At first, Richa Raval did not have a name for what was happening to her. She only knew that love felt painful, confusing, and exhausting. It took years before she understood she was living through coercive control.
Now 31, Richa is bravely sharing her story, ten years after coercive control became a criminal offence. Her experience shows how abuse can hide behind charm, intensity, and false promises.
Richa’s understanding of unhealthy relationships began early. Growing up, she was surrounded by volatile relationships that shaped her idea of love. One relative began controlling her friendships and behavior.
“They threatened me with violence if I disobeyed,” Richa says. “It was my first experience of coercive control. It was extremely traumatic, but I didn’t realise the impact of it until I left.”
At just 17, Richa moved to Miami in the US to study. That is when the emotional damage began to surface. She suffered from horrific nightmares and lost her appetite.
Her weight dropped dangerously low, reaching just 6st 6lb. Inside, she was struggling, even though on the outside she appeared to be moving forward with her life.
At 21, while at university, Richa fell in love again. “In the beginning, he seemed very charming,” she says. “There was a lot of lovebombing — showering me with affection and attention.”
He appeared impressive and exciting. “He spoke 11 languages, he’d travelled to 90 countries,” she recalls. It all felt glamorous and intense.
But that intensity soon turned into control. “He wanted to talk constantly,” Richa says. “If I didn’t reply for an hour he would say, ‘I feel disconnection.’”
Within the first month, he told her he loved her and could see them getting married. “It was all so quick,” she says. “I was swept off my feet and didn’t notice the warning signs.”
Soon, the truth began to show. Richa would see him with other women. When she confronted him, he denied everything and blamed her.
“He would gaslight me,” she says. “He said I was possessive.” Even though he was cheating, he accused her of lying.
He wanted to know where she was at all times and who she was with. Slowly, he isolated her from her friends.
“He told me they had said things about me behind my back,” Richa explains. “I believed him. I became paranoid.”
Leaving felt impossible. “I tried a couple of times,” she says. “But I would be so miserable.” Each time she tried to go, the lovebombing returned.
“He would say things that made me feel good,” she explains. “So I stayed.”
Nine months into the relationship, Richa flew to India for her grandfather’s funeral. When she returned to Miami, she discovered he had cheated again.
What he said next shocked her. “He said because I was grieving, I wasn’t interesting, so he didn’t see the value in me,” she recalls.
That cruelty finally pushed her to end the relationship. But the damage had already been done. She needed therapy to rebuild her self-esteem.
“My therapist said I was repeating a pattern,” Richa explains. “I was looking for someone familiar to my past and hoping for a different outcome. It was time to break the cycle.”
After university, Richa moved to Dallas, Texas, to work for an airline. But her ex refused to let go.
He began calling her at 2am, saying he missed her. Then the demands came.
“He told me, ‘I want to live rent-free in your place. I want to use your travel benefits to travel, and while I’m away I want you to look after my dog,’” she says.
This time, something was different. “With more clarity, I was able to say no,” Richa says. “And that was the last I heard from him.”
For two years, Richa stayed single. During that time, she found the courage to confront the relative who had started her abusive rollercoaster.
“There was a lot of forgiveness involved,” she says. The process was painful, but it helped her heal.
Today, Richa lives in Ealing, west London, with her finance manager partner Adam Miller, 33, and their golden retriever, Coco.
She met Adam at work seven years ago. “Being able to build a stable relationship is the biggest achievement of my life,” she says. “Adam loves me just as I am.”
Richa has turned her experience into purpose. She founded Walnut, a platform that teaches healthy relationship skills.
“It’s the toolkit I needed,” she says — and the one she hopes will help others avoid the pain she endured.
Her story comes at a critical time. It has been ten years since coercive control became a criminal offence.
According to the National Centre for Domestic Violence, around 1.6 million women experience domestic abuse every year in England and Wales.
Police record around 50,000 cases of coercive control annually, but research suggests it may make up over 80% of reported domestic abuse.
Dr Cassandra Wiener, Associate Professor in Law at City St George’s, University of London, explains why this form of abuse is so dangerous.
“Coercive control is domestic abuse where there is a purposeful pattern of behaviour used by perpetrators to harm, punish or frighten victims,” she says, warning: “The link between coercive control and homicide is clear.”
Gemma Sherrington, CEO of Refuge, adds that abuse often hides in plain sight. “It often goes unrecognised, hiding in the seemingly small moments of control and manipulation,” she says.
Although coercive control became a criminal offence in 2015, convictions remain low. This can stop survivors from coming forward for help.
Richa’s journey proves that with support, awareness, and courage, it is possible to leave abuse behind and build a life based on respect, safety, and real love.
If you are in an abusive relationship and need confidential advice and support, call the National Domestic Abuse Helpline on 0808 2000 247.
