Survivor Speaks Truth

Author: SurvivorSpeaksTruth

  • The Hidden Dangers of Shared Custody When Abuse is Present

    When a relationship ends because of abuse, the challenges rarely stop with separation. For many survivors, the most brutal battles begin afterward—inside courtrooms, mediation sessions, and parenting agreements that force not just ongoing contact, but shared decision-making with the very person who caused harm. Family courts often insist on joint custody, arguing that if the abuse wasn’t directed toward the children, both parents should still have equal say in their upbringing. But that reasoning is deeply flawed. Abuse is never limited to one target; it contaminates the entire environment. When someone chooses to harm the other parent, they’ve already proven they cannot make safe, selfless, or sound decisions in the best interest of their children.

    Abuse isn’t a single moment—it’s a mindset rooted in control and entitlement. When a parent has abused their partner, they’ve shown they value power more than partnership and winning more than well-being. Believing that person can suddenly transform into a cooperative, fair co-parent is a dangerous misconception. Granting shared custody and shared decision-making in those circumstances doesn’t promote the child’s welfare—it gives the abuser continued power to dominate, manipulate, and punish under the protection of the law.

    True co-parenting requires trust, respect, communication, and a willingness to prioritize the children above all else. Those elements do not exist when one parent has a history of abuse. Survivors often find themselves forced into what professionals call “parallel parenting,” though even that term minimizes the reality. The abuser continues to exert control through communication, decision-making, and the children themselves—using visitation schedules, school choices, medical care, and extracurricular activities as opportunities to create chaos. What the courts label as “joint decision-making” often becomes court-endorsed coercion, where every choice is a battleground and every discussion reopens old wounds.

    Even when the abuse wasn’t directed at the children, they are still profoundly affected by it. Children do not feel safe with someone who has harmed the parent they love. They sense tension, instability, and fear even when no one speaks of it. They watch one parent shrink while the other dominates, learning that love can be something to fear. The message they internalize is not about safety or security but survival. And when they’re forced into situations where both parents are expected to “cooperate,” they carry a heavy emotional burden that no child should have to bear.

    The power imbalance doesn’t disappear when the relationship ends. In fact, shared decision-making often magnifies it. Abusers tend to have more financial resources, public charm, or social credibility while survivors are left fighting to be believed. The abuser may present as composed and reasonable, while the survivor—still managing trauma—is dismissed as emotional or “high-conflict.” It’s a cruel paradox: the person who created the instability appears calm, while the one who endured it seems reactive. And within that dynamic, the abuser often continues to manipulate outcomes, controlling from a distance through court orders, forced cooperation, and paperwork.

    The emotional toll of this arrangement is enormous. Survivors live in constant vigilance—anticipating conflict, bracing for the subsequent power struggles, and monitoring their words. The ongoing exposure keeps them tethered to the trauma they’ve fought so hard to escape. Yet, even within this complex system, there are ways to reclaim small pieces of peace. Survivors can document every exchange, communicate only through monitored apps like OurFamilyWizard or TalkingParents, and remain calm and factual in all written correspondence. Every act of composure weakens the abuser’s control and strengthens the survivor’s credibility.

    It’s also essential to seek trauma-informed legal and emotional support. Lawyers and counsellors who understand coercive control can help survivors navigate a system that often misunderstands it. A strong network—trusted family, friends, church, or community—can offer perspective and protection when isolation threatens to take hold. Most importantly, survivors must prioritize emotional regulation and healing. Children draw stability from the parent who remains calm and consistent, even amid turmoil.

    The truth is, someone who abuses their partner cannot be trusted to make healthy joint decisions about their children. The same traits that drive abuse—entitlement, lack of empathy, and manipulation—make collaborative parenting impossible. Children may be required to spend time with that parent, but they instinctively know where safety lives. They feel the difference between control and care, fear and love, chaos and peace. They may not have the words to articulate it, but they always know who protects their heart.

    Leaving abuse is not the end of the story—it’s the beginning of rebuilding a life rooted in truth and safety. Every boundary held, every calm response, every prayer for strength teaches your children what real love looks like. The abuser may share custody and decision-making on paper, but they will never share your courage, faith, or integrity. And in the end, that’s what your children will remember—the steady, unwavering presence of the parent who made them feel safe in a world that often wasn’t.

  • October: Domestic Violence Awareness Month — What It Means to Me and My Family

    Every October, the world turns a little more purple. Awareness campaigns roll out, ribbons are tied, and survivors and advocates raise their voices a little louder. But for me and my family, October is not just a month of awareness—it is a deeply personal reminder of the realities we’ve lived through and the people we’ve lost.

    Domestic violence is not an abstract issue in our lives. It has shaped us, scarred us, and ultimately pushed us into a place of advocacy and survival. My children and I know what it means to live in the shadow of abuse, to walk on eggshells, to wonder if safety and peace will ever be more than fleeting moments. Escaping that darkness was not easy, but it was necessary. It was a fight for our lives and for the chance to heal. That is why Domestic Violence Awareness Month matters to us—it represents not only our story, but the stories of so many who are still trapped in silence.

    And yet, our connection to this issue goes beyond our own survival. In 2013, our family lost someone we loved to femicide. She was taken from us most brutally—her life cut short by the very person who was supposed to love and protect her. Her death shattered us, and it was a painful reminder that not every story of abuse ends in survival. Behind every statistic is a face, a name, and a family left with a void that can never be filled. October is a time when her memory weighs heavily on our hearts, when we honour her life and grieve the future she never got to live.

    When I see purple ribbons, I see more than symbols. I see my children’s resilience, their laughter slowly returning after years of fear. I see my journey of learning to stand again, trust again, and find my voice after it had been silenced for so long. I see the faces of those who didn’t make it out—those whose stories ended far too soon, like Rebecca in 2013. Domestic Violence Awareness Month is not about statistics for us; it is about people we loved, the pain we endured, and the hope that others will never have to walk the same road.

    This month is also a call to action. Awareness means nothing if it does not move us to stand with victims and survivors. Abuse thrives in silence, and when people remain neutral or look the other way, the cycle of violence continues. Too often, communities, churches, and even families choose silence because it feels easier than confronting the uncomfortable truth. But silence protects abusers, not victims. If October teaches us anything, our voices matter—and when we choose to speak, we become part of the solution.

    For me and my family, October is not about staying stuck in what happened to us. It’s about transforming pain into purpose. It’s about raising our voices for those who still can’t. It’s about remembering Rebecca whose life was stolen, and honouring her by making sure her story—and the countless others like hers—are not forgotten. It’s about showing my children that while evil exists, so does resilience, healing, and hope.

    So when the month of October comes and the purple ribbons appear, I see resilience, not just awareness. I see grief and remembrance. I see my children’s courage and my cousin’s memory. And I know a promise: that we will keep speaking, keep fighting, and keep standing with survivors until silence no longer has the power to protect abusers, and every victim knows they are not alone.

  • Hurt You, Blame You: The Manipulation of False Victimhood

    There are few things more disorienting than being wounded by someone you trusted, only to have them turn around and claim they are the one who has been wronged. It is not enough that they inflicted the pain — they also rewrite the story to put themselves in the center as the victim. This tactic is not how normal, healthy people respond to conflict; it is a hallmark of manipulation, and it is one of the ways abusers maintain control over those they harm.

    When you love someone, mistakes will happen. Words may come out wrong, tempers may flare, and feelings may get bruised. In healthy relationships, those moments are met with accountability. A sincere apology is offered, an effort is made to repair the damage, and both people walk away with a deeper understanding of one another. Abusers, however, do the opposite. Instead of owning the harm they cause, they deflect responsibility and recast themselves as the ones who have been unfairly treated. Suddenly, the person they hurt is left with their own wounds and the burden of defending themselves against untrue accusations.

    This reversal is deeply confusing. Survivors often replay the events in their minds, asking themselves if they are overreacting, if maybe they misunderstood, or if they somehow caused the whole thing. That cycle of self-doubt is precisely what the abuser hopes for. The more you question yourself, the quieter you become. The more you silence your instincts, the easier for them to continue controlling the narrative. Over time, you can feel invisible, as if your voice and your truth don’t matter.

    What makes this tactic so effective is the sympathy it wins from others. When an abuser positions themselves as the victim, outsiders often rush to their defence. People may rally around the one causing harm, while the actual victim is left isolated, disbelieved, and even blamed for the situation. This compounds the trauma, because not only are you living through the pain of betrayal, you’re also experiencing the loneliness of being misunderstood.

    The truth is that causing deep hurt and playing the victim is not normal conflict. It is not just a misunderstanding; it is not two people simply seeing things differently. It is deliberate manipulation to keep the focus away from accountability and leave the real victim silenced and confused. Once you can see this pattern for what it is, you begin to understand that you are not crazy, you are not overreacting, and you are not the one to blame.

    Healing from this kind of manipulation means reclaiming your story. It means naming what happened and refusing to carry guilt that does not belong to you. It means surrounding yourself with safe people who will listen and believe you and learning to trust your perspective again. You were there. You know the truth. You do not need to accept the false narrative forced on you.

    Abusers may try to steal your voice by turning themselves into the victim, but the truth has a way of cutting through lies. You don’t have to live under their distorted story forever. Your pain is real, your experience is valid, and your freedom is possible. When you step out of the fog of manipulation, you can see clearly that pretending to be the victim while causing harm is not strength, it’s not righteousness, and it’s not love — it’s abuse. And you are not bound to it anymore.

  • Abusers Don’t Abuse Everyone: The Hidden Reality Behind the Mask

    One of the most misunderstood truths about abuse is this: abusers don’t abuse everyone. Some can be incredibly charming, helpful, and even appear selfless—especially if they are covert narcissists. This is one of the biggest reasons survivors often face disbelief when speaking up. To the outside world, the abuser may seem like the nicest person you could meet. They might be active in their community, generous with neighbours, and even affectionate with certain friends or family members. But behind closed doors—when the audience is gone—the mask slips, revealing their true nature. Abuse isn’t random. It’s targeted. Many narcissistic abusers choose one or two specific people to scapegoat, harm, and control, while treating others very differently. This selective cruelty allows them to maintain a flawless image, making it nearly impossible for others to believe the victim’s account. It isolates the victim, who may even doubt their reality: “If they’re so nice to everyone else, maybe it is me.”

    Covert narcissists are exceptionally skilled at hiding their abuse. They may present themselves as humble, misunderstood, or even wounded souls needing compassion. They use this carefully crafted persona to gain sympathy from others, deflect suspicion when accusations arise, and position themselves as the real “victim.” Sometimes they even spread subtle misinformation or outright lies to paint the actual victim as difficult, unkind, or unstable. When the public persona of an abuser is drastically different from the private reality, survivors face an uphill battle for validation. People who have only seen the “good side” can’t reconcile it with the survivor’s account. This disbelief is compounded by the fact that many people don’t want to accept that such cruel and manipulative behaviour exists—especially in someone they know or admire. This leaves survivors not only dealing with the trauma of the abuse itself but also the pain of being doubted or dismissed. It’s a second wound—often deeper than the first.

    Abuse thrives in secrecy and disbelief. The public charm, the selective kindness, and the carefully curated image are all part of the abuser’s control. They know exactly how to play the role that keeps them safe from accountability. The truth is, not everyone sees the abuse. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. If anything, it makes it more dangerous. Having one person who truly sees and believes them can make all the difference for survivors. And for the rest of us, the responsibility is clear: listen without judgment, educate ourselves about narcissistic abuse and manipulation, and never assume that someone’s public kindness is proof of their private integrity. When we understand that abusers don’t abuse everyone, we strip away one of their greatest weapons—the mask that hides their cruelty—and we take one step closer to a world where survivors can speak and be heard.

  • Abuse is Not a Therapy Issue: It’s a Sin Issue

    When people hear the word “abuse,” they often picture counselling sessions, therapy rooms, and treatment plans. And while therapy is a vital part of healing for survivors, it’s essential to make one truth very clear: abuse itself is not a therapy issue. Abuse is not caused by unresolved trauma, mental illness, or emotional wounds that need treatment. Abuse is a deliberate choice rooted in the desire for power and control.

    Abuse doesn’t happen because someone missed out on therapy or because they had a difficult past. Many people live with trauma, depression, anxiety, or painful childhoods and never choose to abuse others. Trauma may explain a person’s pain, but it does not excuse violent or controlling behaviour. When we frame abuse as a therapy problem, we unintentionally send the message that the abuser needs help and that with the proper counselling, their harmful behaviour will go away. The truth is, therapy might give an abuser new tools, but unless they choose to repent of their need to dominate and manipulate, those tools can make them more skilled at covering up what they are doing.

    At its core, abuse is about one person exerting power and control over another—whether that control is physical, emotional, financial, sexual, or even spiritual. Therapy is designed to address wounds, but abuse requires accountability. To say abuse is a therapy issue is like telling the victim of a robbery that the thief just needed counselling. That minimizes the crime and shifts responsibility away from the person who chose to harm. In the same way, excusing abuse as a therapy problem takes the focus off the abuser’s actions and places it on circumstances, when in reality it is a moral decision.

    This way of thinking also hurts victims. Survivors are often told to be patient while their abuser “works on themselves” or goes to counselling. This keeps them trapped in dangerous situations, hoping that therapy will change someone who has no intention of changing. It places pressure on them to wait it out and to keep being “understanding,” when what they really need is safety, validation, and a clear message that they are not responsible for another person’s choice to abuse them.

    The proper role of therapy belongs to the survivor. After enduring abuse, many carry deep wounds, confusion, and trauma that require professional care and support. Therapy can help survivors rebuild trust, reclaim their voice, and find a path toward healing and freedom. But to suggest that the abuse itself is a therapy issue blurs the lines and reinforces harmful expectations. Survivors do not need to wait for their abuser to “get better.” They must begin their restoration journey apart from the person who harmed them.

    What abuse requires is not excuses but accountability. Real change in an abuser only comes when they recognize their sin, repent of it, submit to accountability, and give up their need for control. That is not something therapy alone can create—it requires a complete moral and often spiritual transformation. Until then, boundaries, safety measures, and legal consequences are necessary in many cases. Abuse has never been a matter of poor communication, lack of coping skills, or untreated trauma. It is always a willful decision to harm.

    Abuse is not a therapy issue—it is an accountability issue. Therapy can heal wounds, but cannot cure a heart that refuses to take responsibility for its actions. As a society, in our communities, and in our churches, we need to stop excusing abuse under the cover of therapy and start demanding accountability, while at the same time offering healing and hope to those who have suffered. Victims deserve protection, not more patience.

  • Why False Allegations Harm True Victims of Abuse

    The call to “believe all victims” comes from a place of compassion. For far too long, those who experienced abuse were doubted, ignored, or silenced. Their cries were dismissed while their abusers went unpunished, and the damage was multiplied by a culture that valued convenience and reputation over justice. To counter this injustice, a movement rose, urging us to listen, to take every story seriously, and to treat survivors with the dignity they deserve. At its heart, this cry is good. Survivors need to know they matter. They need to be seen and heard. They need to be believed.

    But within that call lies a tension, because not every allegation is true. While false claims are far less common than true ones, they happen. And when they do, they cause harm not only to the person falsely accused but to the very survivors the movement was meant to protect. Every fabricated story casts a shadow of doubt over the countless victims who are telling the truth. Every time a false claim surfaces, skeptics point to it as proof that people lie about abuse, fuelling suspicion and making it harder for genuine survivors to be taken seriously. For someone who has already endured unspeakable harm, the existence of false allegations becomes another barrier, another reason to fear speaking out.

    The damage doesn’t stop there. False claims empower abusers, who are already skilled at twisting narratives. They use the existence of lies to discredit their victims, pointing to those who fabricated stories as evidence that no one can be trusted. This manipulation deepens the silence of survivors and allows cycles of abuse to continue unchecked. False allegations also undermine justice itself. Time and resources that should be spent protecting those in real danger are wasted, credibility in the systems meant to uphold truth is eroded, and communities grow divided over who to believe.

    Scripture speaks strongly to this danger. Bearing false witness is not a minor offense; it is condemned as one of the Ten Commandments: “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor” (Exodus 20:16). Proverbs warns, “A false witness will not go unpunished, and whoever pours out lies will not go free” (Proverbs 19:5). Lies are not neutral; they are destructive. They harm the innocent, they damage the vulnerable, and they distort the truth that God loves and upholds. God’s heart is for justice. He draws near to the brokenhearted, saves the crushed in spirit, and detests injustice in every form.

    To protect actual victims, we must guard the truth. This does not mean dismissing those who come forward. Every story deserves to be taken seriously, because behind every disclosure, there could be someone in desperate need of safety. But compassion must walk hand in hand with discernment. Belief cannot mean blind acceptance that abandons the pursuit of truth. Real protection requires us to listen carefully, investigate thoroughly, and respond with empathy and fairness. When someone fabricates a story, accountability must follow, not to minimize real victims but to preserve their credibility. To look the other way when falsehoods are spoken is to fail the people struggling to be believed.

    The church and the wider community must understand this delicate balance. To dismiss victims altogether is to side with oppressors, but to accept every claim without question is to risk injustice that echoes far beyond a single case. Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). Freedom comes not from choosing one side or the other, but from standing firm in truth and justice. Survivors need us to listen with compassion, but they also need us to be wise enough to discern, strong enough to uphold justice, and courageous enough to hold liars accountable.

    False allegations are not just unfair to the accused; they are profoundly dangerous for actual victims of abuse. They silence those who most need to be heard, they embolden abusers, and they erode the trust needed to protect the vulnerable. If we want to honour survivors, we cannot allow false claims to go unchecked. Belief must always be tethered to truth, compassion must always be anchored in justice, and our commitment must always be to protect the innocent and defend the oppressed. Anything less risks betraying the very people we are called to protect.

  • The Church Cannot Stay Neutral on Abuse

    For too long, churches have wavered when it comes to addressing abuse. Some avoid the subject altogether, while others downplay it as a marital “conflict” or “personal struggles.” But let’s be honest—abuse is not a disagreement, and it is not a personality clash. Abuse is sin. Abuse is violence of the heart, the tongue, and often the hands. Abuse destroys families, silences voices, and leaves wounds that last a lifetime. When the Church minimizes it or chooses neutrality, it has already chosen a side—and it is not the side of the victim.

    Neutrality in the face of abuse is not compassion; it is complicity. When a victim is told to “pray harder,” “submit more,” or “forgive and move on” without accountability for the abuser, the Church has failed. Those words do not sound like the heart of Christ; they sound like echoes of the oppressor. Jesus never turned a blind eye to injustice. He confronted religious leaders who misused power, defended the vulnerable, and exposed sin that others tried to hide. He named evil for what it was and defended the oppressed.

    When churches remain silent, abusers are empowered. They learn quickly that they will be shielded if they keep up appearances, hold a position, or quote the right Scriptures. They thrive in environments where image and reputation matter more than truth and righteousness. Meanwhile, victims are often left isolated, discredited, and sometimes even pushed out of the very place that should have been their sanctuary. A church that protects its reputation instead of protecting its people is not representing Christ—it is representing cowardice.

    The Bible does not allow us to stay neutral. Proverbs 31:8 9 says, “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.” Neutrality is not biblical; it is disobedience. To refuse to call out abuse is to permit it to thrive. It is to tell the oppressed that their suffering matters less than the comfort of the congregation or the image of leadership. And God does not take lightly the mistreatment of the vulnerable.

    Look at the Old Testament prophets—Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Amos—they cried out against oppression and injustice. They didn’t whisper carefully so as not to offend powerful men; they declared the Word of the Lord with boldness. Jesus Himself overturned tables in the temple when people used religion to exploit others. He called out hypocrisy, pride, and cruelty. He stood on the side of truth, even when it cost Him His reputation, His following, and ultimately His life. The Church He founded cannot do less.

    The world is watching. Survivors are watching. Our children are watching. What message do we send when we shelter wolves in shepherd’s clothing but drive wounded sheep from the flock? What are we teaching the next generation when we are quicker to protect the image of a leader than to stand up for the hurting? Neutrality may feel safe for leadership, but it leaves the vulnerable exposed. And when that happens, we do not reflect Christ—we betray Him.

    It’s time for churches to take a harsher stance on abuse. To call it what it is: evil. To protect the vulnerable with action, not empty words. To refuse to hide behind shallow statements about grace and forgiveness while ignoring repentance, accountability, and justice. To discipline those who abuse instead of excusing them. To create environments where victims can come forward without fear of being shamed, silenced, or cast aside.

    Because the truth is this: when we remain neutral, we have already chosen the oppressor’s side. And Christ never stood on that side. He stands with the broken, the oppressed, the silenced, and the wounded. If we are His Church, then that is where we must stand.

  • Don’t Fill the Void—Heal It

    After walking through the heartbreak of abuse, it’s natural to long for something good, loving, and safe. When you’ve endured betrayal, deception, or loneliness, the desire for connection can feel overwhelming. You want to believe that the next relationship will make the pain fade, that love will somehow fix what was broken. The ache for companionship can be so intense that it feels like the only way forward. But here’s the truth: a new relationship is not a shortcut to healing.

    When we’ve been deeply wounded, it’s easy to mistake loneliness for readiness. The silence of an empty room can feel unbearable, and the thought of having someone beside us again seems like it would cure the ache. We convince ourselves that if we can find the right person, this pain will finally disappear. Yet entering a relationship to avoid facing our pain only buries the wound deeper. It does not erase it. Instead of healing, the hurt lingers beneath the surface, and in time it resurfaces in unhealthy ways. Abuse leaves scars that cannot be covered by affection, attention, or romance. Healing requires time, intentional work, and the grace of God. Skipping that process doesn’t protect you; it only postpones it.

    Taking the time to heal first matters more than many of us realize. Without it, we risk repeating the same patterns with a different face, cycling through relationships that leave us broken in familiar ways. Healing allows us to stop and reflect on what happened, see what we once could not, and learn how to build something different going forward. It also protects our hearts. A healed heart doesn’t demand someone else to complete it. Instead, it invites someone to complement what is already whole.

    It’s tempting to see a new relationship as a way to distract from the pain, but distraction is not the same as restoration. Healing is not about avoidance—it’s about transformation. As difficult as it is, leaning into the discomfort allows us to discover who we are apart from abuse, apart from someone else’s control, and apart from the lies we once believed about ourselves. This is where the real work is done. Sitting with the grief, wrestling with the “what ifs,” and allowing God to meet us in those raw places—it all shapes us into people who are stronger, wiser, and more deeply anchored in truth. Facing those wounds directly is painful, but it is also where strength is forged and wisdom is gained.

    The Bible reminds us that wholeness doesn’t come from another person but from God. Colossians 2:10 says, “You are complete in Him, who is the head of all principality and power.” When we seek healing in Him first, we release the impossible expectation for another human being to fill the spaces only God can fill. That shift allows any future relationship to be built on truth and freedom, not desperation or fear. Instead of clinging to someone else to prove we are lovable, we see that we already are. Instead of hoping someone else will mend what was broken, we discover that God is the healer of our hearts.

    So if you find yourself tempted to step into something new too quickly, pause and ask: Am I running toward someone, or am I running away from my pain? Choosing to heal first is not wasted time—it is sacred time. It is the season where God restores what was broken, rewrites your identity in His truth, and prepares you for the love and life He has ahead. The waiting is not a punishment; it is protection. It is the careful work of the Father shaping you, strengthening you, and teaching you to stand firmly on His love alone.

    You don’t need a new relationship to prove you are lovable—you are already loved. You don’t need someone else to complete you—you are already whole in Christ. And when the time is right, love will not be a bandage for your wounds. It will be a blessing added to your healing.

  • When Apologies Become Empty: The Difference Between Regret and Repentance

    We’ve all heard the words, “I’m sorry.” Sometimes they bring healing. Sometimes they restore what was lost. But other times, they ring hollow—like an echo of broken promises. For those who have lived through cycles of mistreatment, manipulation, or abuse, “sorry” often becomes the most overused and meaningless word in the relationship. Understanding why some apologies don’t fix what’s broken and how to tell the difference between endless words of regret and the costly path of true repentance is essential.

    A simple apology can soothe hurt feelings after a misunderstanding, but “sorry” is no longer enough when a pattern of harm continues. An apology without change is just sentiment. It soothes the offender’s conscience but does nothing to restore safety, rebuild trust, or honour the wronged person. Endless apologies can even become a tool of manipulation—offering temporary relief to keep the cycle going while the destructive behaviour never truly ends. That’s why apologies, no matter how tearful or frequent, are not the same as repentance.

    True repentance goes far deeper than words. It means turning away from sin and moving in a new direction. In Scripture, repentance is not simply sorrow—a change of mind and heart that produces different actions. John the Baptist said, “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance” (Matthew 3:8). Repentance always bears fruit. It looks like humility, accountability, and consistency over time. It looks like an offender facing consequences instead of avoiding them. It looks like someone choosing to break harmful patterns, even when it’s uncomfortable, inconvenient, or costly.

    One way to tell the difference between endless apologies and repentance is to look for patterns. Do the words “I’m sorry” come up often, but the behaviour never changes? Do promises last only until the next moment of frustration, anger, or selfishness? That is a cycle of apology without repentance. On the other hand, is there evidence of growth? Do you see self-control where there was once volatility? Do you see humility where there was once pride? Are they willing to seek help, set safeguards, be transparent, and take responsibility even when no one is watching? That’s the fruit of repentance.

    Another difference lies in who the apology is for. An endless “sorry” is often about the offender easing their own guilt or keeping the relationship intact on their terms. True repentance is for the one who was wronged—it’s about valuing their safety, dignity, and healing enough to do the hard work of change. Apologies may want forgiveness without accountability, but repentance welcomes accountability as proof of love.

    When someone says “I’m sorry” but continues the same behaviour, what’s broken doesn’t get fixed—it gets deeper. Broken trust is not healed by words alone. It is healed by a new way of living, proven in actions over time. And until repentance is real, “sorry” is nothing more than noise.

    The good news is that God calls us to genuine repentance because He knows it’s the only path to restoration. He doesn’t settle for empty words, and He doesn’t ask us to either. He calls for transformation, for turning away from sin and walking in newness of life. And while we cannot control whether someone else chooses true repentance, we can choose to guard our hearts, set healthy boundaries, and refuse to mistake hollow apologies for lasting change.

    So if you are weary of endless apologies that never bear fruit, take heart. You are not wrong for expecting more. “Sorry” alone doesn’t fix what’s broken. Only repentance—real, costly, life-changing repentance—can do that. And when it is present, the difference is unmistakable.

  • The Danger of Ignoring Red Flags

    When we enter a new relationship, most want to believe the best in their partner. We long for connection, love, and someone who will see us fully and stay. In those early days, it feels natural to give grace, to excuse quirks, and to overlook small things that make us uneasy. After all, everyone has flaws, and no relationship is perfect. Love itself calls us to be forgiving and patient. But there is a line between showing grace and ignoring warning signs. When we begin excusing patterns that chip away at our peace, we risk walking straight into harm.

    Red flags rarely come waving boldly in our faces. More often, they arrive quietly, disguised as something harmless: a harsh tone quickly softened by a smile, a controlling comment explained as “just looking out for you,” a lie smoothed over with a charming excuse. At the time, those moments may seem insignificant compared to the affection and attention we are receiving. Yet the truth is that what we minimize in the beginning often becomes the very behaviour that wounds us most deeply later. Ignoring a red flag doesn’t make it disappear—it plants it like a seed, giving it room to grow.

    Many survivors of abuse can look back with heartbreaking clarity and identify the signs they didn’t recognize at the time. They remember the uneasy feelings they brushed aside, the times they justified what didn’t sit right, the way they silenced their intuition to keep the peace. But in the moment, it isn’t so clear. The pull of attachment, hope, and love, has a way of drowning out that still, small voice whispering, “Something is not right here.” We tell ourselves we’re being judgmental, too sensitive, or unforgiving. We remind ourselves of all the good moments, replaying them like a highlight reel, convincing ourselves that love will eventually outweigh the shadows. We believe the other person will change, mature, or soften with time. But ignoring what unsettles us doesn’t produce change—it only enables destructive patterns to take deeper root.

    The cost of overlooking red flags can be devastating. What begins as small acts of disrespect can evolve into ongoing patterns that erode our sense of worth. A dismissive laugh at our concerns can grow into systematic gaslighting that leaves us questioning our sanity. What looks like “overprotectiveness” initially may become full-blown isolation from family, friends, and support systems. A minor inconsistency in someone’s story can develop into a web of deception and lies. In too many cases, those subtle early signs become precursors to more overt forms of abuse—emotional, financial, physical, sexual, or spiritual. Each time we excuse or rationalize unhealthy behaviour, we unintentionally send the message that it is acceptable. And abusers thrive on that silence.

    Scripture warns us about this very danger. Proverbs 22:3 says, “The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.” Discernment is a biblical command. Jesus Himself told us to watch for wolves in sheep’s clothing, explaining that they would be known by their fruit, not their words (Matthew 7:15–16). Words can be deceptive, but consistent actions reveal the truth. God does not ask us to ignore reality in the name of love. He calls us to test what we see, to guard our hearts, and to walk in wisdom.

    Recognizing red flags doesn’t mean we are judgmental or unloving. It means we value truth over illusion. It means we are willing to see people as they are, not as we wish them to be. There is a difference between showing grace and enabling harm. True grace does not ignore destructive patterns; it acknowledges them and seeks wisdom in responding. Sometimes wisdom means creating space, setting clear boundaries, or slowing down. Other times it means walking away altogether.

    If you are in a relationship and you sense red flags, don’t silence that warning. That uneasiness may be God’s way of protecting you. It is far better to pause, to seek counsel, or to step back than to spend years trying to untangle yourself from a web of abuse. Love that God-honouring, healthy, and safe, will never demand that you ignore your instincts or compromise your peace to keep it alive.

    Red flags are not meant to make you paranoid. They are intended to safeguard you. When you listen to them, you give yourself the gift of choosing health, love, and safety. Ignoring them only leads to confusion, heartache, and loss. But heeding them opens the door to freedom, peace, and relationships rooted in mutual care, respect, and trust.

    At the end of the day, red flags are not roadblocks to love—they are guideposts pointing you away from danger and toward the kind of relationship God desires for you: one marked not by control, deception, or fear, but by trust, safety, and a love that reflects His own.