He grew up in a home where no one ever raised a hand.
No one shouted.
No one called it abuse.
They just corrected him.
Don’t go out so much.
Don’t laugh so hard.
Don’t talk like that in front of people.
It doesn’t look good.
Every sentence is wrapped in anxiety.
Each restriction was called care.
As a child, she learned early that being a girl meant keeping up.
his clothes
his voice
his behavior
When he was quiet, he was “good”.
When he was forced, he was “mature”.
If he struggles, he is compared.
He was reminded not to be proud if he did well.
After all, she was a girl.
She learned housework before learning to like it.
He learned harmony before he understood desire.
The instructions became more detailed when he reached college.
More polished.
More reasonable.
This is how you should behave.
This is how a noble girl lives.
And he followed them.
Happily, he thought.
Because pleasing others felt like peace.
Because boundaries felt like safety.
Because he didn’t know anything else.
Then he got married.
The instructions changed the house, but not the money.
Don’t talk when everyone is sitting together.
It doesn’t suit you.
I don’t like it.
I like this.
Her husband never forced her.
He only expressed preference.
And he adapted.
again
He adjusted his voice, his clothes, his habits.
He edited himself so carefully that he even forgot the original version.
He did not realize that following every instruction,
He gradually let go of his own likes and dislikes.
He believed that love means learning the other’s comfort zone
And it shrinks enough to fit inside.
Years passed.
He did what he was told.
And yet, she felt alone.
No one asked what she liked.
No one noticed what he missed.
His expectations didn’t matter – because he stopped expressing them.
One day, in silence he mastered so well,
A thought calmly ahead.
If one spends his whole life adapting,
Learning what others expect,
And he never knows what he wants –
What do you call it?
This is how life goes,
Or is it a form of abuse that we don’t usually talk about?
