The Silent Manipulation: When "Choice" isn't Really a Choice--How I Was Controlled Without a Single Command

I Never Told You To Do…

This became my husband’s favorite refrain in our marriage.

“I never told you to cook my dinner.” “I never told you to buy me that.” “I never told you to…” (Fill in the blank with any and every adult/parenting responsibility you can think of, along with the royal treatment expected of a self-proclaimed king.)

And technically, he wasn’t lying. I couldn’t even argue with it, because the moment I tried, he had an uncanny ability to shoot down every example I gave. He’d twist my words, make me doubt my own memories, and leave me exhausted from the mental gymnastics required just to hold onto reality.

It was infuriating. It was exhausting. And worst of all — it worked.

After all, I had free will, didn’t I? I had choices, didn’t I?

He never outright said, “You must be happy, bubbly, constantly doing, doing, doing.” But when I wasn’t, there were consequences.

Snide remarks aimed at undermining anything I did accomplish. Dismissals of my actual right to be tired, sick, or (God forbid) expect an actual partner instead of an overgrown toddler. Silent treatments that stretched for days, sometimes weeks. Full-blown rages where things got broken — sometimes objects, sometimes just my spirit. Refusals to pay bills or buy what the kids needed, leaving me scrambling to cover the gaps or letting us go without.

So no, he didn’t tell me to do all the millions of things I somehow ended up responsible for. But he didn’t have to.

You see, control doesn’t always come wrapped in shouted commands. It can be disguised as withdrawal, as emotional starvation, as punishments that never get named but are deeply understood.

I never told you to stop hanging out with your friends.

Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash

No, he didn’t. But he made it unbearable. The silent treatment, the slammed doors, the terrifying looks that could turn my stomach into knots — those did the job just fine. It became easier to just… not go. To shrink my world, little by little, until it revolved around his moods, his needs, his comfort.

To this day, this is something I still wrestle with. Because technically, technically, he was right. I did make those choices. I chose to cook the dinner, clean the house, cover the bills, excuse the tantrums, and pretend the bad days never happened.

But what kind of choice is it when the options are either compliance or chaos? Peacekeeping or punishment?

For years, I chose wrong.

I chose to twist myself into knots, to wear myself down physically, emotionally, financially. I chose to live in survival mode, to become a ghost in my own life, all to keep a peace that never really existed in the first place.

But here’s the thing about choices: just because I made the wrong ones before doesn’t mean I have to keep making them.

I choose differently now.

I choose me.

And if you see yourself in these words — if any of this feels uncomfortably familiar — I want you to know that you can choose differently too.

You deserve more than a life of walking on eggshells. You deserve more than someone who manipulates your kindness and calls it “free will.” You deserve to reclaim your voice, your choices, your life.

And when you do? Oh, honey, the freedom is intoxicating.

I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my words, and I hope they bring you clarity, peace, and the empowerment to make the best choices for you — whatever that may look like. Sometimes, just knowing you have a choice can be life-changing.

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