I spent years being dismissed and belittled while keeping our home and family running. It wasn’t until something happened that landed me in the hospital that my husband finally noticed something was wrong.
This year, I am 36 and married to Tyler, who is 38. From the outside, we looked like the perfect family, but the truth was far from that. When Tyler mistreated me while I wasn’t well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Some people on the outside, who knew my husband and me, would describe us as the “American dream.” And in a sense, we were. I lived in a cozy four-bedroom apartment with two young boys, a manicured lawn, and a husband who had a flashy job as a lead developer for a gaming studio.
Tyler earned more than enough to sustain our lifestyle, so I stayed home with the kids. Sadly, most people assumed I had it easy. But behind closed doors, I felt like I was suffocating.
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