I am a 32-year-old, divorced—and recently remarried—mother of a nine-year-old. For someone who is outspoken, often labeled a maniac extrovert, it took me an incredibly long time to find the courage to speak my truth. Every time I tried to write this story, doubt crept in. I worried about how my son would feel when he is old enough to read it, because this is not just my story—it is his too. And yet, this story needs to be told.
It needs to be told because today, I am the happiest I have ever been. I love my job. My family has been an unwavering pillar of support. And I am finally with a man I trust completely. I am not who I am today despite what happened to me—but because of it.
I was married off at 21 (gasp, I know) to someone I barely knew. He was 25, and immaturity played a starring role in what followed. Cracks appeared even before the wedding. There was vicious verbal abuse—about what I wore, what I said, and whom I spoke to. I was slowly isolated from my friends and forced to give up one of my biggest passions in life: Manchester United. The wedding date was changed at the last minute, and he refused to attend the reception because he didn’t like the music my parents had arranged.
We moved to the UK shortly after, and my world shrank even further. I wasn’t allowed a laptop or a television. I had a battered feature phone and could only call a select few people. I had no job, no money, no cards—nothing. Books borrowed from the local library became my only escape. Cooking for him was terrifying; no matter what I made, a fight would erupt over some detail. The thought still gives me chills. Eventually, the abuse turned physical. It began over something as small as biscuits. I never told my parents—I couldn’t bear the thought of them suffering with that knowledge.
We later returned to India, and I became pregnant, because apparently a baby would fix everything. What is supposed to be the most beautiful phase of a woman’s life became the worst period of mine. I didn’t experience typical pregnancy symptoms. Instead, I endured routine physical abuse, which only escalated. At the time, we were living in a cold part of the U.S., and when I was seven months pregnant, he once dropped me off on the side of a freeway and drove away—because I had dared to stop by the library while he fetched the car.
When I went into labor, he was at a restaurant having dinner. The final breaking point came when my son was just 29 days old. I received no help caring for the baby, and my mother—who had come to support me—was forbidden from assisting. A fight broke out over something trivial, and he hit me. Repeatedly. My body, still recovering from childbirth, couldn’t take it anymore. It shut down. A few weeks later, I flew back to India with my baby, and we spent eight months there with my parents.
Eventually, the cracks were once again papered over, and I spent another three and a half years in that marriage. The abuse continued. My family was verbally abused. And yet, to the outside world, everything looked fine. Until one day—five years ago—I decided enough was enough. I left with my three-and-a-half-year-old, found a job at an incredible organization, met the most gracious people, and built a career I am proud to call successful, without a shred of hubris.
Ironically, the best part of that marriage was the surprisingly amicable divorce. Trust, however, did not come easily. I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I convinced myself I was undeserving of love and would never be in another relationship. One extraordinary woman—she knows who she is—helped me begin to unlearn that. I also found two of my closest friends at work. They became my rocks. They forced me to date. They listened deeply. They called me out when needed. They were everything.
I don’t claim innocence in that marriage. I said things I shouldn’t have. But it took me a long time to understand that I never deserved to be treated that way. No one does. Today, I am married to someone I have known for over two years, and I cannot say enough good things about him or his family. They have only ever made us feel loved, respected, and valued.
Our wedding was small and intimate, surrounded by those closest to us. My son wandered around proudly, inviting everyone home, announcing, “Mom and Dad are getting married, and we are a proper family now—so come visit.” Watching the relationship between my husband and my son—now our son—grow has been one of the greatest honors of my life.
If you are staying in a marriage out of guilt over what it might do to your child, let me be clear: get out. You owe your child a safe, loving environment. You owe them peace, joy, and good energy. You do not owe them a hollow version of “family” that causes more harm than good. Trusting again is a process. It takes time, effort, and consistency. But you will trust again. Remember—happiness isn’t found at the end of the road. It’s found along the way.
