I left my husband due to his extravagant lifestyle.

The charter of 'shrinking' due to her husband's expenses led her to decide to leave. — Cute little thing, his money is running out. Why do I have to find money somewhere every time, send it to him, and in general, solve all his financial problems? I divorced my husband because I couldn't trust him with my money, wrote Nina, then on a women's forum, trying to vent her frustrations. — He would waste the money I saved for both of us, for our future, which, as it turned out, existed only in my head. I think many will find Nina's story familiar. My husband, Leonid, called me when he was at his parents' house in another city with our children, Michael and Cathrine. He called to tell me, like thunder from a clear sky, that he had only a thousand rubles left on his card. A thousand! Can you imagine? He said it wouldn’t be enough for the return trip or the basic needs of the children. And he urgently needed me to send him money right now, like a piece of ice. Words stuck in my throat like a lump.

 Firstly, when he called, to be honest, I wasn't even surprised. It was as if my internal radar had gone off: Oh, here comes the money talk again. It was so predictable, so in his style, that I was almost prepared for this request before he even opened his mouth. But it's one thing to expect and another to hear it like this, casually, as if he were asking me to pass the salt at lunch. And we had it all planned out—we were even supposed to have something left over. Where did he put them? Secondly, I was pierced by a cold fear. He isn't there alone; he is with our children. They are in a foreign city, in a car. How will they pay for gas to get back home? What will they eat? And if something unforeseen happens? And thirdly, I felt that familiar, sticky disgust washing over me. Is this not typical Lyonya, huh? Taking the children, going to his parents', fully aware that money is tight, and then putting me in a position where I have to deal with it. Irresponsibility reached its utmost. It's a game, not real life with real consequences. Yes, I decided to end my marriage. To live separately.

One of the main reasons I chose to do this was his spectacular inability to handle money. He has a signature phrase that he often uses whenever his bank account is empty. I'll mention that a bit later. This phrase drives me insane. And it unleashes a whole storm of negative emotions within me. He so frivolously tells me that we, you see, have run out of money and that for some time we'll have to 'tighten our belts' — another of his favorite terms that makes me feel sick. Why should I have to 'tighten my belt' when the hole in the budget formed solely because of his fault? I work hard, I try, I saved every penny, and he... He earns, I must say, quite a bit. Fairly decent for our town. A frame from the movie 'Betrayal'. But the money slips away from him like water through a sieve. Where? On all sorts of nonsense.

One moment, he feels the need for a new phone, even though his old one is just a year old and works perfectly. The next moment, it's some "toys for adult boys" – be it an advanced fishing rod that later collects dust on the balcony for months, or yet another gadget for the computer that he claims he can't live without. New little things for himself – shirts, shoes, jackets, as if he's a movie star, not a family man. He lives for the day, not looking ahead even a week, fluttering through life like a carefree butterfly. And, as I understand it, he is delighted with this carnival of irresponsibility. And what about me? Am I supposed to provide all this? It was then, watching this whole circus with horses, that I decided to leave him. I became terrified. Scared that one day he would spend everything down to the penny. Not just his, but also mine, the money I saved for a rainy day, for the children's education, for any kind of stability in our fragile life. I remember one time I tried to talk to him seriously.

 "I started cautiously, 'Where has all the money gone again? We just got paid a week ago! The utility bills haven't been paid, and we need to contribute to the kids' kindergarten and activities.' He looked at me with his eternally surprised eyes, as if I were asking him about the theory of relativity. 'Well, Nina,' he stretched out in his trademark tone, which was laced with genuine bewilderment, 'you know, money – it's like water, it slips through your fingers. What can we do? It comes and goes; it's a part of life. Don't stress, we'll manage somehow. We'll get through it!' It's easy for him to say 'we'll get through it' when it was mostly me who had to deal with it. Or here's another incident that stuck in my memory. I came back from work, tired, and he was sitting there beaming, fiddling with some expensive game console. 'Leonid,' my voice even faltered, 'we need to pay the car loan, and we have almost nothing in our account. Did you spend everything on... what this time?' 'Oh come on, Nina, why are you getting so worked up?' he waved off carelessly. 'I bought some gaming gadgets, for the soul.'"

But look at my fancy joystick now. Don't worry, we'll manage somehow. The kids will endure a month without their activities; it's not the end of the world. And we'll cover the other expenses. But I wasn't just sitting idle, waiting for manna from heaven. I worked practically two jobs at the same time. My main job was as an accountant, and in the evenings and on weekends, I took on side work - I was helping a woman I knew who was self-employed, while everyone else was already asleep, brewing myself the strongest coffee. And you know what's most frustrating? It's these very earnings, made through my sweat, tears, and sleepless nights, that often pull our family out of another financial hole dug by Leonid. They go towards paying off Leonid’s debts, which arise with frightening regularity, like mushrooms after the rain. Where do these debts come from? I have my suspicions. Something tells me it's not just about phones and fishing gear. Perhaps some shady computer dealings, or something even worse that he preferred to keep quiet about. He would brush it off, saying I was just imagining things, that I was being paranoid.

 Meanwhile, the credit cards were running out. And then he calls again. 'A thousand on the card.' With the kids. In another city. And I am supposed to rush and solve the problem. Again. As if I must be his personal ATM and crisis manager, all in one. How many times have I heard this phrase from him when his next financial project was failing, or when he simply mindlessly spent his entire salary in a week on some whim? This phrase became a symbol of his childishness, his unwillingness to take responsibility. It was precisely because of this phrase, which he loved to utter with an expression of universal fatigue, when his bank account glowed with emptiness, that I realized I couldn't do this anymore.

 We're broke,' he likes to say. And this 'we' grates on my ears worse than any other words. Leaving a partner because of an extravagant lifestyle is a significant and often painful decision, but it's also one that can be rooted in deeply valid concerns. If his spending habits were reckless, caused financial instability, or showed a disregard for shared values and responsibilities, then stepping away may have been the healthiest choice for your well-being and future.

 Here are some thoughts to consider as you reflect on this:

 Why It Matters:

 Financial stress can erode trust and emotional safety in a relationship.

Different priorities—such as saving for the future vs. living lavishly now—can cause ongoing tension.

Feeling unheard or ignored if you raised concerns and he dismissed them might’ve been the final straw.

Ask Yourself:

 Did he acknowledge or try to change his behavior when you brought it up?

Did his lifestyle make you feel insecure, unstable, or undervalued?

Are you at peace with your decision, or do you feel unresolved?

 Moving Forward:

 Stand by your boundaries. If your values weren't respected, leaving was a form of self-respect.

Avoid guilt. People sometimes confuse leaving with failure, but protecting your emotional and financial health is a strength, not a failure.

Reflect on patterns. What kind of partnership do you want going forward, especially in terms of financial compatibility?

 Would you like to discuss further how it all unfolded, or what you’re currently struggling with?