Trigger warning: This story contains descriptions of domestic violence, emotional abuse, and trauma. Reader discretion is advised. As a first-person essay, this does not require review by our team of Reviewers.
They say life is a series of choices, but sometimes, choices are made for us – by fear, shame, and a twisted sense of love.
I grew up in a world where family honour was paramount, where silence was the price of belonging. As a psychiatrist, I spent years untangling the complexities of trauma in others, never imagining how deeply it would entwine itself in my own life.
In 2015, I married, believing I had found my happily ever after. Love, as it often does, closed my eyes to the subtle fractures appearing in my spirit. The criticisms began subtly, delivered with smiles sharp enough to wound. From enduring physical abuse over the smallest things, to the relentless verbal assaults on my family, and the torturous demands for dowry, I accepted it all, convinced it was love.
The control, disguised as care, soon tightened its grip, subtly restricting my movements and choices. Emotional manipulation morphed into bruises I could no longer conceal.
From a car deliberately rammed into a truck, leaving me scarred, to the horrifying moment his anger cost him his sight, the violence escalated. Even the mere mention of my parents ignited his rage, resulting in spicy food being thrown into my eyes.
Broken phones, shattered watches, splintered almirahs—these were mere symbols of the deeper destruction, the shattering of my dreams and the breaking of my heart.
I constructed a façade of perfection each day, while crumbling from within. I clung to the illusion that the abuse was temporary, that if I loved him enough, it would cease.
“Love doesn’t heal cruelty—it fuels it.”
I lost everything – my home, my career, my community. Returning to my parents felt like surrender, yet in their embrace, I found a fragile sliver of my former self.
The courage to begin again
Between 2018 and 2021, I rebuilt my life, brick by painstaking brick. Work became my sanctuary. I organized webinars, wrote articles, and lent my voice to causes that mattered deeply. The Indian Psychiatry Society became my lifeline, and I poured myself into initiatives on mental health and women’s rights, earning recognition along the way.
But life, it seemed, wasn’t finished with its tests.
I met a charming, handsome doctor from one of the town’s most respected families through an arranged marriage. In the eight months of courtship, I felt a surge of gratitude, convinced I had found a humble, loving man. Then, in 2021, I remarried, believing I had found redemption.
Instead, I stepped into another nightmare.
Another nightmare
The abuse was both physical and emotional, a slow, insidious erosion of my spirit. I was isolated, confined to a single room, my world shrinking to the size of a prison cell. The man I thought I knew transformed into a monster, capable of terrifying me to my core. The dysfunction of his family was staggering. CCTV cameras monitored my every move – even the amount of tea I drank.
I witnessed horrors – insults from my father-in-law, forced malpractice, and the demand to care for his 32-year-old brother in ways that violated my dignity. My life was not my own. I was forbidden to leave, and my relatives were barred from visiting. My attempts to raise mental health awareness were met with threats of divorce.
“I was made to clean his faeces, dress his anal fistula. This, despite their ownership of nursing colleges.”
The practice of psychiatry, my passion, was deemed a stigma. My patients’ prescriptions were torn, and their therapies were monitored.
The abuse this time was more insidious, and the betrayals were deeper. Physical violence left me battered – black eyes, being beaten for 60 km, and thrown out of a car. And all of it, in front of his parents.
Emotional manipulation kept me captive, triggering suicidal thoughts. I endured three IVF cycles, two miscarriages, and countless nights questioning my worth. Even after suffering a haematoma and head bleeding, I was told to cook for my husband.
The unbearable cost of survival
One day, lying in a hospital bed, beaten and broken, I knew I had a choice. I could succumb to despair, or I could fight. Shame weighed heavily, but I owed it to myself, and to every silenced woman, to rise.
Healing wasn’t linear. It was messy, filled with tears, therapy, and crippling self-doubt. But with each step, I reclaimed a piece of my soul.
I began speaking out against intimate partner violence, advocating for those trapped in silence.
A new beginning
Today, I am not defined by my trauma. I have a private practice, speak on mental health, and pursue legal justice. The scars I carry are reminders of my resilience.
“They are proof that even in darkness, light prevails.”
I dream of Aawaz, a sanctuary for survivors. It will offer counselling, support groups, and advocacy – a haven where women can rebuild their lives. I want to transform my pain into purpose, to ensure no woman feels as alone as I once did.
To the woman reading this: You are not alone. You matter. Your voice matters.
Healing is possible, even when hope seems lost. My journey taught me that resilience isn’t about never falling, but rising every time we do.
And rise, we will.
“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” – J.K. Rowling
Need help? You are not alone
If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse or is in emotional distress, please reach out to one of these helplines:
Mental health support
- iCall (TISS): 9152987821 | www.icallhelpline.org
Free, confidential support by trained mental health professionals (Mon–Sat, 10 AM–8 PM) - Fortis 24×7 Mental Health Helpline: +91 8376804102
- Snehi (Delhi-based mental health support): 91-9582208181
Domestic violence and legal aid
- National Commission for Women (NCW) Helpline: 7827170170 – WhatsApp helpline for reporting domestic abuse across India
- SAARTHAK (Delhi-based NGO): 91-11-26853846 / 26524061
- Sakhi One Stop Centre (Central Government initiative): Dial 181
Emergency help
- Police (Women’s Helpline – nationwide): Dial 1091
- Emergency Services: Dial 112
If it feels overwhelming to call, even sending a message to a trusted friend or reaching out anonymously can be the first step.
