If he makes you feel these 6 ways, he's not in love—he's in control

I didn't realize I'd stopped laughing until I heard myself laugh again—months after leaving. It erupted at something stupid on TV, surprising me with its fullness. That's when I understood: I hadn't been in a relationship. I'd been in a carefully managed container where even my joy needed his permission.

Love expands you. Control shrinks you. The difference seems obvious from outside, but from inside, control can feel exactly like being cared for—until you notice you're disappearing.

These feelings arrive through reasonable requests, thoughtful concerns, protective gestures. He's not a villain. He's saying he loves you while systematically making you smaller.

1. You feel grateful for basic decency

"He let me go out with my friends." "He didn't get mad about the mistake." "He said it was okay to buy the shoes."

Listen to yourself. "Let me." "Didn't get mad." You're thanking him for allowing normal adult behavior. Relieved when he doesn't punish you for existing.

When permission feels like kindness, when absence of anger feels like love—you're not being cherished. You're in a system where his approval determines your freedom.

2. You feel crazy for having legitimate reactions

You're upset about something real—forgotten anniversary, public embarrassment, broken promise. But somehow you're "overreacting."

"Too sensitive." "Always making everything a big deal." "Normal people wouldn't be upset."

Now you're apologizing for having feelings. Questioning whether your hurt is valid. Wondering if maybe you are too much.

Gaslighting makes you distrust your reactions. Love validates them, even when inconvenient.

3. You feel exhausted from walking on eggshells

Every day requires calculation. Will this outfit trigger comments? This friend cause problems? This tone start something?

You've become an expert at reading moods, predicting triggers, preventing explosions. Living like a bomb technician in your own home.

The exhaustion isn't from fighting—it's from constantly preventing fights. Managing his emotions while suppressing yours. Hypervigilance where there should be safety.

4. You feel guilty for things that bring you joy

That promotion? "I guess my support means nothing." Your hobby? "Must be nice having so much free time." Friends who make you laugh? "Bad influence."

Your happiness threatens him. Growth diminishes him. Joy becomes something that wounds him.

So you minimize successes, abandon interests, decline invitations. Not because he forbids—because his disappointment is unbearable. Because happiness costs too much emotional labor.

In love, joy multiplies. In control, it subtracts from power.

5. You feel isolated but can't explain why

No dramatic declarations. Just subtle discouragements accumulating.

"Your sister creates drama." "That friend uses you." Each relationship poisoned drop by drop until you stop reaching out. Easier avoiding conflict than maintaining connection.

You could call anyone. But explaining why you've disappeared is harder than staying disappeared. Every relationship requires defending.

Isolation is control's best friend. Smaller world means larger power.

6. You feel like you're performing yourself

Editing thoughts before speaking. Adjusting opinions to match his. Laughing at unfunny things. Pretending interests you don't have.

The real you feels dangerous. Too complicated. Too likely to cause problems. So you perform a simpler version that doesn't trigger insecurity.

You've become your own PR manager, spinning yourself into acceptability. Exhausting yourself maintaining a character instead of being a person.

Final thoughts

These feelings don't mean weakness. Control works because it mimics care. Because it arrives wrapped in "I want what's best for you." Because it's administered by someone who says love, maybe believes it.

But love doesn't shrink you. Doesn't make you grateful for respect. Doesn't steal your laugh.

The telling sign isn't his treatment when things are good. It's how you feel in quiet moments when his eyes aren't on you. Do you expand or contract? Breathe deeper or shallower?

I found my laugh again. Fuller now, unmonitored, requiring no permission. That's what love should feel like—not absence of control but presence of freedom. Not being managed but being seen. Not performing yourself but being yourself, and finding that's exactly who someone wants you to be.