchestra openings, and spend more time on my own work.
Just bringing this up makes O panic. He calls me his muse and says he doesn’t know how he could live without me. He’s committed to performances two years in advance, but he says he would give up anything and follow me everywhere to be with me. He swears that even if I never work another day in my life he’ll always take care of me and give me everything I need.
He’s always said this stuff, but it used to sound so romantic. Every love song I’ve ever heard is about how incredible it is to find someone willing to give you everything. But the truth is, I no longer want to take it. Not from him, not from anyone.
Does that make me a cynic? I don’t want to be.
But I also don’t want to be supported and adored. I don’t want to be a muse. I don’t want to inspire someone else. I want to find my own inspiration, figure out what makes me thrive, what makes me alive and creative and joyful.
I once brought up the idea of a break, so that we could see what life could be like if we were independent of each other, and he went into a depression that lasted for weeks. He missed performances, stopped eating, and I was seriously scared he’d hurt himself. In a panic, I promised I’d stay with him forever, and he’s reminded me of that constantly ever since.
Sometimes I fantasize about running away, but I know he’d follow. Lately, I’ve caught myself thinking that it might be better if I died—I don’t want to actually hurt myself, but if I were dead, he couldn’t argue me into staying any longer, could he? Those thoughts have scared me enough that I’m writing to you.
What do I do? If I leave, how? If I stay, how? Will I ever be free?
Yours,
E.
Dear E,
First, I want to congratulate you on maintaining your sense of self and a desire for your own fulfillment despite every encouragement you’ve received—from your partner, from our world, from those stupid love songs—to subsume yourself entirely in his work and wellbeing.
Second, if you haven’t already, I want you to go see a mental health professional as soon as possible. I believe you when you say you don’t actually want to hurt yourself, and that these thoughts scare you, and I think that’s a great sign. But I am not a doctor, and even if I were, I’m not your doctor. Please, see your doctor. If your peripatetic life doesn’t allow for a regular doctor, call one of the mental health hotlines listed in the sidebar.
Third, yes, you should leave. You should definitely leave. You can leave always, for any reason, but “being with him makes me want to die” is pretty much the best reason there is to get yourself gone.
Normally I’d be telling you to gather up your friends and family to support you while you made a plan to go, but, honestly, I don’t want to assume that’s a possibility this time. Your letter makes you sound so isolated, and I do wonder how much of that is deliberate. He’s taken you away from everything familiar, and engineered a life so unstable that you could never build new friendships or make connections with anyone but him? How very convenient for the man who wants you to be each other’s only person.
Let me be very clear, if I haven’t been: O is emotionally abusing you. He may not see it that way (I guarantee he doesn’t) but “you are the only person I need and I need you always” is not romantic. It is deeply controlling. It places an unconscionable burden upon the other, especially if, like you, they are generous and loving and feel the pressure to reciprocate. Especially when the merest hint that you might like to be an independent person prompts “a depression that lasted for weeks”! I won’t suggest that he was faking it; I believe that his sadness and panic were genuine emotions. But he definitely took advantage of that state, and of your reaction to it because, and this is the kicker: he reminds you of that promise. The promise you made under duress, when you feared for his health, is one that he should have explicitly released you from as soon as he was less distressed. That he didn’t is very telling.
He could be genuinely upset and still recognize your right to make decisions for your life. He could be depressed, and still understand that you have autonomy and agency. He could choose to feel his feelings and make dealing with them his responsibility, not yours.
He didn’t make that choice. He chose to extract a promise that you would never leave, and now he waves that over your head as if it were a blood pact you can’t break.
It’s not.
People leave people they have promised not to leave every day. That’s what a divorce is. That’s what the majority of long-term relationship break ups are. We promise to stay when things are good (or in your case, when they are very bad) and later, when circumstances change, or they do, or we do, we break that promise. This is sad, but it’s absolutely normal. We cannot predict what’s coming next.
But, that said, let me predict some things for you.
He will not get better. He will not loosen your leash. There will always be a reason why you shouldn’t pursue a job or stay in one place for long enough to put down roots. He reacts very poorly to any hint that you might leave, and that means that he could become dangerous. You don’t mention physical abuse, so this might seem overly dramatic, but people can do terrible things when they’re panicking, and this guy has stalker written all over him. When you say “I fantasize about running away, but I know he’d follow,” I believe you.
This is why I want you to be very careful and very secretive about your next steps. If you’re not doing this already, put aside some of the money he gives you. Ideally, put it into a bank account in your own name, that he cannot access. Money is one route to freedom.
Information is another route—check out the links in the sidebar on the right, especially the ones for leaving an abusive relationship. Don’t hint at your plans. Do all of the information safety things recommended in those links: get a burner phone, change the passwords on your devices and accounts, clear your browser history often.
I’m so sorry. This is scary and lonely work, and I wish so much that you didn’t have to do it. There are people and groups ready and willing to help you, and I hope you reach out to them as soon as you feel safe to do so.
I have another prediction for you. I predict that there’s a day when this man and this life are behind you. There’s a day when you wake up and feel inspired instead of trapped. There’s a day when you are your own muse.
On that day, you will be free.
Love,
Cassandra.