My husband, David, has always been strict and liked to keep things a certain way in our house. At first, I thought he was just organized, which was a trait I admired in him.

He planned our meals, our schedules, and even our grocery list. I didn’t see a problem with it because I believed that having clear rules could make life easier.

But over the years, his demands became more intense. He started to control bigger and bigger parts of my life—how I dressed, when I could go out, and, more recently, even how often I could shower.

A few weeks ago, he announced a new rule: I could only take two showers a week. His reason was that I was “wasting too much water,” though I didn’t see how a short, daily shower was truly wasteful.

Still, I tried to cooperate at first, thinking it was just a phase. I hoped that if I followed his rules for a while, he would calm down and see how unreasonable he was being. But his demands never eased up.

Yesterday, I had already taken my “two showers” for the week according to David’s schedule. But I came home after an exhausting day at work, feeling sweaty and grimy.

All I wanted was a quick shower to wash away the stress. My nerves were on edge, and I felt like I couldn’t rest without rinsing off. When I told David that I was going to take a shower, he reminded me that I had “hit my quota.”

I tried to explain that it was important for me to feel clean, especially when I was tired and tense. He just shook his head firmly and said, “Rules are rules.”

In that moment, frustration bubbled up inside me like a boiling pot. I told him that I was going to shower anyway, and that he’d better not try anything to stop me. We had never clashed this directly before.

Usually, I tried to keep the peace. But his controlling behavior had reached a point where I couldn’t remain silent. I needed to stand up for myself, even if it meant facing his anger.

Without waiting for his reaction, I marched to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. My heart pounded in my chest. I turned on the water, letting it heat up as steam rose around me.

The sound of the rushing water was like music to my ears. My muscles began to relax the moment I felt the warm spray on my skin. For the first time in days, I felt a little bit of relief.

However, about two minutes into my shower, I heard angry footsteps in the hallway. The doorknob rattled as David tried to open the door. When he realized it was locked, he shouted, “Open up! You’re breaking the rule, and I won’t let it slide!” His voice was loud, echoing off the bathroom walls. I felt a surge of fear. Never before had I heard him quite so furious.

Then, the water pressure suddenly dropped. I turned around, confused, to see only a small trickle coming out of the showerhead. The water went from hot to lukewarm in a few seconds, then quickly turned ice cold.

Gasping, I jumped away from the freezing splash. Something was clearly wrong with the water system—maybe David had turned the main water valve or messed with the heating controls. My teeth started chattering from the cold.

I shut off the faucet and dried myself as fast as I could, still trembling. Anger and fear mixed in my mind like a storm. He had never done anything like that before.

It felt like a betrayal, a direct attack on something as simple as my right to be clean. I threw on a robe, my hair still dripping, and unlocked the door. David stood there, arms folded, a furious look on his face.

His words came out like darts. “I told you only two showers a week,” he hissed. “You think you can just ignore me?”

I couldn’t help yelling back. “This is insane, David! I’m an adult, not a child you can boss around!” I felt tears sting my eyes, anger mixing with sadness. “I can’t live like this, with you controlling every little thing. A shower isn’t a luxury I can skip whenever you decide. It’s a basic need!”

He rolled his eyes, dismissing me. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he said. “Grow up and learn to follow the rules.”

For a moment, I stood there, soaked and shivering, wondering how our marriage had turned so cold. We used to be happy, or so I thought. Now I felt trapped and powerless. But that tiny spark of self-respect inside me flared up. I refused to let him bully me.

I pushed past him and headed to our bedroom, locking the door behind me. My hands shook as I dried my hair and put on warm clothes. Thoughts rushed through my mind: Should I leave him? Was it worth fighting for our relationship? If he was acting like this over a shower, what else would he try to control next?

That night, I slept with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. The next morning, he acted as if nothing was wrong, making coffee and checking his phone. I, however, couldn’t pretend.

The memory of last night’s freezing water was fresh in my mind, and the deeper issue—his constant need to control me—had become unbearable.

Now I’m standing at a crossroads. Part of me loves him, remembering the days when he was gentle and supportive. Another part of me feels I should walk away, because how can I trust someone who denies me even the simplest right to shower when I need to?

I’ve started to think about my future: do I want to spend the rest of my life under rules about when I can bathe, eat, or sleep?

My mind whirls with questions, but I know one thing: I can’t continue living like this, tiptoeing around his ever-growing list of rules. Something has to change, or I’ll lose myself entirely.

So here’s my question for you: if your partner tried to control even the smallest parts of your daily life—like when you can take a shower—would you keep trying to fix things, or would you decide it’s time to leave for the sake of your own well-being?