What She Said is a Zikoko series spotlighting the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity, and everything in between — in their own words. From Lagos to London, Nairobi to New York, it’s striking how much our experiences echo one another. Every Wednesday, we give women the mic to speak freely, honestly, and without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
This week on What She Said, we speak with a 32-year-old Nigerian woman whose marriage turned out to be nothing like she imagined. What started as love and belief in a struggling man’s dreams spiralled into emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, and isolation.
Let’s go back to the beginning: what first drew you to him? What made you feel like this was someone you could build a life with?
It was his looks and charisma. He looked confident yet humble, street smart yet empathetic. As I got to know him better, it seemed like if only he had the right opportunities, he would be a high flyer.
He was broke and down when we first got together, and he told me how he was constantly victimised by his boss, who delayed or underpaid him. Even though he lacked financial stability, I believed he was hardworking and someone I could build with.
You mentioned he was broke and struggling, but you believed in his dreams. What did those early sacrifices look like for you, financially and emotionally?
I believed in his dreams. He said he just needed to buy scrap transformers, refurbish them, and sell them at five times the investment. He promised to pay me back, whether or not we stayed together. I cleaned out my NYSC savings at the time — ₦400,000 — and gave it to him. He said it wasn’t enough, so I even tried to get loans (thank God no one gave me).
Emotionally, I was all in. I paid our bills when we hung out, but I made it seem like he was the one paying. I also made large meals and gave him. He constantly reassured me, made big promises, and said I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Was there ever a moment early on that gave you pause, even if you brushed it aside at the time?
Yes. Despite his good looks, he had poor grooming habits. He frequently showed up dirty and smelly. He blamed it on coming straight from the workshop. But one day, he came from his house to meet me at a restaurant and still looked that way. I was so ashamed, I broke up with him. The next day, he begged and promised to change. I took him back.
Another incident was when he accused me of flirting with an old friend (my course mate from university) in front of him. He flew into a rage, called me names, and hinted that he was done with me. I found myself explaining and pacifying him, even though I was shocked.
You said his mask fell after the wedding — how did you first realise something wasn’t right?
His mask fell after our court wedding. Up until then, he had been cooperative. However, our traditional and white wedding took place a week after the court wedding. He arrived at the traditional wedding two hours late. I kept calling him, and he got angry and threatened to call off the whole thing. Later, he blamed me for embarrassing him in front of his kinsmen because I asked a question about our wedding plans in their presence. I got no form of apology.
The day after, during the white wedding, he kept saying he might leave if he got a work call. That insecurity started to grow. Things escalated from there.
What were some things he did that, looking back, were signs of narcissistic abuse?
Looking back, there were so many things I didn’t see as red flags then. Whenever we went out, he claimed women were always sending him seductive signals. One time, he said a woman who was out with her husband and kids was winking at him.
He also often told me stories of women who were “all over him.” Sometimes, when we were out, he’d claim he lost money from his pocket, likely money he never had.
He also had issues with a female neighbour who later accused him of hitting her. She and her husband called the police. I stood by him. He said she made it all up because he refused her sexual advances. I believed him at the time, but now I don’t.
In every story he told, he was always the victim or the hero. There were constant tales of near-death experiences, how he escaped accidents, and so on.
Can you talk about how he tried to isolate you from your family and friends? What did that look like in your day-to-day life?
The isolation started subtly after we were married. Before that, he was eager around my family and liked by everyone. After marriage, he demanded I stop working at my family’s pharmaceutical company and said he’d set up one for me, even though we were broke. It wasn’t a discussion; he made it clear it was his decision. But I couldn’t leave the pharmacy. I was the motivation behind its creation, and leaving would have meant throwing away my family’s investment and mine.
When I tried to explain, he acted like he was depressed and would say things like he regretted marrying me, loud enough for me to hear.
He also got upset when I told a friend about a supposed UK master’s admission he claimed he got (which I now believe was a lie). He lashed out and warned me never to talk about our affairs with friends.
You mentioned postpartum being particularly rough. What was that experience like for you? Physically, emotionally, and especially with him in the picture?
Postpartum was rough indeed. I was vulnerable with him about my labour. I gave birth at a general hospital, so he wasn’t allowed in the room. My mum was there, eager to help, but he seemed bothered by her presence. He told me to “watch and learn” how to bathe a baby because we might not be in Nigeria next time. When I replied that no new mother usually bathes their baby themselves, he gave me a dead stare.
Less than a week after delivery, he started asking for sex, despite me previously explaining I’d need at least six weeks to recover and that I had an episiotomy. I could barely sit or walk. He never once asked how I was doing.
My mum staying for omugwo seemed to offend him. He started coming home from work past 11 p.m., gave me the silent treatment, and tried to stop me from returning to work. He verbally abused me, called me worthless, ugly, useless, and constantly threatened divorce. One time, he put his hands on me and strangled me. When I cried for help and narrated what happened, he denied it. Since there was no witness, people around us encouraged us to apologise to each other, even though I did nothing wrong.
It was a deeply depressing time. If not for my mum, who constantly encouraged me to stay strong, I don’t know what would’ve happened.
What kind of support did your mum try to give during that time, and how did he react to it?
My mum was really supportive. I even felt guilty about how much she was doing. But, as I mentioned, my husband didn’t like it. She told me she could feel his coldness toward her and didn’t want to be the reason my marriage failed. Even though we still needed her, she stopped coming over to bathe the baby once he turned one month old.
He didn’t buy her any omugwo gifts, which is culturally expected, so I had to buy and present the appreciation gifts myself.
Was there a breaking point? A moment when you knew you had to start fighting to get out?
There have been several breaking points, but I feel stuck. The postpartum period was one of them. There were even worse events after that. I’ve tried to leave, and I’ve even called his bluff when he threatened divorce, but he never followed through. I don’t think he will, not until he feels like he’s fully broken me.
I tried leaving just last month, but between my parents, the Church, and my husband, I feel trapped. Our son is also what he intends to tie me down with. I don’t have the resources to just disappear, even though I wish I could.
During postpartum, he even accused me of trapping him with a baby, even though we were already married before I got pregnant. Looking back, it’s the opposite: he trapped me.
What did healing look like for you? Are you still healing?
I’ve seen behind his mask, and there’s no unseeing it. I’m trying to heal, but it’s hard because I haven’t left him yet. I’m emotionally detached from him and keep very low contact. I’ve also been educating myself through online content on covert narcissism. I’ve secretly enrolled in a master’s programme (he doesn’t know), and I’m focusing on my self-development and my child’s growth.
This experience has really changed me. I’ve been scammed, but I believe I’ll recover. I’m not as “nice” as I used to be. I think being too nice is what made me vulnerable to someone like him. I don’t give second chances to people who gaslight or belittle me anymore. I’m also more prayerful. I feel like I’m in spiritual warfare; that’s what living with him feels like.
What do you want women, especially those who think they’ve found “a good man,” to know about narcissistic abuse?
If you think you’ve found a good man, I really hope for the best with you. When I was courting my husband, I had no iota of doubt that he was my soulmate. My advice is: take things slow. Don’t rush, and don’t let him rush you into commitment too quickly. Check if he has long-term relationships that are deep; not everyone around him should be a villain. What about his exes? What do they say about him? What does he say about them? Listen, and filter without being emotional.
What myths do you wish more people understood about emotional or covert abuse?
The abuse of a covert narcissist is hell. Even though emotional wounds aren’t visible, they are just as deadly, if not more so, than physical wounds. I pray a way of escape opens for me soon.
If someone is reading this and feels like your story sounds like theirs, what would you want to say to her?
To those who can relate to my story: I salute you. You are stronger than you think, and you can heal. Stay strong and prove the devil wrong. Refuse to break. Refuse to go crazy. Get out as soon as you can.
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Also Read: What She Said: She Gave Me the Child I Couldn’t Carry
