Golden Cage, or How I Lost Myself in Marriage
When I was born, my mother named me Emily, believing the name was bright and cheerful, and that her daughter would be smiling, happy, and loved. Little did we know then that as the years passed, my smile would become rare, and happiness would be just a facade for others to see.
Everything began the day I met Him—John. Tall, well-built, with a confident voice and gaze that could make anyone feel butterflies in their stomach. He was the perfect gentleman, the ideal partner I had imagined. I didn’t see the cold control behind his confident exterior, or the unyielding will hidden behind his courteous gestures. I simply fell in love—foolishly, in my youth, with eyes wide open and a naïve heart.
We got married fairly quickly. Back then, I believed if a man loves you, he’s eager to make you his wife. How wrong I was… He truly wanted to make me “his” in every sense—obedient and submissive.
Initially, everything seemed perfect. Dining at upscale restaurants, traveling, expensive gifts. Winter getaways in the mountains, summer by the sea, parties with his friends. On the surface, it was idyllic. Friends’ envy, likes on social media. Yet inside, I felt empty. The more I surrounded myself with all those outward sparkles, the more I lost myself.
Decisions were made without me. He chose the places we would go, what we would have for dinner, how we would spend our weekends. But that wasn’t the worst part. Most importantly, he decided how I should look, what I should wear, how I should style my hair, and even what tone of voice I should use.
“Honey, that dress is too simple, don’t embarrass me.”
“Why jeans again? A woman should look feminine.”
“You’re not working in a factory, don’t wear a T-shirt.”
I tried joking, persuading, but every time I hit a cold wall. He never yelled or hit. He simply looked at me as if I were a disappointment. And it made me ashamed. I wanted to be good. I tried. And gradually, I completely lost myself.
The worst was when I brought up having a child. I was 30, and I had long felt the desire to become a mother. Not just a desire—I yearned for it. But he seemed to have always known 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 interfering with our life.”
Love… Yet I felt like a prisoner. He didn’t want to share my love. He wanted to monopolize it. He didn’t want me to be a mother. He wanted me to remain just a wife—convenient, beautiful, obedient.
More often, I found myself feeling suffocated. Despite the comfort and outward glitter, I was not free. Every step was controlled, every glance monitored. I wasn’t allowed to want something for myself. I wasn’t permitted to feel differently. I could only be “his.”
One day, I tried to have a serious talk with him. Told him I wanted children, that I was tired of being a doll in a lovely home. He listened in silence. Then he hugged me and said I was overthinking. That everything was fine. That I was his happiness, his treasure. And if we had a child, it would take this treasure away.
Hearing that was terrifying. In his voice, there was no anger, no pain. Just a fanatical resolve. As if he truly believed he had the right to decide for both of us. That I was his possession—cherished, but a possession nonetheless.
Since then, I haven’t raised the topic again. But the fear of forever remaining a captive in this love doesn’t let go. I’m 32 now. I want a child. I want a family where I can breathe, where I’m heard, where my opinions matter. Where I’m valued not just as a picture, but as a person.
I’m writing this to you because I don’t know what to do. I still love him, or maybe I love the man he was at the beginning, or whom I wished he would become. I’m not sure. But I feel certain that if things continue this way, I’ll break. I’ll cease to exist as an individual.
Please tell me, how do I explain to a man that love isn’t a cage, even if made of gold? That marriage is a partnership, not a dictatorship? 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 anymore.
