A Gilded Cage, or How I Lost Myself in Marriage
When I was born, my mum named me Emily. She believed the name was bright and cheerful, that her daughter would be smiley, happy, and loved. No one knew back then that as the years went by, my smile would become less frequent, and happiness would merely be a facade for others to see.
It all began when I met Him. David. Tall, handsome, with a confident voice and a gaze that seemed to make butterflies flutter in your stomach. He was a real man — exactly how I imagined the perfect life partner to be. I didn’t see how behind that outward confidence hid cold control. How behind his chivalrous gestures was an unyielding will. I simply fell in love. Foolishly, in my youth, with wide-open eyes and a naïve heart.
We married rather quickly. Back then, I thought if a man loves you, he’s eager to make you his wife. How wrong I was… He indeed wanted to make me “his” — in every sense. His. Submissive. Obedient.
At first, everything seemed wonderful. Restaurants, travels, expensive gifts. Winter holidays in the mountains, summer by the sea, parties with his friends. On the surface — an idyll. Envying friends, likes on social media. But inside me — emptiness. Because, amidst all these external sparkles, I was losing more of myself.
Decisions were made without me. He chose the places we’d go, what would be for dinner, how we’d spend the weekends. But that wasn’t the worst part. The main thing — he decided how I should look, what to wear, how to style my hair, and even the tone of voice to use.
“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 be wearing a t-shirt.”
I tried to joke, to persuade, but every time I met with a cold wall. He never shouted. Never hit. He just looked at me as if I were a disappointment. And I felt ashamed. I wanted to be good. I tried. And gradually, I ceased being myself.
But the worst was when I brought up the conversation about having a child. I’m 30. I’ve long felt the desire to become a mum. 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 anything to interfere with our life.”
Love… And yet, I feel like a prisoner. He doesn’t want to share my love. He wants a monopoly on it. He doesn’t want me to become a mum. He wants me to be just a wife. Convenient. Beautiful. Obedient.
I often find myself thinking that I’m suffocating. That despite the comfort and outward shine, I’m not free. Every step is under control, every glance watched over. I’m not allowed to want anything for myself. I’m not allowed to feel differently. I can only be “his.”
Once, I tried to have a serious conversation with him. Told him I wanted children, that I was tired of being a doll in a beautiful house. He listened silently. Then hugged me. Said I was imagining things. That everything was fine with us. That I am his happiness. His treasure. And if I have a child, it will take this treasure away from him.
Hearing this was terrifying. In his voice — not anger, not pain. But a fanatical determination. As if he truly believed he had the right to decide for both of us. That I am his possession. Loved, but a possession.
Since then, I haven’t raised the issue. But the fear that I’ll remain a hostage to this love forever doesn’t let go. 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 just as an image, but as a person.
I’m writing this because I don’t know what to do. I still love him. Or maybe I love the person he was at the start. Or who I wanted him to become. I don’t know. But I definitely feel: if things continue this way, I’ll break. I’ll simply 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 made of gold? That family isn’t a dictatorship, but a partnership? That I shouldn’t have to choose between “loving” and “living”? How do you speak when he only listens to himself?
I don’t want to leave. But I can’t live like this any longer.
