My dad always insisted on a strange routine:
“You smell awful. Go take a cold shower and use the soap I gave you.”
He made me do it multiple times a day. I hated it, but I obeyed. My skin would sting, my fingers would go numb, and my confidence shattered.
What confused me more? My mom—usually my closest ally—stayed silent.
One day, my boyfriend Silas visited. I finally asked him,
“Do I really smell bad?”
He laughed, thinking I was joking. But then he went into my bathroom… and came out shaking. Pale. Holding that bar of soap.
“Where did you get this? Do you seriously shower with cold water and this stuff?”
Heart pounding, I nodded.
“Yes. Why?”
He looked devastated.
“They didn’t tell you, did they? That’s not regular soap. It’s used for treating infected livestock. It’s full of sulfur and harsh chemicals. It can mess up your skin—your hormones—your immune system…”
I froze. My whole body prickled with panic. I thought my dry, irritated skin was just bad genetics. But Silas looked like he was about to cry.
That night, I demanded answers from my mom. She broke down.
“He told me it was for your health,” she whispered.
“He said you were born fragile. That this soap would keep you strong. I didn’t know what was true anymore. Every time I pushed back, he made me feel like a bad mother.”
That’s when I saw it clearly: my father’s control had warped us both.
Silas took me to a doctor. Tests confirmed the damage—dryness, inflammation, hormonal imbalances—but nothing permanent. I was lucky.
But when I confronted my father?
“Why?” I asked, shaking.
“Why cold water? Why this soap?”
He didn’t blink.
“It toughened you up. Built your immunity. You’re fine, aren’t you?”
I stared at him, heartbroken.
He wasn’t trying to hurt me—but he never questioned his own obsession. And that was just as dangerous.
I moved out. Silas and I found a place of our own.
My mom started therapy. And I cut ties with my father. No apologies, no contact.
It took time to heal—not just my body, but my heart. To stop blaming myself. To stop shrinking every time someone raised their voice.
But now, two years later, I’ve learned this:
Love isn’t blind obedience. And protecting yourself is never betrayal.
Even when it’s your own family.
💔 If you’ve ever felt silenced, controlled, or manipulated in the name of “love” — you’re not alone. Please share this. Someone out there needs to hear it.
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