I didn’t recognize it as abuse at first. There were no bruises, no screaming matches, nothing you could point to and say, this is what’s wrong. What there was, instead, was me – exhausted, constantly second-guessing myself, walking on eggshells in my own home.

I kept thinking I just needed to try harder. That maybe if I explained myself more clearly, softened my tone, or waited for the right moment, he’d understand what I needed. I convinced myself that if I just stayed calm and made myself easier to love, he’d stop pulling away.

But no matter how I bent, it was never enough. Every time I met one expectation, another one showed up. I became fluent in apologizing for things I didn’t do, for feelings I wasn’t allowed to have, for boundaries I never got to draw.

Looking back, I can see it now. The confusion, the blame, the constant need to prove myself – it was never about love. It was control dressed up as disappointment, manipulation disguised as unmet expectations.

The version of me he said he needed was quiet, unbothered, endlessly forgiving, and never hurt. But that person was a ghost. And I finally stopped trying to become someone who could only exist if I disappeared.