I stayed because I thought I had to exist through him

I was 19 when I met him on a dating app. At the time, I was a student with a master's degree in social intervention, and I was desperate to exist. I had grown up in a household where my parents had divorced when I was seven or eight, and I felt like I had been erased as a child. I needed someone to tell me I was real, to validate my existence. He seemed like the answer.

We moved in together in Villejuif, sharing a flat with my sister. For the first six months, it felt like the beginning of a fairy tale. But then, the first red flag appeared. He started criticizing my appearance. He told me my hair looked bad when I tied it up. He criticized my weight. He told me what I could wear. I stopped tying my hair up. I stopped dressing the way I wanted. I felt like I was disappearing, but I told myself it was just him being picky.

I studied violence against women, yet I couldn't see the abuse in my own life until the hitting became a weekly routine and I realized I was living in constant fear.

I had studied the dynamics of violence against women. I knew the signs. I knew what to look for. But when the first slap came, six months into the relationship, I didn't recognize it as the start of a pattern. It happened during an argument. He hit me, and then immediately apologized. He cried. He promised it would never happen again. I believed him. I always believed him.

The violence didn't stay isolated. Over the next three and a half years, the frequency escalated. It started every two or three months, then moved to every week. He would hit me, and then, as if nothing had happened, he would sit down and play PlayStation. He would laugh, joke, and act as if the violence was a minor inconvenience. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, terrified that if I said the wrong thing, I would be the one who started the fight. I started blaming myself. I thought if I was thinner, if I dressed better, if I was quieter, he wouldn't hit me.

The isolation was total. I cut contact with my friends to hide the situation. I couldn't tell my mother. She had protected me strictly, and I was terrified of her reaction. I was afraid she would be disappointed in me. I was afraid she would see that I had failed. So I kept the secret, even though I was studying the very subject of the abuse I was enduring.

The turning point wasn't a single moment of clarity, but a slow realization that I was living in fear. The violence became so frequent that I couldn't sleep. I was afraid he would hurt me while I was awake. I felt like I was suffocating. The control was absolute. He told me I couldn't go out after 10 PM. He accused me of flirting with my colleagues. He threatened to kill me. He threatened to hurt me again. I felt like I was trapped in a cage I had built myself.

I stayed for three years and a half. I thought I had to endure it because I needed him to exist. I thought if I left, I would cease to be. But the fear became too loud. The violence became too frequent. I realized that I was not just living in fear; I was living in a lie.

The final break happened in July 2025. It was 3 AM. He threatened me again, and I knew I couldn't stay. I left the apartment in the middle of the night. My friend Sarah, who I had kept in contact with, let me stay at her place. I was terrified. I was afraid he would follow me. I was afraid he would hurt me. But I knew I had to leave.

I didn't leave immediately. I stayed in contact for a few weeks after the physical separation. He sent flowers, letters, and photos. He tried to reconcile. His mother defended him. He apologized. But I knew it was a trap. I knew that if I went back, the violence would start again. I sent a final message while I was on vacation, and that was the end.

Now, I am 24. I am a teacher, and I have finished my master's. I have lived through the violence, and I have survived it. I am still learning to exist on my own. I am still learning to forgive myself. I am still learning to trust myself.

I wish I had known that I didn't need him to exist. I wish I had known that the first slap was the end, not the beginning. I wish I had known that I was not the problem. I am not the problem. The problem was the control, the violence, the fear. I am not the problem. I am the survivor.

I advise anyone in a similar situation to leave at the first sign of violence. Do not wait. Do not think it will get better. Do not think you can fix it. You cannot fix it. You can only leave. And you can only heal. You can only exist.

I am still learning to love myself. I am still learning to trust myself. I am still learning to exist. But I am here. I am alive. I am here.