What Cassandra Syndrome Silences

In recent years, I feel I’ve seen more coverage of “Cassandra Syndrome” in the media.

Most of this information tends to be framed around a largely fixed perspective:
“Men with developmental disabilities = perpetrators”
“Women without developmental disabilities = victims.”

Today, I’d like to put into words the discomfort I feel about “Cassandra Syndrome” as someone with a developmental disability.

“Cassandra Syndrome” is

First, let me share my understanding of what “Cassandra Syndrome” is.

“Cassandra Syndrome” is not a medical diagnosis.
It is a concept used to describe a state where neurotypical individuals experience ongoing mental strain and distress due to difficulties in mutual understanding during communication with individuals with developmental disabilities.

When discussing “Cassandra Syndrome,” the explanation often used can be summarized in my own words as roughly the following dynamic:

The neurotypical partner in a couple unconsciously expects their partner with developmental disabilities to engage in emotional exchanges considered “normal,” “expected,” or “something everyone does naturally.”
However, the partner with developmental disabilities cannot respond to these emotional demands “appropriately” in the way the neurotypical partner expects.

As this disconnect repeats, the neurotypical partner gradually accumulates feelings of “not being understood” or “not being heard.” Eventually, these sensations crystallize into frustration and anxiety, prompting the neurotypical partner to confide in friends or family.

Yet, the responses they often receive are along these lines:
“Aren’t you overthinking it?”
“That person has good qualities too.”
“That level of discomfort is common everywhere.”

If the neurotypical person cannot fully articulate their distress at this point—that is, if they themselves haven’t fully sorted out “what exactly is painful and how”—their concerns are even more likely to be dismissed. Consequently, the conversation fails to share the problem and instead reinforces the feeling that “my suffering is insignificant.”

Thus, neurotypical individuals end up bearing their anxiety and isolation alone, ultimately being driven to the level of clear pathology, such as adjustment disorder or depression.
This happens because the words they voiced were not fully acknowledged by those around them.

The above is the typical conceptual structure of “Cassandra Syndrome” as I understand it, and I believe it is the framework often taken as a given when discussing this issue.

The Story of Cassandra

So what exactly is Cassandra in “Cassandra Syndrome”?

Cassandra (Cassandra) was a figure in Greek mythology, the daughter of Priam, king of Troy (Ilium), the city known for the Trojan Horse.

The god Apollo granted Cassandra the gift of prophecy. However, enraged by Cassandra’s rejection of his advances, Apollo did not take back the power of prophecy he had given her. Instead, he cursed her.

All your prophecies shall come true.
Yet no one shall believe a word you say.

After that, Cassandra repeatedly foretold the destruction of the Trojan War, the trap of the wooden horse, and the fall of Troy itself, but no one believed her. She was treated as a madwoman.

In the end, Troy fell, and Cassandra met a tragic fate.

This story,

from a societal structural perspective,
offers profound insights relevant even today:
the experience of speaking truth sincerely yet being disbelieved,
the voice crushed not by reason but by group psychology,
and the notion that “a voice unheard is a punishment.”

In another article, I published content within the context of:
“For individuals with developmental disabilities, exchanging information is a reward,”
and
“For individuals with developmental disabilities, exchanging emotions is an obligation, work, or drudgery.”

I believe one of the diverse backgrounds that can trigger “Cassandra Syndrome” is this “discrepancy in how information and emotions are perceived” between neurotypical individuals and those with developmental disabilities.

The fixed perspective of men as perpetrators and women as victims

Now, whenever I encounter information explaining “Cassandra Syndrome,” I always feel a sense of unease.

It stems from the fact that nearly all such information is presented from a fixed angle: portraying men with developmental disabilities as perpetrators and neurotypical women as victims.

Why is this? What is the background behind it?

Reflecting on this question—
that is what motivated me to write this article.

The powerful image of “tragic femininity” inherent in the story of Cassandra

I’ve already introduced the story of Cassandra, but among its diverse messages, one particularly powerful one is the context of the tragic femininity.

This context resonates directly with the hearts of women who struggle with choosing a partner with developmental disabilities, yet cannot understand what he is thinking. They cannot empathize with him as they would with a typical person, as they would with everyone else.
It possesses a structure well-suited for women to identify with their own struggles.

I believe this is one factor contributing to the phenomenon where vast amounts of information are produced through a fixed lens of “male perpetrator, female victim.”

Furthermore, the fact that very few men in Japan articulate their own vulnerability may also exacerbate this situation. In other words, if there are countless women speaking out, it becomes easy to reproduce such content as a project. On the other hand, very few men speak up. Even when one is finally found, if they refuse to show their face, the article’s impact weakens. This makes the project itself difficult to execute.

Looking at it this way, it seems unavoidable that articles and videos planned under the headline “Cassandra Syndrome” will inevitably have their content fixed within the framework of “women = victims, men = perpetrators” from the very stage of conception.

Are men with developmental disabilities who can have romantic relationships the strong ones?

One more thing I’ve been thinking about.

For a situation known as “Cassandra Syndrome” to arise—that is, for it to surface as a problem between romantic or married partners—it goes without saying that establishing such an affectionate relationship is a necessary prerequisite. For people who cannot form such relationships with others in the first place, Cassandra Syndrome is irrelevant or a distant concern.

What I observe when looking at men with developmental disabilities is this:
Fundamentally, men with developmental disabilities who are capable of romantic relationships might be considered the socially advantaged strong ones, relative to the broader population of men with developmental disabilities in Japan.

By “strong ones” here,
I mean those who, from various perspectives—
communication skills,
economic standing,
educational background,
family lineage—
are more likely to secure advantageous positions within Japanese society.

In Japan, romantic culture strongly embodies the aspect of a “battle to compete over tacit knowledge.”
Unwritten rules,
understanding the gradations and hierarchies of interpersonal relationships,
the demands of emotional labor imposed even on men.
Mastering this tacit knowledge and navigating it optimally plays a crucial role in defining “disadvantaged men” and “advantaged men” within Japanese society.

And this battle extends far beyond the realm of romance.

In Japan, being “bad at romance” is easily equated with being “inadequate, immature, or flawed as a member of society.” Consequently, “bad at romance” often becomes a direct measure of a man’s strength. Needless to say, and likely not limited to Japan, a man’s perceived strength in society is a highly valued factor for women when choosing a partner.

Looking at it this way, when explaining “Cassandra Syndrome,” the problematic narrative that often emerges—
“Men with developmental disorders = perpetrators”—
seems to project a dominant persona like this:

A man born into a favorable family environment, raised without self-denial.
In other words, a man who has consistently won.
Because he has consistently won, he has experienced little frustration in social situations and has rarely faced the necessity of forced “adjustment” or “correction” due to societal pressure.

Considering this alongside the concept of “vulnerable men,” a term gaining attention in Japan, may reveal something significant.

However, this perspective that “being able to date makes one strong” also contains a pitfall that could be considered uniquely Japanese.

Misconceptions and Pressure Created by the Romance Market

In Japan, regardless of gender, whether an individual has had romantic experience has long been excessively used as a proxy for evaluating their social adaptability. For men, the term “virgin” is employed. This term is not used to define whether an individual has experienced sexual intercourse in their personal history, but rather to define their character from the perspective of whether they have been able to form romantic relationships with others—that is, whether they are sufficiently socially adapted to form such relationships.

I believe the significant influence of the “romance market”—which has powerfully dominated the Japanese mentality since the late 1980s—lies behind this.

The romance market does not refer to a single, clearly defined industry. Rather, it is a comprehensive cultural and economic system designed to stimulate consumer behavior across multiple sectors—such as clothing, beauty, automobiles, food and drink, music, film, and manga—by tying consumption to romantic desirability.

Within the logic of the romance market, a clear solution is always explicitly offered: “You don’t want to be seen as weak, do you? Then use this.” The consumption activities stimulated by this proposition are what establish it as a hyper-massive market.

There’s an adage from the American Gold Rush: “The richest man in the Gold Rush wasn’t the one who struck gold, but the one who sold the pickaxe.” Under the logic of Japan’s romance market, the goods being sold are not just pickaxes;
they include virtually everything deemed necessary to succeed within this system.

Here, the overwhelming influence of the romance market generates a societal atmosphere based on the following fallacies:
“If you can have romance, you’re not weak.”
“We won’t tolerate whining from someone who isn’t weak.”
“That man was able to have a proper romance, so isn’t it you (the woman) who’s in the wrong?”

As these collective and societal misunderstandings spread,
men with developmental disorders become unable to articulate their own suffering,
while neurotypical women are told, “It’s your fault.”

This trend seems to be one contributing factor.
Furthermore, when a relationship breaks down, it appears to create a situation where the male partner—who could be seen as a “pseudo-strong” figure—ends up bearing responsibility almost entirely on his own.

Men with Developmental Disabilities also Struggle when they cannot Understand

Here, let us focus further on Japan’s cultural background.

Much of Japan’s media coverage seems structured around the following model:

Emotional labor is women’s role,
Relationship management is the wife’s role.

Within this structure, the following pressures are placed on men and women respectively:

Men should not verbalize their emotions or admit vulnerability.
Women must be empathetic and intuit without being told.

Viewed this way, it seems Japanese people, regardless of gender, are subjected to pressures that conflict with their innate characteristics and temperaments.

I see no meaning in determining which gender faces more severe challenges.
However, it is undeniably true that contemporary Japanese society offers far too little space to listen to the struggles of men partnered with women who have developmental disabilities.

But, to reiterate,
if we use the story of Cassandra to speak about the emotional rift between individuals with developmental disabilities and neurotypical individuals, and the resulting traumatic experiences it brings, I believe it is extremely difficult for us to free ourselves from the perspective of “men = perpetrators.”

Perhaps what we need is a new narrative from a different viewpoint.

A New Story

A new story—but if it’s merely a tale of swapping male and female roles, or one that counters with “Men are victims too,” it cannot fulfill this role.

What I wish to say here is not about competing over “who is more unfortunate.”
Because that competition itself can only be driven within the confines of a story already created by someone else.

The perspective needed to create a new story might be found by shifting the subject from “people” to “structure.”

For example, a story like this:

We are
humans whose primary language is emotion,
and humans whose primary language is information.
We were bound together on the premise of intimacy.

From the start, this relationship was structured in a way that made it impossible to escape the need for one party to become the translator.

And then, the one who took on the role of translator
reached their limit one day.

This was not anyone’s fault;
it was a problem of design.

Within this narrative structure, Cassandra’s story is read and repositioned not as a female tragedy, but as the very structure itself that prevents truth from reaching its destination.

In Closing

We need a story to replace the “Tale of Cassandra.”

It is not a story to determine “who is the victim, who is the perpetrator,”
but perhaps a story to question the very social premise that views intimacy, romance, and marriage as “places where mutual emotional translation should naturally occur.”

If individuals with developmental disabilities have also existed throughout humanity’s long history,
then our history must have included countless Cassandras.
So how have people managed to find common ground?

We may now stand at a juncture where we must reexamine whether the things we take for granted
are truly bringing us happiness.