What’s something your culture glorifies that actually traumatized you?

Culture and Coercion

My husband installed spy cameras in our home and shared the footage online. I threw him out and never looked back. Three years later, he’s stalking me across the country, pleading for another chance. Even in the first week of dating, I hated every little thing my husband did.

He was obnoxious, unkind, and painfully unfunny. One time, he hacked into my email and canceled a job interview for my dream job.

And when I called my mom to tell her what happened, she just said,

“Okay, did you thank him for what he did?”

You see, I come from a family of arranged marriages. Divorce is basically equated to murder. So, in their eyes, my husband could do no wrong.

And because he knew I was completely alone and forced to be with him no matter what, he took full advantage of me. He refused to ever throw anything into the trash because that was a woman’s job.

I wasn’t allowed to wear clothes or listen to music that he didn’t approve of. And for the most part, I was able to tolerate this since it was nothing I didn’t expect anyway. But there was one part of his routine that I hated the most.

Every weekend, he’d take a flight to Arizona and do snow with his friends. He swore he wasn’t addicted. But one day, I logged onto my bank account to see that he had completely drained half of my savings account.

I wasn’t even angry, just extremely upset because I knew that if I even tried to talk to anyone about this, they would take a side.

For years, my life was filled with threatening texts about collecting debt, my husband’s constant beachiness from withdrawal, and random spurts of violence. I practically walked around looking like a zombie every day.

And it wasn’t until 2 years later that something actually changed because that’s when my grandmother came over. We had her necklace stored on her mantel piece. It was one that my late grandfather gave to her, and it reminded her of him while he was in the Soviet war. Not to mention, it was worth thousands.

So, when we couldn’t find it, adrenaline filled my body. That’s when my sorry excuse for her husband came home.

“Honey, honey, have you seen my grandmother’s necklace?” I asked with urgency.

He plastered a boyish half smile on his face.

“Um, you could say that.”

That’s when my grandmother ran down the stairs. She wasn’t as patient as me.

“You idiot, where did you put my necklace?”

His face went red like he had been caught.

“I misplaced it.”

I immediately knew he had sold it for more blow. But I didn’t want to worry my grandmother, so I went along with his lie.

But before I could say anything, my grandmother slapped him.

My family put you with a beautiful wife house, and this is how you repay us. Get out of my effing face.

He sheepishly walked out the door with his shoulder slightly slumped. And even though I felt bad for my grandmother, I couldn’t help but smile because I knew it was finally over. After 10 years, I could finally get my life back.

The divorce process was long and hefty. He tried multiple times to win me back with cheap flowers and chocolate despite me being lactose intolerant. Not to mention his parents and siblings, constantly starting arguments with my parents about how this was all my fault for not being a better wife.

But this time, for once, everyone was taking my side, and they ignored them. I started wearing skirts that weren’t all the way down to my ankles. I wore my hair untied, letting my natural curls flow. I talked to strangers again. I felt like a princess.

So, I was changing into my Silky VS pink pajama set when it happened. In the corner of my eye, inside the digital alarm clock, I saw a little red light. Well, I had just seen a Tik Tok video about hidden cameras, so my heart dropped.

I immediately went over to investigate and smashed the entire thing on the floor. And amidst the debris, there it was, a little camera. My blood went cold. I instinctively threw it out the window before clutching a pillow and crying my eyes out.

That sick man had been watching me. Every single day for the past 6 months, a sickly feeling washed over me, and the memories of our relationship all came crashing down. Every time he jokingly pinched me for talking to a man, every time he threw out my clothes because they were too revealing.

For the first time, I realized I didn’t deserve it. Culture or not, I should be loved in a marriage, adored, appreciated. Anger crept into every inch of my skin. For the first time, I didn’t just hate my ex-husband. I wanted him dead.

I didn’t sleep that night. How could I? Every shadow in my room looked like him watching me. Every creek in the floorboard sounded like footsteps. I kept thinking about all the nights I changed clothes. All the times I’d cried alone in my room. All the private moments that weren’t private at all.

The violation felt like a physical weight crushing my chest. The next morning, I carefully collected all the broken pieces of the clock and put them in a shoe box. I wasn’t sure what to do with them yet, but something told me I should keep the evidence. I shoved the box in the back of my closet under some winter sweaters.

I didn’t tell anyone what I’d found. Not my parents, not even my grandmother. I wasn’t sure who to trust anymore. For the next week, I barely slept. I kept all the lights on in my apartment and checked under the bed every night like a scared kid.

I started showering with the bathroom door locked and windows taped over with paper. I went through every single object in my apartment, lamps, picture frames, outlets, smoke detectors, looking for more hidden cameras.

I didn’t find any, but that didn’t make me feel better. If anything, it made me more paranoid. What if I was missing something?

I changed all my passwords, got a new phone number, and started taking out small amounts of cash from different ATMs to stash around my apartment just in case. I wasn’t sure what I was preparing for, but I knew I needed to be ready for something.

About a week after finding the camera, I was heading out to grab coffee when I spotted a familiar car parked at the corner of my street. My stomach dropped. It was his car.

That stupid black BMW he bought instead of paying our electric bill that one winter. I almost turned around and went back inside, but something in me snapped. I was tired of being afraid. I marched right up to his window and knocked.

He rolled it down, looking surprised to see me, like he was just in the area. By total coincidence.

What are you doing here? I asked, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice.

I was just driving by, he said with that fake innocent smile I knew so well.

Thought I’d see how you’re doing.

I found the camera, I said flatly. His face twitched slightly, but he recovered quickly.

“What camera?”

“The one in my alarm clock.”

“The one you put there to spy on me.”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow.

“You’re being paranoid.” “Why would I put a camera in your clock?” “Maybe you put it there yourself to frame me.”

You’ve been acting crazy ever since your grandmother turned you against me. Classic gaslighting. I’d seen this movie before.

I didn’t argue with him. Just stared at him for a long moment, then turned and walked away. I heard him call after me, but I didn’t look back. I just closed my door and locked it. Then checked all the windows to make sure they were secure.

A few days later, I was checking my bank account online when I noticed something weird. My mouse cursor moved slightly on its own, like someone else was controlling it.

I yanked the power cord out of the wall so fast I nearly broke it. My hands were shaking as I called a friend who works in IT.

Bring it over now, he told me after I explained what happened. Don’t connect to any networks until I check it out.

I wrapped my laptop in a towel like it was contaminated and drove straight to his repair shop. He took one look at my face and cleared his schedule. After about an hour of checking, he confirmed my worst fears.

Someone’s been accessing your computer remotely,” he said, showing me some technical logs I didn’t understand.

Multiple times over the past year, at least they installed a RAT, a remote access Trojan. It lets them see everything you do, access your webcam, your files, everything.

I felt sick.

Can you tell who did it?

Not specifically, but it was installed physically, not through a download. Someone had to have physical access to your laptop.

I thought about all the times I’d left my laptop at home while my ex was there, all the banking I’d done, all the emails I’d sent, all the private photos I’d looked at, he’d seen it all.