‎’I’ve been married to my husband for just over a year now, we have a beautiful daughter. But my heart is heavy, & every day feels like a struggle. ‎​When we just got married, I thought my life would change for the better. My family is very poor. Growing up, we had nothing.
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‎When my husband showed up at our door step asking for my hand in marriage. I & my family felt happy, my family successfully convinced me to leave my then boyfriend whom i was so much in love with and whim cared so much for me. He didn’t have a stand as he was still struggling with life. So, we weren’t sure of his future. We felt like it was God’s doing to change our story for better when my husband showed up. I saw this marriage as a way out of poverty, a chance for a better life for myself & to help my family too. But now, I feel trapped.
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‎My husband does not like nor respect my family & he doesn’t even hide it. He hardly lets them visit our home. If they want to come, they have to ask him first, & he usually says no. If he does say yes, they can only come 3 times a year, & they can only stay for 3 days at most. And this makes me so sad.
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‎My mother, my father, my siblings – they cannot come to my house, the house I live in. ​But my husband’s family? They are always here. His mother, his sisters, his cousins – they come & go as they please. Sometimes, they even live with us for weeks, or months. Our house is full of his family, but my own family is locked out.
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‎​He treats me badly. He insults me every day, calls me names. He even insults my family, right in front of me. He says terrible things about them, about how poor they are. My heart breaks, but I cannot say anything. I just stand there, silent, wishing I could disappear.
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‎​The last time my mother came to visit, it was a disaster. She traveled all the way from our village, excited to see her grandchild & me. When she arrived, my hudband saw her & became so angry. He yelled at me, asking why she was here, saying I didn’t get his permission. Even when i explained my mom had come to help me & assist me especially since I’m a first time.mom. but he said he’s mom was coming to assist. I had to quickly find a hotel for my mother to stay in My mother, sleeping in a hotel, just cuz her own son-in-law wouldn’t let her into her daughter’s home.
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‎She left the very next day, her face full of sadness. I felt so ashamed, so helpless. ‎​I wish I could leave this marriage. I really do. But where would I go? Back to my village, back to the poverty I tried so hard to escape?
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‎I have a child now. I can’t put my child through that. I hate this life, but I am scared of being poor again. I just wish things were different. I wish I had a husband who respected me & my family. I wish I had a home where my mother could visit freely, where my family felt welcome. But I don’t. And there’s nothing I can do. I’m so lost & confused ”

I wake up every morning with a heavy chest, as if a stone has been placed on me in my sleep. My baby’s cry is often the first sound I hear, and while I love her more than words can explain, even her sweet face cannot erase the loneliness that greets me at dawn. I feed her, I rock her, I whisper promises into her tiny ears—promises I am not sure I can keep. I tell her she will grow up in a happy home, with love all around her. But the truth is, the home she is growing up in feels like a prison, and I am its captive.

My husband comes and goes as he pleases. When he is home, the air is heavy. He doesn’t hit me, but his words cut deeper than any slap could. Sometimes, I look at him and wonder if he remembers the girl he came to marry—the girl who once had dreams, the girl who believed she was escaping suffering. Now, I feel I merely traded one suffering for another, one kind of poverty for another. Before, I was poor in money, but rich in love from my family, from the man who once loved me tenderly. Now, I have money around me—at least more than before—but my heart is starved.

The worst part is how he treats my parents. Each time I think about my mother sleeping alone in that cheap hotel, after traveling hours just to see me, tears sting my eyes. She raised me with nothing, gave me everything she could, and now she is treated like an intruder in my life. My father has stopped even asking to visit; I can hear the resignation in his voice when we talk. “It’s okay, my daughter,” he says, but I know it is not okay. I know it is breaking him too. My siblings, they barely call anymore because every conversation ends with me crying. I am so cut off, so torn in two worlds.

And then there are his family members. They move through my home as if it belongs to them. His mother rearranges my kitchen, criticizes the way I hold my baby, and scolds me in front of my husband. His sisters gossip loudly about me, laughing as though I am invisible. I feel like a stranger in my own house, tiptoeing around people who should not even have the right to treat me this way. Yet I cannot say anything, because the one person who should defend me—my husband—joins them in their ridicule.

Sometimes, in the quiet of night, when everyone is asleep, I allow myself to remember the man I once loved. The one my parents asked me to leave behind. He didn’t have much, but he had a kind heart. He looked at me with respect, with admiration, like I was the most precious person in his life. He used to hold my hands and tell me we would face the world together. Now I wonder what my life would have been if I had chosen love instead of money. Maybe we would still be poor, but would my heart feel this empty? Would my child be growing up in a house of tension, silence, and insults? I don’t know. The questions torment me.

I want to be strong, but I feel like I am disappearing little by little. Each insult chips away at my spirit. Each time I have to tell my mother she cannot come, my soul withers. Each time my baby sees me cry, I hate myself more. I try to pray, but sometimes even my prayers feel hollow. I ask God why He led me here. Was this truly His plan? Or did I mistake my desperation for His guidance?

People tell me marriage is not easy, that every woman has her cross to bear. But is this really what God intended? A home where love is absent, where respect is missing, where my very existence feels like a mistake? I don’t know anymore.

I stay because of my daughter. I stay because I am afraid of the unknown. I stay because the word “divorce” feels like a curse in my culture, a shame that will stain not just me, but my entire family. I stay because I don’t want to return to poverty. Yet every day I stay, I feel I am losing pieces of myself.

I dream of freedom. I dream of a small house where my mother can knock on the door and be welcomed with open arms. I dream of laughter in the rooms, of peace in my heart. I don’t know if that day will ever come. But for now, I write these words as if I am whispering them into the wind, hoping someone, somewhere, hears my silent cry. Hoping that maybe, one day, I will be brave enough to choose myself, to choose happiness, and to give my daughter the life she deserves.

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