It starts small. A comment here, a suggestion there. At first, it feels like care, concern, maybe even love. But over time, something shifts. The weight of their words lingers a little longer. The guilt they plant in your heart takes deeper roots. The way they look at you when you disagree feels like a silent war you never signed up for. And yet, you stay, trying to make sense of what went wrong.
You tell yourself it’s just a bad day. That maybe you overreacted. That they didn’t mean it that way. But deep down, there’s a discomfort that never leaves. It’s in the way they react when you try to spend time with others. The subtle sighs, the questioning tone, the way they make you feel guilty for wanting a life outside of them. And the worst part? You start believing it. You start explaining yourself, justifying every step, walking on eggshells to avoid the storm that follows if you don’t.
You remember the days you used to be free, to laugh without second-guessing, to talk without hesitation. But now, you filter every word. You pause before speaking, wondering if this will upset them. And when it does, the blame always finds its way back to you. You are too sensitive. You misunderstood. You always find reasons to fight. And so, you shrink a little more, letting them decide what’s acceptable, what’s okay, what you should feel.
At first, you thought love meant compromise. That if you just explained better, if you showed them how much you cared, they would understand. But love is not supposed to feel like this. Love is not control. Love is not needing permission to be yourself. Love is not losing pieces of who you are just to keep them happy. Love is not the fear of being alone if you finally say, “Enough.”
And yet, they make you feel like you can’t leave. Like without them, you wouldn’t be enough. They remind you of all the times they stood by you, all the ways they made sacrifices, all the times they forgave you—conveniently leaving out the fact that those moments were built on situations they created. You begin to doubt your own memories, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they’re right. Maybe you are difficult. Maybe you do overthink. Maybe this is love, and you’re just too flawed to see it.
But deep inside, something still resists. A voice, faint but persistent, whispering that love should not break you. That real love doesn’t make you question your own worth. That love does not feel like a slow erosion of everything you once were. And the more you listen, the more you realize that you don’t recognize yourself anymore. The confident person you used to be now hesitates before every decision, dreads their reactions, and feels a loneliness that shouldn’t exist in a relationship.
And then comes the apologies. The carefully chosen words, the promises of change, the moments of affection that make you believe it will be different this time. But soon enough, the cycle starts again. The controlling grip tightens. The silent punishments for not obeying. The slow, suffocating pressure of someone who doesn’t see you as a partner but as something to own. And every time you think of leaving, they remind you of how much they love you, how no one else will, how you will never find someone who understands you like they do.
And that’s how they keep you. Not with chains, but with the illusion of love. Not with force, but with fear. Not with violence, but with words that cut deeper than any wound. And the hardest part? Walking away feels impossible, because they’ve convinced you that without them, you are nothing.
But that’s the biggest lie of all. You are not nothing. You are not difficult. You are not unlovable. You are not weak for wanting to be free. The hardest thing you will ever do is recognize that love should never feel like a cage. That the right love will never make you feel small. And the moment you realize that, the moment you take back the power they stole from you, is the moment you remember who you were before they made you forget.
Maybe you’ve known this for a while but haven’t had the strength to admit it. Maybe this is the first time you’re allowing yourself to consider the possibility that what you’re experiencing isn’t love, but something much darker. Whatever stage you’re at, know this—you deserve better. You always have. And no matter what they’ve made you believe, you are not trapped. You are not powerless. You are allowed to walk away.
And when you do, you will find yourself again. The version of you that existed before them—the one who laughed without hesitation, who spoke without fear, who loved without guilt. They are still there, waiting for you. All you had to do is to take the first step
