I thought he was my knight in shining armor until he made leaving feel impossible

I met my son's father when I was 19 on a dating site. He was everything I thought I needed. He was charming, knew exactly what to say, and seemed like my knight in shining armor. I was young and gullible, easily swayed by his words. Within six or seven months, he had moved two hours away to my city, rented an apartment nearby, and I moved in with him. My family wasn't happy about the relationship, which only made me want to prove them wrong. The first year felt like a fairy tale. I didn't see the red flags that others could see.

The first time I felt a genuine sense of unease was almost a year in. We were messing around in our first apartment, and he pushed me onto the bed a little harder than necessary. I was taken aback, but I dismissed it. Looking back, he was already gaslighting me and manipulating me away from my loved ones. He couldn't hold a job; it was always someone else's fault. He job-hopped constantly but was so charming that he made friends with everyone. I didn't think much of it then.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He made sure I never had a bruise, so I could tell myself it wasn't abuse, even as he held me in positions where I couldn't breathe.

We moved frequently. In two years, I lived in four different places. We moved in with his friends to a different city, and the arguments started over the stupidest things. He would never want to be home; he was always on the go. His texts were manipulative. I couldn't text co-workers or any men. If my world wasn't him, he would yell at me. I was ready to leave a year and three months in, but then I found out I was pregnant. I decided to stay, thinking we could work on things.

Things escalated when we moved into a double-wide trailer home about a year and a half into the relationship. This is where the physical abuse began. I was driving his car, which was the only car we had, but his name was on it. He wasn't making the payments, so if I had been on the title, it would have damaged my credit. He threatened to call the police and say I stole the car if I didn't get home right away. I came home from work, took the key off the ring before going inside, and locked the door. He realized the key wasn't there, busted through the door, and I was six months pregnant. I was sitting on the bathroom floor with 911 dialed. He sat across from me, dead staring, knowing I had the number. He told me to go ahead and call, saying I had no bruises, no proof, and that text messages were just what couples did. I sat there, manipulated into thinking I had no evidence, and I didn't call.

We moved again into a house I truly loved, but things got worse. He would take my keys and wallet even if I had to work my night shift. I had to call in to work because I couldn't get a ride without him knowing who I was with. He would be gone for days, always with an excuse. I was pregnant, and a voice in my head kept saying, "You're supposed to leave."

The physical abuse became terrifying. He would shut the shades, lock the doors, and hold me in positions where I couldn't breathe, screaming at me. It was a power play. One day at an auto parts store, he slapped me in the face because he thought I flirted with a clerk helping me with a gas cap. When I sped home, he threatened to call the police for reckless endangerment. I knew what would happen when we got home. I tried to leave the car first, but he took the keys and went in. I followed, but this time I got feisty. I ran for the back door. He tackled me in the yard. I dropped my weight, screaming and kicking, but he carried me back inside. I kicked the door, and the knob went through the wall. I don't know if I was pregnant then, but I wouldn't have left my son with him.

After I gave birth, the gaslighting continued. He slept on the couch and told me to shut up because he was trying to sleep. I was alone with my newborn, skin-to-skin, and I realized that was my future: just me and the baby. I felt a sense of relief. He was gone for the first three days. I later found out he had been cheating. When he returned, he picked apart everything I did with the baby. He nitpicked the baby monitor, the bottle warming, everything. He wasn't there for the first three days, yet he acted like he had a right to judge me.

He miraculously found a job four hours away. We didn't technically end the relationship, but he moved out. I helped pay for his truck and made frequent trips to see him. I was exhausted, suffering from postpartum depression, and I finally said no. I told him he had to drive down to see me. That day was beautiful. I was proud of myself for setting a boundary. Later that night, his best friend called to tell me he had taken his own life. I called his cell, and it was true.

After he passed, I found out he had been with another woman who was pregnant. He had cheated on me a lot more than I knew. People knew about it. I realized he never loved me; he loved the control he had over me and the steady income I provided in his world of inconsistency. He was a traumatized child who used his trauma to traumatize others.

It has been almost ten years. I am in a healthy relationship now. We have never had a screaming match. I never think about leaving. I want to tell anyone who has been in an abusive relationship without bruises or hospital visits: your feelings are valid. He made sure I never had a bruise so I could tell myself it wasn't abuse. I looked for bruises and tried to make them out of things that weren't. Don't invalidate your own feelings. That voice in your head is still his. If you are with someone who makes you think twice about the relationship once a week, leave. That is not normal. We need to stop normalizing that kind of harm.