I remember

I remember the day Adele released Easy On Me. 

Not as clearly as one might recall a first kiss or concert or the smell of your grandmother—her warmth, the last time you hugged her. No, it wasn’t quite a defining moment like that. It’s more a memory in the vein of spilled wine: having stained the countertop and filling hollow spaces with its liquid. A fallen glass, partially shattered. The shards dispersed in chaotic entropy as the remnants of its intact origin lay now foreign to the pieces. A memory of hands soaked by blood and pinot noir, trashing towels and once treasured chalices as swiftly as the accident had occurred. A memory that fixes itself by a fluid embrace, leaving its mark on the day and, subsequently, my life. 

My mother was the one who broke the news to me. I had been casually aware of Adele’s return but was caught off guard when she released the single midday. In typical fashion, I hurried to listen and devoured its lyricism of adolescent trauma, healing, and how that affects longterm relationships. I basked in the beauty of its visuals and momentarily felt seen and heard… I felt connected to some entity that was beyond me. Beyond Adele or music; I felt connected by the shared sensitivities of recovery and intensive therapy. I felt like there was a space for me to be the broken, healing, individual that I am AND be in the midst of questioning my romantic partnership. 

For context: Easy On Me was released October 15th, 2021. My ex and I had had a study rise in conflict at the turn of the month, and I had been internally imposing existential and relational questionings since late August.

It was only recent—as of October 15th—where concerns started to arise in the relationship. We had been together for a little over a year, living together for roughly ten months. I was happy, contented—albeit domesticated—and felt optimistic about broadening my horizons and inhabiting new spaces. I was working three jobs six days a week, making time for therapy and treatment between the days where I worked doubles. I was balancing my day off with writing music and poetry; devoting whatever shared free time to my ex. I was pursuing legal protection from my stalker—where my a day off would be filled with hours in a courtroom, juggling legalities and pleading my case.  In whatever gaps were left, I was planning a move to Asheville. I was job hunting, networking, finalizing a lease, and managing my ex’s stressors in conversation and confidence. I was casually sober (I had a recovery mentality while I indulged in the occasional delta-8 gummy or glass of wine) and would play house to a partner coming home from the weight of a nine hour work day; who ‘took the edge off’ by means of amaretto sours, hours on Tiktok, general suppression, and a ‘caution to the wind’ mentality that caused chaos in our household. 

Seeing the way my ex reacted to the influx of work stress, I buckled down and attempted to minimize the stress of moving and finding a job in Asheville. I figured I’d take the bulk of this weight, build up a savings account to keep us afloat in the transitory state; and compartmentalize the legal proceedings and therapy work I was dealing with to create a less-stressed environment for them. 

In the midst of these events, I began developing more secure friendships outside of my romantic partnership. We had met and dated solely in the pandemic-riddled world and I can, at times, be a social butterfly. But as the world slowly began to reopen, I wanted to take the opportunity to get to know new people and recommit to those closest to me. 

After all, we spent what felt like a year in lockdown. I’m grateful for the community I have had and have felt throughout this entire time; but I was also ready to feel it on an external level again. 

As all of these factors were colliding, I started to feel less supported by my ex. Thoughts were swirling—spiraling—inside me… was I removing myself from the relationship? Was this a form of self-sabotage? How have my needs changed? Have they changed at all? 

I started to find the support and solidarity I needed in my close friendships. I started to prioritize spaces and people where I felt seen and heard. Where I felt at peace or felt the weight momentarily lift from my shoulders. I started finding platonic forms of intimacy and was allowing myself to love and be loved in ways that felt refreshing and inclusive. I was aware how the rise of these feelings could affect my romantic partnership, and I was searching for a time to discuss it. As the window for these conversations waned, my mind would wander into rabbit holes of ‘what-if’s. What if I wasn’t in a committed partnership in my early twenties? What if I had a crush on somebody? What if I were able to pursue that? Would I be more or less fulfilled? Would I be more or less myself?

The questions continued to prey on me in my weakest moments. I spent hours in therapy and with friends trying to rid myself of this inner turmoil until one day, I awoke and couldn’t breathe. It was brief, but I was drowning, gasping for air. 

An apartment complex in Asheville had emailed us the final lease agreement. All we had to do was sign and, in eight weeks, we would be moving into an entirely new world. My ex was still wary of finding a job, and I was tentative about signing with their being so emotionally distressed about the move. I tried to tend to each worry—each leaky pipe—and found no validation or security in return. So when I awoke breathless and alone that morning, I knew a conversation needed to be had.

Later that day,  I sat my ex down after another one of their strenuous days at work. I baby-stepped my way into a conversation about Asheville—anxieties ablaze and panic steadily rising—and finally said I was having cold feet about the move and was fearful that we could be drifting apart. If we hadn’t started drifting apart, I was at least worried that the move would be cause for it to happen. 

If one had seen the iceberg early enough to change the Titanic’s path and avoid the catastrophe that killed hundreds, wouldn’t you say something?

The response to my honesty was fury. There was frustration and misunderstanding. My ex reacted as I sat there, holding my cooling tea, biting my tongue. As immediate as their shock, I tried to abate their reactionary impulses and lessen the immediate conflict. In return, I was faced with questions of my commitment and fidelity. If there was someone else and, if not, then where did these feelings come from? Were my cold feet warranted for any reason other than questioning the relationship? Furthermore, why was I questioning the relationship at all?

I shamed myself for questioning a partnership that I was consensually one half of. My independence had declined in the last months of the relationship; and I wanted to preserve my self and secure a healthy relationship. Only… as I started to stand on my own two feet, they seemingly forgot how to stand on their own.

We put the conversation to bed as we did ourselves and I thought I was in the clear from their reactionary state. I began to set firmer boundaries around the rest I needed, and would oftentimes go to bed before they were ready, to ensure I got some sleep before my opening shifts at the café. One of these nights when I retired early, they decided to work on music on my laptop. That night—I was awoken by a tantrum. Items were being thrown around the house, doors were being slammed. I sleepily jolted up to check on them, wondering what the commotion was all about. When I entered the living room to ask what was going on, the only response was “I can’t even talk to you right now.”

My privacy was invaded and they had read through conversations—practically journal entires—which I had shared with close friends. And yet they were the one who couldn’t talk to me.

The tantrum then became a common occurrence. I’d be awoken in the middle of the night another time, to another invasion of privacy; and would face relentless questioning of my character, intentions, and capacity to love. Cycles of love bombing started early and would happen a handful times each day—for weeks. Through this, I became less secure and less attached to the person I had been dating for over a year; and I was expected to take these cycles and ‘work through’ whatever issues were at hand when I had had my trust and privacy entirely revoked, violated, and repudiated. 

When October 15th came and I got a text from my mother, I became filled with equal parts curiosity and trepidation for how the track might affect me. The result was a full-bodied sense of relief. Adele was singing and talking about exactly what I needed to hear, and ask: would you go easy on me? I had been through so much, so young, and have had no way to fully process such events by twenty-two. “I was still a child / didn’t get the chance to feel the world around me / I had no time to choose what I chose to do” echoed throughout my hollowed heart as I realized I have clung to people for far too long because my fear of living and dying alone is greater than asking for my needs to be fulfilled. As Adele’s vocals filled the void that was my deprived sense of self-worth, I began to understand that I could have good intentions and the highest hopes; and recognize that my needs have changed. Both could be true. 

Later that night, I asked my ex if they had heard Adele’s new song. They hadn’t and, with a childlike enthusiasm, I asked to play it for them. I was hoping they would hear it from me—from my perspective—and go easy on me. I was hoping they would develop a greater sense of sympathy for me and a lesser sense of their self-importance. We swayed to the record. I held them as they cried. They took it as a sign that I could never leave. I took it as a sign that I needed to. 

I remember the day Adele released Easy On Me. Because since that day, I have been gentler to myself and haven’t shied away from harsh realties or demanding my needs. Her selflessness and awareness on the new album in its entirety is unparalleled. And the interviews and conversations that she has had surrounding the pursuit of her own happiness in the dissolution of a longterm relationship has never been more essential than it is now.

We need to take better care of ourselves to take better care of each other. We should be encouraging when someone chooses to pursue their self-betterment. Go easy on each other… go easy on me.