What Some Homes Endure in the Name of Marriage
By Hafsat Ibrahim
Some wounds do not bleed. They live in silence. They hide in shadows. And too often, they grow in places that should feel like home. Domestic violence is one of the most dangerous cancers eating into the soul of our society.
It is not just about the bruises that fade, but the dignity that never quite returns. In homes where there should be laughter, there is fear. In relationships meant to nurture, there is pain. It is a tragedy we see far too often, yet speak too little about.
Marriage, when it thrives on love, patience and understanding, can be one of the most beautiful journeys. But when built on deceit, ego, or control, it becomes a battlefield. Many young people today enter marriage without fully understanding themselves, much less their partners.
And so the foundation begins to crack before the roof is even complete. There are many reasons marriages break into violence. Some see the red flags during courtship but believe they can pray the flaws away.
Others are too caught up in appearances or pressure to settle down. Families sometimes interfere too deeply, turning two into a crowd. Social media fantasies do not help either. Couples measure their homes against filtered lives online and begin to feel small, inadequate, and resentful.
Emotional disconnect, sexual dissatisfaction, cultural and spiritual mismatches—these are realities that quietly turn affection into hostility. A wife who prays at midnight becomes “too spiritual.” A husband who struggles with anger begins to shout, then hits.
It starts small. A harsh word. A slammed door. But soon, it grows. And the love they once shared becomes a wound they now carry. When you hear that someone has suffered abuse, you think of fists or black eyes. But abuse wears many masks.
Sometimes it is words—sharp, cruel, unrelenting. Sometimes it is silence—cold, punishing, and calculated. Sometimes it is being cut off from friends and family. Other times, it is money withheld like a weapon. There is also the pain no one talks about—the sexual abuse that happens between spouses, hidden under the cover of duty.
A woman might sit quietly in church, smiling with her children, while dying slowly inside. A man might laugh with friends, but dread going home. Children who grow up in such homes do not forget. The trauma trails them into adulthood. Some repeat the pattern.
Others carry the pain in quiet rebellion. Homes filled with violence birth more than broken marriages—they create broken people. And yet, even with all the pain, many still stay. Some out of fear. Others out of shame. Many because they do not know where to go. This is why we must speak. This is why we must act.
Because silence helps the abuser and wounds the wounded even more. If you are in an abusive relationship, please know: it is not your fault. You are not alone. There is help. There is hope. Reach out. Speak up. Leave, if you must. You do not have to wait until you are broken beyond repair.
Marriage is not meant to be endured in fear. It is not a burden you must carry to prove your strength. It is meant to bring peace, comfort and joy. And when it does not, it is not a marriage, it is a prison. And every human being deserves better than that.
Let us build homes where love is not laced with pain. Let us raise sons who know that masculinity is not violence, and daughters who know that silence is not virtue. Let us remember that the home is the heart of society—and if it beats with fear, the whole nation suffers.
