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She should always do whatever he suggests. When he makes plans, she must go along with them and act like she enjoys it—no matter what it is.

She should want sex multiple times a day and have no healthy sexual boundaries.

She shouldn’t mind being called degrading names like “whore.”

She should be okay with being treated like a cheap object.

She should never say “no” to anything he wants.

She must accept being devalued, no matter what she does—whether it’s cleaning, cooking, or how she looks.

She should be superficial and enjoy shallow, meaningless activities.

She must always admit she’s wrong when he says so—because he sees women as inherently evil and responsible for everything. She should accept this view or see herself as inferior to him.

She should be codependent and want to do everything together.

She should be fine with him making all decisions for her—no matter how absurd or humiliating they are.

She should want to mother him.

She should financially provide for him: housing, food, money—and whatever else he demands. And it will be constant, never enough.

She should enjoy being childish and treat life like a game, never taking anything seriously.

She should be extroverted, not empathetic, not highly sensitive—blind to the world around her, just like him.

She shouldn’t have her own career. She should do as little as possible so he can feel like a powerful, successful man.

She should not have a distinct personality. Instead, she should mold herself entirely to his preferences. After all, he doesn’t see personality as something authentic—just a collection of random traits picked up to impress others. He wants her to be a blank canvas, shaped into whatever he finds acceptable—even if it means becoming unrecognizable, a “not-you.”

She should be bland and boring. Definitely not funny or humorous—because whenever a woman dares to be funny, he punishes her. The last time I made a joke, he reacted with cruelty. No one’s allowed to joke, to point out his abuse, or to have fun. When others are laughing, he tries to act like he’s the funniest person alive—but I’ve never met anyone more humorless or joyless. Being with someone like this is like living in a perpetual hell, where fun is forbidden, joy is punished, and every spark of life is extinguished by his need for control.

She wouldn’t be seeking true happiness—instead, she’d constantly act on impulse, just like him. To her, happiness would have to come from the outside: through shopping (which would need to happen daily or almost daily), or through superficial distractions.

She’d have to be obsessed with “bettering herself”—not because it’s healthy, but because, in his eyes, she’s never good enough, never perfect enough. Pointing out her flaws would give him a sense of power and boost his self-esteem. It would allow him to see himself as a kind of life coach he could never actually be—someone who pretends to help her “heal” her issues while ignoring his own. He wouldn’t do any real inner work or self-reflection. Instead, she would always be the one expected to change, even if that demand is unfair, unbalanced, and fundamentally invalid.