The Silent Struggle: When Saying “No” Is Not That Simple

“The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.” ~Nathaniel Branden

I vividly recall a morning when my son was just five years old. My husband wanted to leave the country we were living in again, this time to escape what he believed was the imminent collapse of society due to COVID.

After years of constant relocations, I had finally started to build a community of friends, my son was settled in school, and I was beginning to feel some sense of normalcy. But he couldn’t stand it. My growing independence seemed to threaten him, and I could sense his unease.

His anxiety about the constantly shifting COVID situation only seemed to intensify his need for control. Approaching me in the kitchen with an intense expression, he declared, “We need to leave the country now, before they close the borders for good,” his voice sharp and urgent. I knew that his desire to relocate us to a non-English-speaking country would not only deepen my isolation but also render me wholly dependent on him once more.

“No, I don’t want to move again,” I responded cautiously. My heart raced as I braced for his reaction. I had experienced this countless times before, moments where a simple “no” would set off a storm.

Sure enough, the guilt-tripping began immediately. “You care more about your friends than your own family,” he snarled, his words filled with contempt. “You’re just selfish, and you’re too scared to see the truth.” He knew exactly how to manipulate my emotions and to make me feel small.

For weeks, he harassed me about the move, following me around the house and bombarding me with articles on “government control.” Eventually, he involved our son in the manipulation. “Wouldn’t you love to move to a warmer country with lots of beaches?” he asked our child. “Tell Mummy how much you want to go.”

The High Cost of “No”

The cost of saying “no” was always too high. It wasn’t just the exhaustion of defending my decisions, but the way he would target my self-worth. He accused me of being weak and too scared to live a full life, and of harming our son by denying him the experiences he deemed essential for his development.

“If you don’t agree, I’ll take our son and go without you,” he threatened, leaving me feeling cornered. There was no room for compromise—only submission.

In these moments, my identity became tied to his criticisms, and I began to internalize the belief that my needs and desires were unworthy of consideration. My self-worth eroded with every encounter, and I started to question whether I deserved the stability and independence I longed for.

The Silent Battle of Coercive Control

At the time, I didn’t realize I was living in a situation defined by coercive control. This form of abuse is often subtle, insidious, and far-reaching, characterized by patterns of manipulation designed to strip away a victim’s autonomy and self-worth.

Coercive control doesn’t always manifest through physical violence, making it difficult for victims to recognize it as abuse. Instead, it erodes your personal freedom, your ability to make decisions, and ultimately, your sense of self.

Saying “no” in a coercive relationship feels like striking a match near gasoline. The abuser thrives on control, and when that control is threatened, they will go to any lengths to regain it. For me, that meant enduring relentless verbal abuse, where my husband attacked my intelligence, character, and mothering.

When insults didn’t work, he turned to emotional manipulation, saying things like, “I just want what’s best for our family. Why are you so against that?” When emotional appeals failed, he reminded me of his financial power, ensuring I was aware of my complete dependence on him.

I used to think if I could just explain my reasoning clearly enough, he would understand. But abusers don’t operate on logic or empathy—they operate on power and control. My refusal wasn’t just an inconvenience to him; it was a direct challenge to his authority.

When “No” Feels Impossible

What many don’t understand is that saying “no” to an abuser isn’t just difficult—it’s dangerous. While my husband never physically harmed me, the psychological torment was equally devastating. Saying “no” was never worth the emotional fallout—the days of walking on eggshells, the cold stares, and the endless nights of lectures designed to break me down.

As domestic abuse expert Evan Stark explains, “Coercive control is the perpetrator establishing in the mind of the victim the price of her resistance.” In my case, every “no” brought with it a whirlwind of accusations, guilt, and threats. His constant barrage of manipulation made defiance feel like an insurmountable risk, leading me to internalize the belief that my resistance would only result in greater harm.

Reclaiming My Power

It took me years to understand that saying “no” in a coercive relationship is never just about a single decision—it’s about power. Every time I caved, I surrendered a little more of my autonomy. But everything shifted when I faced the prospect of moving countries again. Something clicked. I began reaching out to friends and family—something I had been too afraid to do before. I started to recognize the patterns of abuse that had controlled my life.

The turning point came when I started seeing a therapist. She helped me untangle the manipulation I had been living under and see my situation for what it was. For the first time, I understood the depth of the emotional toll it was taking on me. It became increasingly clear that I couldn’t continue in an environment where my needs were consistently disregarded and my well-being compromised.

Ultimately, I made the decision to leave my abusive marriage. It wasn’t easy, but I realized that leaving was the only way to prioritize my safety and reclaim my life. The thought of remaining in a situation that perpetuated my isolation and dependence became unbearable, and I knew that reclaiming my freedom would start with that crucial decision.

Lessons for Those Still in the Fight

I remember the countless times I thought, “If I just avoid confrontation, things will be okay.” I often complied quietly, not because I agreed but because it felt safer to maintain the peace. But over time, I realized that this approach wasn’t just eroding my autonomy—it was eroding my self-worth. If you find yourself in a similar situation, know that taking small steps toward regaining your autonomy is possible.

Cultivating internal resilience is one of the first ways to begin. Even if saying “no” out loud feels too dangerous, you can start by protecting yourself emotionally. When my husband belittled me, I would mentally counter his words by affirming my worth, telling myself, “I know my value, and this isn’t true.” Over time, I began separating his harmful words from my inner truth and reclaiming my sense of self from within.

You might also consider setting small, manageable boundaries. Look for moments where you can say “no” to minor requests that are unlikely to provoke a major reaction. It doesn’t have to be about asserting yourself in every situation. Start with boundaries that feel comfortable and build from there. It’s not about winning every battle—it’s about taking back the power that’s been taken from you, one step at a time.

When It Becomes a Matter of Survival

The truth is, when saying “no” feels unsafe, it may be time to question whether staying in the relationship is truly an option. If asserting even the smallest boundaries leads to verbal attacks or threats, your emotional and psychological safety may be at risk. I know how easy it is to convince yourself that the abuse is manageable—that by avoiding certain triggers, you can keep the peace. But here’s what I learned: When you can’t safely say “no,” it’s not about conflict anymore—it’s about survival.

If you find yourself feeling increasingly anxious or afraid, it might be time to consider leaving. I know the decision to leave can feel overwhelming, but reclaiming your autonomy is vital to protecting your mental health. Sometimes, leaving isn’t an immediate, all-or-nothing decision—it’s a gradual process. Gathering resources, building a support network, and planning your exit carefully can be small but essential acts of self-care.

Ultimately, the journey to reclaim your freedom starts with recognizing your worth. The first step is acknowledging that you deserve more than a life lived in fear or doubt. For me, it wasn’t about trying to fix the relationship or hoping my husband would change. It was about prioritizing myself and my child.

You deserve to feel safe, valued, and loved—by yourself and by others. This realization may not come overnight, but accepting the reality of your situation, even when it’s painful, is the beginning of true freedom and self-worth.

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