Silent Pain, Deafening Truth: How I Silenced My Husband’s Mockery Once and for All

I Discovered My Husband Mocks Me in Front of His Friends & I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget

As a mother, I stay at home. I gave up my job more than a year ago to take care of our three-year-old daughter, who has autism and requires a lot of assistance. My spouse, who is typically a feminist, has been hitting me in group chats lately.

I never imagined myself in the job of a stay-at-home mum (SAHM). I used to love the fast-paced world of marketing, where ideas were generated over coffee and campaigns were everywhere. But when my husband, Jake, and I made a decision that drastically transformed our lives a little over a year ago, everything changed. Three-year-old Lily, our autistic daughter, required more than her daycare could provide. Since she has complicated needs and needs ongoing care, it became obvious that one of us needed to be with her full-time.

To be honest, bidding farewell to my job was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I miss having my own source of income and the fulfilment that comes from a job well done. But here I am, organising my meals, preparing food, and baking throughout the day. These activities have brought me joy, and experimenting in the kitchen has evolved into my new creative outlet.

Under my direction, our backyard has grown into a little garden haven, and I do most of the cleaning. Jake contributes fairly as well; while he’s at home, he takes an active role in parenting and household tasks. We’ve always avoided typical gender roles and worked as a team—at least, that’s what I believed until last week.

I was vacuuming Jake’s home office while he was at work on a typical Thursday. It’s a normal software development workspace, full of electronic devices and mountains of papers. My attention was drawn to his computer screen, which was still on and softly shining in the room’s low lighting. Usually it’s an accident that he leaves it on, but what I witnessed next was not an accident.

He had his Twitter account open, and I froze when I saw a tweet with the hashtag #tradwife in it. As I read the post, I felt confused. It exalted the benefits of having a conventional wife who is proud of her household responsibilities. A picture of myself, looking exactly like a 1950s housewife, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven was attached. I continued to scan through posts, which made my stomach turn. Once more, I was tending to my garden and reading to Lily, both of our faces fortunately covered.

This was Jake’s story, and he had been creating a story about our existence that was very different from what had happened. He portrayed me as a lady who gladly traded her job for aprons and storybooks, content in her vocation as a homemaker. There was no mention of the truth of our circumstances, which is that this arrangement was necessary for our daughter’s welfare.

I felt duped. It was strange to me that the man I had loved and trusted for more than ten years was now living our life with strangers. The fact that he was fabricating these glimpses of our life to support an online identity was as hurtful as the lies about our relationship.

Shaking with a mixture of uncertainty and rage, I turned off the computer. I struggled with my feelings the entire day, trying to figure out why Jake would do this. Was he dissatisfied with our plan? Was it his fault that I stayed at home? Or was there something else going on, something more profound about his perception of me now that I wasn’t earning a salary?

The remainder of the day seemed to fly by. His posts would not go away from my mind, till finally I could take it no more. I made the decision to give him a call and tell him everything.

When I finally said, “Jake, we need to talk,” my voice was more steady than I felt.

With evident concern in his voice, he replied. “What’s wrong?”

I inhaled deeply, my resolve anchored by the weight of my finding. “I saw your Twitter today…”

His expression darkened, and he sighed deeply, as though he knew exactly what this exchange of words would entail. He took a breath in response, and I prepared myself for what was about to happen.

He encouraged me to “calm down,” calling it all “just silly posting.” The final straw was that. I called him a creep, told him I wanted a divorce, and hung up.

Jake returned home right away. We had a disagreement, but I couldn’t let it continue because of Lily’s rigid schedule. He begged me to meet with him properly once our daughter had gone to bed. I reluctantly gave in. He showed me his phone that evening, the Twitter account gone. However, the harm had already been done.

My rage persisted even after a week had gone by. This was not an easy miscommunication. It was betrayed by this. Jake attempted to clarify, saying he got carried away with the attention it gave him and that it was all just a joke. Excuses, however, were only so good.

I made the decision to expose him because I was driven by a combination of hurt and a need for justice. His tweets were screenshotted, which I then shared on my Facebook page. I wanted our loved ones to know the reality. My reply was scathing: “Your husband makes fun of you behind your back while he’s with his pals. Are you familiar with that?

The reaction was swift. Our family members were taken aback, and messages began to pour in. Jake was inundated with calls and messages. Again, he left work early to ask for my forgiveness. Weeping, he knelt and begged that it was just a “stupid game.”

But I was unable to let it go. The faith that had united the two of us was broken. It was about the mutual respect and understanding we were meant to have, not just a few incorrect posts. I moved out with Lily to a different apartment after telling him I needed time to myself to reflect and recover.

Jake asked for forgiveness for half a year. He attempted to express his regret in little ways by leaving voicemails and sending notes. Sorry, though, wasn’t enough. I told him we had to start over from scratch if he really wanted to put things right. I felt that we were no longer acquainted, and he needed to date me like we had when we first started dating years ago.

So we started over, cautiously. We went on dates, going on coffee dates first, then dinner dates. We spoke extensively about everything but the past. It was like assembling a puzzle as we discovered our new selves, both individually and together. Jake showed patience, possibly realising that this was his final opportunity to salvage the once-loving relationship.

I’ve changed a lot too, as I sit here and think back on the previous year. I had to reassess not just my marriage but also my wants and myself as a result of this betrayal. I’ve discovered that forgiveness is about feeling safe and appreciated once more, not just about taking an apology. We’re both devoted to this gradual approach, step by step.

In what way would you have handled my husband?

Would you like to hear another story?

My spouse’s desire to cheat on me with another woman was unintentionally revealed to me, so I gave him the lesson of his life.

Though my husband Mark had been sleeping with his phone in his pocket for almost a year, nothing in our nearly a year-long relationship had been as strange as this. I dismissed it at first as him being unduly cautious of his fancy new phone. But it didn’t take long to realise that Mark was being secretive for a purpose.

He would type with his phone tucked under a blanket, and as soon as I walked into the room, it would vanish into his pocket. He was obviously concealing something, and I had no doubts that it wasn’t good. His phone fell out of his pocket one evening as we were watching TV and landed close to me. I disregarded the buzzing notifications till the end of the show.

The screen of his phone lit up with notifications from a dating app when I took it up to charge. That proved it: even after two years of dating and everything I had done to help him out financially because he was unemployed, Mark was using dating apps and communicating with other women.

Angry but composed, I thought through a strategy rather than going straight to him. I told my buddy Lisa about my spouse, but she didn’t know. I made a phoney profile on the same dating app using her images, with her consent. Indeed, Mark made a swipe right on her page, and our profiles matched. In our conversations, he misrepresented himself as single and called me his roommate.

He set up a rendezvous in a downtown hotel—which he was unaware I would be paying for—after our playful texts. I knew his possessions wouldn’t survive long in our crowded metropolis, so as the day drew near, I packed them up and put them outside our flat. I also replaced the locks.

Mark assumed he was going somewhere romantic for the evening. Rather, I emailed him a photo of his stuff strewn all over the sidewalk at one in the morning. He called, scared, and I blocked him. I felt pleased to have shed the unnecessary burden from my life and slept soundly for the first time in several months that night.

Days later, Mark was at my apartment, looking dishevelled and frantic, pleading to be let in. When I refused, his despair rapidly gave way to wrath. He started to threaten me, so I had to call the police and ask for a restraining order.

Later, I found out that he had relocated and secured employment, possibly spurred on by the unexpected turn of events. I was primarily pleased to be rid of the toxicity, while I was hurt to hear he might be bettering himself after what he had put me through.

I learned how important it is to stand up for myself from this experience. In what way would you have responded?