I’m in an “abusive” relationship — with someone who would never hurt me.
I don’t normally share my personal life or my situation in general, because it’s hard to put into words. I realise it’s as tragic as it is comical, it doesn’t feel real even for me. Yet that’s where I am.
We met in 2014 in Moscow through a friend. No, dear strangers-with-theories, not on russianbrides dot com. We’re both misfits, without much family apart from each other. Andy became my family.
Even without what I’m about to say, we’ve never been a “regular” couple — big age gap, different countries, personal and cultural differences. That’s complicated enough for most people. But the real problem?
We can’t live together in the UK, even though we’re married, because according to his government, Andy doesn’t earn “enough.” to support me.
Right now, he’s supporting me while I live in another country in a rental I can barely afford. We’re both paying for two households. You’d think it would be cheaper for me to live with my husband in his house? Apparently not. One official suggestion we’ve had: Andy could sell his house, rent a flat, and use the savings to tick a box in the application.
Because of my changed status after marriage, there is a risk UK could now refuse me even a visitor visa — despite never breaking any visa rules. Why? Because they know we want to be together (shocking, I know), and I don’t have enough “ties” to Turkey to convince them I’ll return instead of overstaying. I live here on short-term visas, with no work permit and no path to stay permanently — unless I suddenly... yep, become rich. It's always about the money.
There’s also always the risk they won’t extend my visa here. I could be forced to leave as soon as October, with nowhere certain to go — while Andy waits in the UK, and I’m not allowed to enter.
Andy is one of the most caring people I’ve ever met — he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Our relationship is anything but abusive. And yet, absurdly, the situation we’re trapped in is, by definition, abusive: years of forced long distance, constant uncertainty, and a system that dictates our lives — and punishes us for not being rich enough.
Long distance for months is hard. For years, it changes you. Choosing it and knowing when it ends is one thing — wanting it to end and being unable to stop it - is a peculiar, soul destroying torture. Anxiety, fear, the feeling of floating with no ground under your feet. Blaming yourself for not being clever enough, rich enough, resourceful enough to fix it.
For trying to do it right. For failing to do it right.
Well-meaning friends: Are you sure? There must be a way.
Strangers in the comments: Why didn’t they just marry earlier? Why can’t he live in Turkey? Why can’t she live in Russia? She should have just came in a dingy ahahha. She must be playing him. He had to think before marrying. They knew the rules.
We’ve spent over a year writing letters, gathering documents, and hoping for a way forward.
And we’ve arrived at… nothing. Read Andy's posts and I would be thankful if you share.
We are exhausted and drained. Nobody should have to live like this.