When we talk about gender-based violence (GBV), our minds often leap to the physical – bruises, broken limbs, maybe even hospital beds. But what about the wounds that don’t show up on scans? The kind that twist your stomach at 3am? The kind that make you question your worth, your memory, even your sanity?

In many university corridors, lecture halls, and hostel rooms, there exists a form of violence that doesn’t scream, yet it suffocates – emotional gender-based violence.

Among university youth, emotional GBV is an underexplored and deeply misunderstood phenomenon. It slips through the cracks of legal definitions and institutional policies. Unlike physical abuse, which is largely acknowledged and condemned, emotional violence is subtle, insidious, and frequently normalized within campus cultures. It’s wrapped in laughter, dismissed as drama, or worse, romanticized as passion. And maybe—just maybe—that heartbreak your roommate won’t stop crying about is more than just teenage angst. Maybe, in the spirit of satire and painful truth, even heartbreak should be considered a form of GBV.

At the heart of emotional GBV is control. It’s about one partner – often male, though not exclusively – seeking to manipulate, dominate, or diminish the other through psychological means. This manifests through persistent belittling, gaslighting, threats of self-harm, emotional blackmail, or isolation from support systems. In university settings, where most students are experiencing autonomy for the first time, these toxic dynamics can easily take root.

It’s not unusual to hear statements like “he checks my phone because he cares,” or “she gets jealous because she loves me too much”. These might sound affectionate but are often early signs of coercive control. Media, music, and peer influence reinforce these ideals. Possessiveness is framed as passion. Jealousy is equated with love. Soon, emotional abuse becomes a pattern so familiar that it’s no longer perceived as abuse at all.

University life is a strange paradox – a time of personal exploration yet simultaneously a period when young people are most vulnerable to exploitation. The victim, often young and inexperienced in romantic relationships, may not even have the language to name their suffering. They know they’re unhappy, anxious, or drained, but they don’t know why. This reveals the deeper tragedy: a generation learning love through pain.

This pain has consequences. Emotional GBV can lead to depression, anxiety, loss of academic focus, withdrawal from social life, substance abuse, and in extreme cases, suicidal ideation. What makes this even more tragic is the silence that surrounds it. Victims rarely speak out, not because they don’t want to, but because they fear not being believed. “You’re crying over a guy?” or “It’s just a breakup, you’ll get over it” are common responses. But heartbreak in the context of emotional abuse isn’t a simple breakup. It’s a form of violence that deserves recognition.

How do we define emotional GBV in a way that resonates with young people? The line is blurry, but not invisible. Emotional GBV isn’t about normal relationship conflict. It’s about patterns of behaviour that aim to control, degrade, or hurt another person based on their gender. It’s systematic, intentional, and often gendered, rooted in power dynamics shaped by societal norms.

It’s time we told our students that emotional violence is real. That love should be safe. That emotional abuse isn’t a rite of passage, but a red flag. And that, yes, maybe that heartbreak keeping you from submitting your coursework is a form of GBV. Now go cry, but after that, let’s talk about it.

The writer is a third-year law student and UNESCO O3 Plus Ambassador.