For seven years, I lived in the shadow of a man who wanted me to be nothing but a housewife. A mother. A woman with no dreams beyond the walls of our home. My husband never raised a hand to hit me, but his control was suffocating. He didn’t want me to work. He discouraged friendships. Socializing was frowned upon, independence was forbidden. My world was small because he made sure of it.
But something inside me never fully broke. I wanted more. And so, in secret, I started applying for jobs. It felt rebellious, dangerous even, but I knew I had to try.
Then, I got lucky. An invitation to an interview.
At first, he didn’t react much. I thought maybe—just maybe—he would be okay with it. But as the interview date drew closer, his temper grew sharper. The anger came in waves—unpredictable, baseless, terrifying. Then, the night before the interview, I knew.
He came home from work, and I could feel it in the air. Thick. Heavy. Unspoken violence waiting to erupt.
Our youngest was crying, just a child needing comfort, but my husband snapped. He shouted, his voice slicing through the walls. When I tried to intervene, he turned his rage on me instead.
"Who’s going to take care of the children if you go off to work?"
It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.
For the first time in seven years, I silently told myself—I’m going. No matter what.
I woke up before dawn, moving quietly through the house. I laid out my eldest’s school uniform, made sure everything was in place. The night before, I had checked the bus schedule. I knew I had to leave at least two hours early.
My heart pounded as I took a quick shower, got dressed, and whispered to my eldest, "Watch for anything unusual and call me if you need me."
Then, I slipped out the door.
Walking to the bus stop, my legs felt heavy, as if the weight of my entire marriage was trying to pull me back. But I kept going. I got on the bus, my hands shaking, my stomach in knots.
Halfway through the journey, my phone rang. It was my eldest son.
"Mum… he put both of them in the car in their pajamas and drove away."
I felt the world collapse beneath me.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My stomach twisted until I felt nauseous. My hands went numb. The interview didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except my babies.
I had never had many friends—I wasn’t allowed to—but there was one person who knew a little about what I was going through. I called her, my voice shaking with panic. She told me to stay calm, to get off at the next stop, to answer if he called.
Then, my phone rang again. His name on the screen.
My throat went dry. My hands trembled.
I was terrified of what he would say. But more than that, I was terrified of what he might do.
#SurvivorStory #BreakingFree#EmotionalAbuse#EmotionalAbuse#SilentNoMore#WomenEmpowerment
#FreedomToWork#ToxicMarriage#CourageToLeave#TakingMyLifeBack#AbuseSurvivor#MyStoryMatters
#DomesticAbuseAwareness
#FromFearToFreedom
#StrongerEveryDay
#HealingJourney
#NoMoreControl
#SurvivorStrength
#WomenSupportingWomen
#EndAbuse
#StandUpForYourself
To be continued…
