Marriage Doesn't Make US a Wife. It Makes Us Invisible.

They said marriage would complete me.

They said, “You’ll understand when you go to your own home.”
No one told me that “my own home” would feel like borrowed space.

In a desi marriage, you don’t just marry a man.
You marry expectations. Traditions. Silent rules no one explains but everyone enforces.

The first morning after my wedding, I woke up before everyone else. Not because I wanted to, but because I felt watched. Evaluated. Measured.

How I made tea.
How I draped my dupatta.
How softly I walked.

Wife material is a performance. And I was determined to win.

I learned quickly that being a “good wife” meant swallowing more than food. It meant swallowing opinions. Swallowing exhaustion. Swallowing the ache of missing my old room, my old freedom, my old self.

If I spoke up, I was “too sensitive.”
If I stayed quiet, I was “mature.”

Somewhere between adjusting and compromising, I disappeared.

No one prepares you for the loneliness of being surrounded by people. For missing your mother but pretending you’re fine. For smiling through family dinners where you’re still an outsider.

And the worst part? You’re expected to be grateful.

Grateful for a husband who “allows” you to work.
Grateful if he “helps” with chores.
Grateful that you were “accepted” into the family.

Accepted.

As if I was the one auditioning.

I love my husband. I love parts of this life. But love should not require erasure.

Why is it that a man’s life expands after marriage and a woman’s shrinks to fit into his?

Why are we trained to adjust before we’re trained to ask?

Sometimes I miss the girl I was before I became someone’s wife. She had opinions without fear. She laughed without checking who was listening. She wore what she chose to wear.. 

Marriage didn’t break me.
But it slowly edited me.

And now I’m learning something radical in a desi household:

A wife isn't supposed to have her own identity... She isn't supposed to think.. Just comply...

But me? I'm tired of complying.... 

I. Want. To. Breathe. Like. I. Want. To.

(Thought process for this post... I went shopping today and made the mistake of choosing a short shirt and a farshi shalwar for myself.. I was reminded I looked ajeeb.......)