After the honeymoon phase faded, I found myself in the most comfortable yet troubling cycle of my life. Our relationship had started out so full of promise—dates, trips, and a connection that seemed too perfect to ignore. The excitement of being with him consumed me, and it felt like we were building something real. Slowly, I began to spend more time at his place, thinking this was a natural progression. I believed, naively, that this was what a relationship should look like—an inseparable bond.
But as the days went by, something began to shift. His warm gestures, the affection I once felt, started to dwindle. The secrets began to surface, and I could feel the change in the air. It was subtle at first, small signs that I chose to overlook. He became distant, aloof, and less present. I told myself it was just a phase, that he was going through something, but deep down I knew something wasn't right.
Before long, I found myself playing the role of a wife—cooking, cleaning, paying attention to every detail around the house. I thought that if I acted like the partner he needed, he would notice me, accept me, love me. I invested my energy into this relationship, trying to make it work, but little did I know, I was sinking deeper into a void of emotional neglect.
He began to treat me differently. The affection turned to indifference, and the words of affirmation I once craved were replaced with hurtful remarks. I tried to talk to him, to understand what had changed, but every conversation only seemed to trigger more arguments. He blamed me for everything—every mistake, every issue, everything that went wrong was somehow my fault. His anger grew, and his words grew crueler. I was called stupid, uncaring, and ungrateful. I was even body-shamed so much that I began to lose weight, not from any healthy choice, but from the emotional turmoil that consumed me.
In his eyes, I was no longer a partner but someone he could use, someone he could control. He started cheating, repeatedly, making it a habit rather than a mistake. The signs were there—discreet texts, late nights out, odd behavior—but I ignored them, convincing myself that maybe I was just being paranoid. My family tried to intervene, reaching out to me, but I was deaf to their advice. I thought they didn't understand, and I was too far gone in my own delusion to hear their warnings.
The day I discovered his Tinder account was a breaking point. He had been using it for months, connecting with women, taking them out, flirting with them. I didn't confront him immediately; I was numb, too exhausted to react. But the betrayal stung deeply. He was doing it right in front of me, treating me like I was invisible. I caught him one day, with a woman, and his response was to play the victim—denying everything and gaslighting me into thinking I was the crazy one.
I continued to stay, fooling myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, things would change. But they never did. The abuse, the lies, the emotional manipulation, it all became a routine. Then one day, things took a turn that I couldn't ignore.
He brought a woman home for a threesome. I wasn't consulted. I wasn't asked. I was treated as if I didn't even matter. He brought her into our home, into our bed, while I lay there, paralyzed with heartbreak. He had sex with her, and then, as if it was nothing, he took her into the living room and continued. All I could do was watch. And when they were done, I was expected to cook for them, clean up after them as if I was just another part of the household chores.
It crushed me. My heart shattered, but somehow, I still stayed. I told myself that maybe things would get better, that I just needed to forgive him again and move on. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. I wanted to believe that love could heal the wounds he had inflicted, but I was only hurting myself further. He continued to cheat. The Tinder account remained active. The women came and went, and I was left in the shadows, trying to hold together the pieces of myself that were slipping away.
The emotional abuse escalated. His behavior became more erratic, and his treatment of me more dehumanizing. I began to question my worth. Why was I still here? What had happened to the woman I used to be? I had no job, no money, no support system. My friends slowly faded away because he made sure of it—isolating me from everyone I cared about. He told me I was nothing without him, that I would never survive on my own. I believed him.
He became more controlling. The physical abuse started too, small pushes, slaps, all brushed off as "accidents." But they weren't accidents. He was intentionally breaking me down. The mental toll was the worst part. I felt lost, broken, and invisible. I started to wonder if I was even worthy of love. Every day felt like a struggle to keep my sanity intact.
Doctors were shocked when they saw me, unable to understand why I stayed. Friends and family questioned it too, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I was stuck in a cycle of self-doubt, where I felt worthless and incapable of standing up for myself. I had no one to turn to, no place to go. His cruel words echoed in my mind constantly, telling me that I was nothing, that no one would ever love me. The mental toll was insidious, and I began to lose my sense of self completely.
But somewhere, buried deep within me, a spark of resistance began to grow. I could no longer ignore the damage. I realized that I had to fight—not for him, not for the relationship, but for myself. I began to understand that I was worth more than the way he treated me, that I deserved respect, love, and care. It wasn't going to be easy, but I knew that it was time to reclaim my life, to heal from the wounds he had caused, and to learn how to love myself again.
The journey to rebuild my life would be long and painful, but I was ready to take the first step. For the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope that one day, I would find happiness, not in someone else, but within myself.