Golden Cage: Losing Myself in Marriage
When I was born, my mother named me Emily. She believed the name was bright and joyful, hoping her daughter would be cheerful, happy, and loved. Little did we know that as the years passed, my smile would become a rare sight and happiness a mere facade.
It all began when I met Him. James. Tall, poised, with a confident voice and eyes that made butterflies dance in my stomach. He was a true gentleman, just the kind of man I imagined spending my life with. I didn’t see the cold control hidden beneath his self-assured exterior or the unwavering will behind his chivalrous gestures. I simply fell head over heels, foolishly, with open eyes and an innocent heart.
We married quite quickly. I believed then that if a man loved you, he would rush to make you his wife. How wrong I was… He truly wanted me to be ‘his’—in every sense. His. Submissive. Obedient.
At first, everything seemed perfect. Restaurants, trips, expensive gifts. Winter holidays in the mountains, summer by the sea, parties with his friends. On the surface—a utopia. Friends’ envy, likes on social media. But inside, I felt empty. Beneath the glittering facade, I was losing myself.
Decisions were made without me. He chose where we ate, what we had for dinner, how we spent the weekends. But that was just the beginning. Most importantly, he decided how I should look, what to wear, how to style my hair, even how to speak.
“Darling, that dress is too plain, don’t embarrass me.”
“Why jeans again? A woman needs to be feminine.”
“You’re not working in a factory to wear a t-shirt.”
I tried to joke, to persuade him, but always hit a cold wall. He never shouted or hit. He just looked at me as though I was a disappointment, and I felt ashamed. I wanted to be perfect, tried my best, and gradually lost myself.
The worst was when I brought up the topic of having a child. I’m 30. I’ve longed to be a mother for quite some time. Not just a desire—a yearning. But it seemed he always knew he would never allow it. His response floored me:
“Why do we need a child? You’re enough for me. I love you. I don’t want anyone interfering in our life.”
Love… Yet I feel like a captive. He doesn’t want to share my love. He wants a monopoly on it. He doesn’t need me to be a mother. He wants me to be just a wife. Convenient. Beautiful. Obedient.
More and more, I feel like I’m suffocating. Despite the comfort and outward shine, I’m not free. Every step I take is under his control, every look is watched. I’m not allowed to have my own wants or feelings. I’m only allowed to be “his.”
One day, I tried to speak to him seriously. I told him I wanted children, that I was tired of being a doll in a beautiful house. He listened silently. Then he held me, saying I was overthinking. That everything was fine. That I was his happiness. His treasure. And if I had a child, it would take away that treasure.
Listening to this was terrifying. In his voice—no anger, no pain. Just fanatical determination. As if he genuinely believed he had the right to decide for both of us. That I was his possession. Loved, but still a possession.
Since then, I haven’t brought it up again. But the fear of being trapped by this love forever lingers. I’m 32. I want a child. A family where I can breathe. Where I am heard. Where I have the right to an opinion. Where I am needed not as a decoration but as a person.
I’m writing this because I don’t know what to do. I still love him. Or maybe I love who he was at the start. Or who I wished he would become. I don’t know. But one thing is clear: if this continues, I will break. I will cease to exist as an individual.
Tell me… how do I explain to a man that love isn’t a cage, even if it’s gilded? That a family isn’t about dictating terms, but about union? That I shouldn’t have to choose between ‘loving’ and ‘living’? How do I speak if he only hears himself?
I don’t want to leave. But I can’t live like this any longer.
