Not the kind people always recognise. Not the black-and-white, storybook villain kind.
No — it was the quiet kind. The confusing kind. The kind you talk yourself out of acknowledging because you still love the person who’s hurting you.

It was –

• Emotional blackmail.
• Gaslighting.
• Control.
• Coercion.

🧠 Emotional & Psychological

She’d say things she knew would trigger me. On purpose.
Then, when I reacted — when I was visibly upset or tried to challenge it — she’d suddenly act afraid, say she was “just joking,” and accuse me of being scary.

Every single time. I can’t tell you how many times this occurred. I lost count.

That wasn’t miscommunication. That was gaslighting.
She wanted me to feel unstable. She wanted others to see me that way too.
Like I was overreacting. Like she was just misunderstood.

It wasn’t just manipulation — it was strategy.
Make me the villain. Play the victim.

🔒 Coercive Control

She monitored my movements through FindMy religiously. If I left work to run an errand, I had to tell her. If I forgot to call, I’d get flooded with missed calls within minutes.

And if I finished work two minutes late — just two minutes — she’d call and scream at me. Full volume, full rage.

I’d sit there at my desk, holding my phone tight to my ear hoping my workmates wouldn’t hearing her scream, but I’d look up and see them staring in disbelief.
I knew it wasn’t right.
I could see it on their faces.
But I was embarrassed — so I made excuses. Said she was just stressed. Covered for her, because I didn’t want to believe what it really was.

But that’s what coercive control does. It makes you shrink.
It convinces you that peace is worth more than truth — and in doing so, it robs you of both.

She questioned my messages, especially if they were from women.
“Why is SHE messaging you?”
It wasn’t about trust. It was about ownership.

Of course I had nothing to hide, and I wouldn’t be able to anyway, she had her face registered on my FaceID and she knew my passcode. I obediently show her the messages… prove myself.

💷 Financial

I’ll be honest — I’m not the best with money. But I wasn’t even allowed to grab lunch with my mates on a Friday or buy an ice cream from the van if it passed work.

And when we broke up?

She drained our savings into a private account.
Left me with nothing.

Control, to the very last penny.

🪞The Impact

Over time, I withdrew from the world.
Stopped seeing friends. Lost contact.
I doubted myself constantly. I started to believe I was the problem. I started to resent how she made me feel… but somehow, I still loved her. I still love her.

That’s the messed-up thing about emotional abuse — it keeps you hooked by distorting your reflection. You lose track of where their damage ends, and your identity begins.

She never showed compassion.
When I was struggling mentally, she didn’t support me — she barely acknowledged it.
All she cared about was when I’d be back at work. Guilt-tripped me with her health issues, said she never got a day off.

Except… she didn’t work.
I was the only income in the relationship. And still, she found a way to make me feel like a burden.

✊ What Now?

I’ve come to realise that I didn’t overreact.
I wasn’t too sensitive.
And I didn’t “fail” in this relationship.

I was abused.

Emotionally. Physically. Financially.
And I’ve only just started using that word, because for so long I didn’t recognise it, I didn’t understand it.

But I have my voice back.
I’m reconnecting with people who see the truth.
I’m finally stepping out of the fog.

And I can say this with my head held high:

I didn’t cheat.
I didn’t lie.
And I didn’t deserve this.

This was abuse.

For her – You don’t have to like it; you don’t even have to agree with it. I’m not saying you were aware of it, or that it was totally your fault or even that it was intentional. Because, in a lot of ways, it’s my fault too. I allowed it, I made excuses for it, and I enabled it. I enabled it because, I thought I was helping you. I knew what you had been through in your previous relationship and thought, if I made certain allowances you’d get past it. I’d make excuses for it to myself, give you the benefit of the doubt, or simply…, just accept it.