When Love Changes to Fear in a Marriage

It never crossed my mind that I would eventually find myself scared of my husband. Not that he has ever done anything to harm me, but rather because of the look he gives me when I say no. The quiet after my refusal is like a thousand storms combined.

After five years of marriage, we are fine from the outside. We go to church on Sundays and even smile when people call us the “perfect couple.” But inside our house, I think of myself as a foreigner sharing a place with a person who used to be my best friend.

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It started with little things, the small fights that broke out every time I said I was too tired for bed. I thought it was just a hard time that would eventually go away. But it didn't. It got stronger.

My husband considers it a duty for a wife always to be available for her husband when he wants sex. "You are my wife," he would tell me in a smooth and yet sharp voice like the one used by a surgeon. "If you are not in the mood, then what is the use of marriage?”

At first, I had the feeling of being in the wrong. I would stay there, silent, and act as if I was having a good time, and together with that I would push away the feeling of being raped which was the strongest. But eventually, I got to the point when I could not stand it anymore. I started to hate the nights. My heart would be pounding as soon as he switched off the lights and I would start coming up with excuses to go to bed early or to stay in the kitchen even longer.

He completely lacks the comprehension of foreplay or intimacy's gentleness, that intimacy is nothing but beauty. On the contrary, he doesn't even try to connect with me. Instead, he just suddenly and roughly grabs me, as if it was his right and perhaps, even in his fantasies, it is so. He is unaware that I recoil and that my body turns hard. He does not notice the fear in my eyes since for him, tenderness is a duty, not a love language.

I have made several attempts to have a conversation with him. On one occasion, after church, I told him in a gentle manner, "You don’t make me feel wanted; instead, you make me feel used." His reaction was one of surprise and almost offense. "Used? How? You are my wife. All my actions are for you." He was clueless, and I felt powerless to find another way to clarify.

Such are the topics that, in Ghana, people are not encouraged to discuss. When I told my mother that my spouse and I had quarrelled due to my not wanting to be 'intimate' all the time, she just chuckled and remarked, "Did I say; my daughter, marriage is not a game for children. Just give the man what he wants and all will be well."

Well-being. That word again. The well-being that comes from silence; it is the silence of the woman who has had her body battered because of her discomfort.

Thus, I chose to remain mute. I played the part of the submissive wife. I greeted him with a smile whenever he came back home. But, the truth is that I was withdrawing a little more with each passing day. The sound of his car horn became unbearable to me. I started putting on heavy and thick clothes at night, hiding my whole body, even when it was very hot and suffocating.

One night, he came very late and smelling very strongly of alcohol. I got frozen when he put his hand on me. I said in a faint voice, "Please, not tonight." He did not take it kindly. His voice went up, not out of anger, but as if he was giving an order. "Do you have any idea how many women wish they had husbands who even touched them?"

That phrase simply would not let me go. In my thoughts, I kept bringing it over and over again for a couple of days. He might be right, I thought. I may be the one who is ungrateful, indeed. Perhaps this is exactly the way marriage was supposed to be. But my body did not agree. My mind did not agree either.

I started to stay away from home. I worked longer hours, pretending as if I had a lot to do. By the time I was coming back, I wished he would have gone to bed already. But even sleep was not a way out since in my nightmares, I was still experiencing those moments of unwanted intimacy, his loud breathing next to my still and icy body.

Once in a while, I think about it and ask myself whether this is the way fear is created not from one act of violence, but from a quiet, painful repetition that is ignored.

The day came when I told myself enough was enough. After one of our regular quarrels, I spent the night at a friend’s house in Spintex. I cried the whole night till dawn. I poured out everything to her. She listened and then said, “You are not the first one who has to go through this. But if you remain silent, you will end up getting crushed.”

She was right. I was on the verge of being crushed already.

Upon my return home, he said he was sorry not for his act but for losing his temper. His words were, “You know I love you, don’t you? I just can’t understand what is going on with our relationship." The hardest part is that I do know he loves me although it is not the best to be loved in such a way. Love should not make one feel inferior. It shouldn’t turn the heart into a fearful thing racing with fear whenever the partner's footsteps are heard.

There are times when I go to the window and observe the neighborhood: children playing soccer in the dust, women sharing secrets, and the loud music of highlife from the chop bar nearby dominating the scene. Everything seems fine. Serene. But there is turbulence inside me.

The big takeaway from my experience with marriage is that it is not just about sharing a physical space; together or not sharing a physical space, the couple should be sharing emotional support. Knowing that because you said “no,” you will be respected, and not because you said so, it’s about being gentle and considerate to each other.

I just want to have a good life. I want to stop living in fear of my partner whom I pledged to love for life. I want to be the one who makes him laugh, not the one who shakes when he comes close. But I have no idea of how to contact him now.

So I am asking…for anyone who might read this, what should I do? Should I just fake it and take it, come what may? Even if I am not emotionally or physically ready for closeness? I know that this might worsen the situation but should I bring someone, maybe our pastor or someone else whom he holds in high esteem, into the matter? I am clueless as to what might work because the man I have doesn’t respond to reason. The thought of divorce is still the last thing I want to consider, for society will just laugh at me and say “Was it just that little thing that ruined your marriage?” But in fact, it is not little. The thing that is consuming me slowly, little by little, and piece by piece, cannot be disregarded as a trifling matter.

I have no idea what the right answer is. What I do know is that marriage should never be equated to a fight for survival.

—Liz

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