The Gilded Cage: How I Lost Myself in Marriage
When I was born, my mother named me Emily. She believed the name represented brightness and happiness, hoping I would grow up to be cheerful, content, and cherished. Little did we know that, over the years, my smile would become increasingly rare, and my happiness would become merely a facade for others to see.
It all began when I met him. James. Tall, handsome, with a confident voice and a gaze that seemed to make butterflies flutter in my stomach. He was every bit the real man I imagined the perfect partner to be. What I failed to see was the cold control beneath his outward confidence. Behind his charming gestures lay an unyielding will. I simply fell in love. Foolishly, naively, with wide-open eyes and an innocent heart.
We married quite quickly. At the time, I thought if a man loves you, he’d rush to make you his wife. How wrong I was… He indeed wanted to make me “his” — in every sense. His. Submissive. Obedient.
Initially, everything seemed wonderful. Restaurants, travels, expensive gifts. Winter holidays in the mountains, summer by the sea, parties with his friends. On the surface — an idyllic life. The envy of friends, likes on social media. But inside — emptiness. Because amid all this external glitter, I was losing myself more and more.
Decisions were made without me. He chose where we’d go, what we’d eat for dinner, how we’d spend our weekends. But that was just part of it. The main issue was that he decided how I should look, what to wear, how to style my hair, and even the tone of my voice.
— Darling, that dress is too plain, don’t embarrass me.
— Why jeans again? A woman should be feminine.
— You’re not working in a factory to walk around in a t-shirt.
I tried to joke, to persuade, but I was met with a cold wall each time. He never shouted. Never hit me. He just looked at me as if I were a disappointment. And I felt ashamed. I wanted to be good. I tried. And without noticing, I stopped being myself.
But the worst was when I brought up the topic of having a child. I’m 30. I’ve long felt the desire to be a mother. Not just desire — I yearn for it. But it seems he always knew he wouldn’t allow it. His response shocked me:
— Why do we need a child? I have you. I love you. I don’t want anyone else intruding into our life.
Love… Yet I feel like a captive. He doesn’t want to share my love. He wants a monopoly over it. He doesn’t need me as a mother. He wants me solely as a wife. Convenient. Beautiful. Obedient.
More and more, I find myself feeling suffocated. Despite the comfort and outward sparkle, I’m not free. Every step I take is under his control, every glance observed. I’m not allowed my desires. I’m not allowed to feel differently. I’m only allowed to be “his.”
One day, I tried to have a serious talk with him. I said I wanted children, that I was tired of being a doll in a pretty house. He listened silently. Then he hugged me. Told me I was imagining things. That everything was fine. That I was his happiness. His treasure. And that if I had a child, this treasure would be taken from him.
Listening to this was terrifying. His voice held no anger, no pain. Just a fanatical determination. As if he truly believed he had the right to decide for both of us. That I was his possession. Loved, but a possession.
Since then, I haven’t broached the subject. But the fear that I’ll remain a prisoner of this love forever won’t leave. I’m 32. I want a child. I want a family where I can breathe. Where I’m heard. Where I have the right to an opinion. Where I’m needed not as a picture, but as a person.
I’m writing this because I don’t know what to do. I still love him. Or perhaps, I love the person he was at the beginning. Or who I wanted him to be. I don’t know. But I do know if this continues, I’ll break. I’ll 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 family isn’t a dictatorship, but a partnership? That I shouldn’t have to choose between “loving” and “living”? How do I speak, when he only listens to himself?
I don’t want to leave. But I can’t continue living like this.
