Riders Against Domestic Violence Presents
I was standing in the grocery store when my phone rang. It was him.
“Where are you?”
“At the store. I told you I was stopping on my way home.”
“Well, you’ve been gone long enough. What are you doing?”
I looked at my cart. Milk, bread, eggs, a few things for dinner.
“Just getting groceries.”
“Then why is it taking so long?”
I started explaining that the checkout lines were busy, but he interrupted me.
“Whatever. Just get home.”
He hung up. And there I stood, a grown woman, almost fifty years old, feeling like a little girl who’d been caught doing something wrong. I left half the things in my cart. I didn’t want to be late.
The strange thing was, nobody had actually told me what time I had to be home. I just knew.
I Started Checking Everything
I used to be a different person. I made decisions. I laughed. I went places without thinking twice. I wasn’t afraid to speak my mind.
Now I check my phone constantly. If he calls, I answer. Even when I’m busy. Even when I’m talking to someone else. Because if I don’t, there will be questions.
Why didn’t you answer? Who were you with? What was so important?
And somehow, no matter what I say, I end up feeling guilty.
I started sending pictures of where I was before he even asked. A photograph of my shopping cart. A picture of the parking lot. A message saying I was leaving work.
I thought if I gave him enough information, he’d stop questioning me. He didn’t. There was always something else.
I wasn’t sharing my day with my husband anymore. I was providing evidence that I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I Don’t Even Trust My Own Decisions
Last week, I wanted to get my hair cut. Nothing dramatic. Just a trim. I made an appointment, then canceled it.
He hadn’t told me I couldn’t go. But I remembered what happened the last time.
“Must be nice spending money on yourself.”
“Who are you trying to impress?”
I stood in the bathroom looking at my hair and felt ridiculous. Why was I afraid to get a haircut? I had a job. I helped pay the bills. I was an adult. But I couldn’t bring myself to make the appointment again.
And that’s when something hit me. I wasn’t waiting for his permission anymore. I had started telling myself no before he ever had the chance.
I Used to Have Friends
My sister called on Sunday. I let it go to voicemail. I knew he’d ask what we talked about. He always did. If I told him, he’d find something wrong with it. If I didn’t tell him, he’d accuse me of hiding things.
So I stopped answering as often. My sister thinks I’m busy. My friends think I’ve changed. And maybe I have. I don’t know how to tell them that going out for coffee isn’t worth the argument afterward.
Sometimes I look through old photographs on my phone. There I am, laughing with my girlfriends. There I am at my sister’s birthday. There I am on vacation, smiling without worrying about who might be watching.
I look happy. I look like somebody I used to know. And I wonder where she went.
The Part I Hate Admitting
Sometimes I hope he’ll be late coming home. There. I said it.
I love him, but sometimes I feel relieved when I know I have another hour to myself. An hour when I can sit down without explaining why. An hour when I can call someone without worrying about what he’ll hear. An hour when I don’t have to watch his face to figure out what kind of mood he’s in.
And then I feel guilty. Because what kind of wife feels relieved when her husband isn’t home?
I tell myself maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I make him insecure. Maybe I should be more understanding. He’s told me so many times that he acts this way because he loves me. Because he worries. Because he doesn’t want to lose me.
But I don’t understand why being loved has started to feel so much like being watched.
Sometimes I’m Afraid of What Comes Next
He hasn’t hit me. But I’ve seen him punch the wall beside the doorway when he’s angry. I’ve watched him throw my phone across the room.
Once, when I tried to leave during an argument, he stood in front of the door. “You’re not walking away from me.”
I remember staring at the space between him and the door, wondering whether I could get past. I remember how fast my heart was beating. And I remember apologizing, even though I couldn’t remember what I’d done wrong.
Later, he told me he would never hurt me. That I was being dramatic. That I knew he’d never lay a hand on me.
Maybe he believes that. But I remember the wall. I remember the phone. I remember the doorway. And I remember being afraid.
I Don’t Know How to Explain It to People
If you met him, you’d probably like him. He’s funny. He works hard. He helps people. He remembers birthdays and holds doors open. Sometimes he brings me flowers. Sometimes we have wonderful evenings together.
That’s part of why this is so confusing. People imagine that if you’re afraid of someone, you must hate them. But I don’t hate him. I miss him.
I miss the man I thought I married. I miss being able to tell him something without wondering how he’ll react. And sometimes, when he’s kind to me, I convince myself things are getting better.
Then something happens. A missed call. A conversation he doesn’t like. A purchase he questions. And I’m right back to explaining myself.
I know people would ask why I stay. I ask myself that, too. But leaving isn’t as simple as packing a suitcase. There’s the house. The bills. The years we’ve spent together. There’s the fear of what he might do if I actually left. And there’s a part of me that still hopes he’ll become the person he used to be. I wish people understood that.
I Think I’ve Forgotten What Normal Feels Like
A woman at work asked me something yesterday. “Do you want to go to lunch with us Friday?”
Such a simple question. I should have been able to say yes or no. Instead, I started calculating. Would I be home late? Would he call? Would I have to explain who was there? Would he be angry if I went?
She was standing there waiting for an answer, and I realized I’d been silent too long. So I smiled. “Maybe another time.” She said okay and walked away.
And I wanted to cry. Not because I couldn’t go to lunch. But because I suddenly understood how much of my life I was spending trying to avoid upsetting one person.
I wasn’t making choices based on what I wanted anymore. I was making them based on what I was afraid might happen.
The Question I Couldn’t Stop Thinking About
That night, I lay awake beside him. He was sleeping peacefully. I stared at the ceiling. I thought about the grocery store, my sister, the haircut, and the lunch invitation. All those little things. Things that shouldn’t have been frightening.
And for the first time, I asked myself a question I had been avoiding. Am I afraid of my own husband?
I didn’t want the answer to be yes. I wanted there to be another explanation. I wanted to believe I was overreacting.
But I thought about how carefully I chose my words. How often I apologized. How relieved I felt when he wasn’t home. How I’d started doubting decisions I used to make without a second thought.
And I began to cry. Quietly. Because I didn’t want to wake him. Even my crying had become something I was afraid for him to hear.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
I wish someone had explained that abuse doesn’t always begin with a punch. Sometimes it begins with questions that never seem to have the right answers. With jealousy that gets called love. With rules that are never spoken aloud. With threats disguised as warnings. With making someone feel responsible for another person’s anger.
Until one day, you realize you don’t make decisions freely anymore. You’re constantly trying to prevent something bad from happening.
That’s what coercive control can do. It can make a capable, intelligent woman doubt herself. It can make her feel guilty for wanting ordinary freedom. It can make her believe that keeping someone else calm is her responsibility.
And when intimidation, threats, or physical violence enter the picture, the fear can become even more powerful. It isn’t love when someone uses fear to control your choices.
Maybe This Sounds Like You
Maybe you’ve never told anyone how much you check your phone. Maybe you’ve stopped seeing friends because you don’t want another argument. Maybe you find yourself apologizing before you even know what you’ve done wrong.
Maybe you’re reading this and thinking: I thought I was the only one who lived like this.
You’re not. And if you’ve been afraid to admit what’s happening, you don’t have to explain everything perfectly.
You don’t have to decide today whether to stay or leave. You don’t have to confront the person who’s frightening you. You deserve someone who will listen, take your concerns seriously, and help you understand your options without making decisions for you.
If someone is monitoring your phone, location, or online activity, reaching out for support may require extra care. A domestic violence advocate can help you consider safer ways to communicate and plan.
You did not cause another person’s controlling behavior by failing to say the right thing, answer quickly enough, or keep them happy. Their behavior is their responsibility.
Faith for the Road Ahead
“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” — Psalm 46:1 (KJV)
Sometimes faith is what carries us through the moments when we don’t know what to do next. But faith doesn’t require someone to remain in danger or accept abuse. Seeking safety, asking for help, and allowing others to support you are not failures of faith.
You are worthy of dignity and compassion. And whatever decisions lie ahead, you deserve to make them without intimidation or fear.
We Are the Bridge
At Riders Against Domestic Violence, we want you to know that what you’re experiencing matters. Coercive control can be difficult to recognize because it often becomes part of everyday life so gradually that you begin accepting fear as normal.
But you deserve to live without being monitored, threatened, isolated, or intimidated.
RADV is not a shelter or crisis hotline. Our mission is to connect survivors with trusted resources and professional organizations that can help them explore their options safely.
If you’re in the United States, the National Domestic Violence Hotline can be reached at 800-799-SAFE (7233) or thehotline.org. If you are in immediate danger, contact emergency services when it is safe to do so.
Visit RADV.org for additional survivor resources and education.
And to the woman standing in the grocery store, staring at her ringing phone: You deserve to buy groceries without fear. You deserve to see your friends. You deserve to make ordinary decisions about your own life. And you deserve to feel safe in your own home.
You shouldn’t have to spend your life trying to prevent someone else from hurting you.
Riders Against Domestic Violence — We Are the Bridge. — RADV.org