Survivor Speaks Truth

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  • Abuse Is Not a Mistake — It’s a Choice

    It’s not an accident when someone hurts you repeatedly, intentionally, and without remorse. It’s not a slip-up, a moment of weakness, or a one-time lapse in judgment. Abuse is not a mistake. Abuse is a choice.

    We need to say this louder and clearer than ever before because too many victims have been conditioned to second-guess their reality, minimize what’s happening behind closed doors, and carry the weight of someone else’s destructive behaviour, all while wondering, “Was it that bad?” or “Maybe they didn’t mean it.”

    But here’s the truth: abuse is deliberate. It’s calculated. It’s repeated. And it thrives in environments where it can go unchecked, hidden behind smiles, charm, and public displays of affection.

    The Test: Can They Control It?

    One of the most revealing indicators that abuse is not a mistake is this: abusers often have remarkable self-control, just not with you.

    Think about it.

    Can they hold themselves together at work? Can they treat their friends with kindness and respect? Can they stay calm and collected in front of strangers, their boss, their pastor, or even the police?

    If the answer is yes, then they can choose how they behave. They have control over their actions. The anger, gaslighting, insults, intimidation, and shouting? Those are not reflexes—they’re choices.

    It’s not that they can’t do better. It’s that they won’t.

    They’ve decided you don’t deserve the respect they show others. They’ve made you the target, the emotional punching bag, the one who absorbs all the pain they refuse to deal with. And that decision to lower the mask behind closed doors isn’t accidental; it’s intentional.

    Mistakes Look Different

    Mistakes include forgetting to text back, burning dinner, or saying something careless and then feeling remorseful. However, mistakes come with ownership, apologies, and a genuine effort to make things right.

    Abuse, on the other hand, is marked by patterns or cycles of control, harm, and manipulation. And while it may be followed by apologies or love-bombing, those moments are not repentant; they’re part of the cycle. A means to regain control. A way to keep the victim tethered in confusion and hope.

    The Mask in Public

    One of the most disorienting parts of abuse is how invisible it can be to everyone else. Abusers are often charismatic, well-liked, and even praised for how “loving” or “fun” they seem. They know how to play the part. They know when to turn it on.

    You’ve probably heard it before:

    “He’s so nice! “She seems like such a great mom! “I can’t imagine them doing something like that.”

    But that’s the point. They don’t act that way with others because they choose not to. It’s not a lack of emotional regulation. It’s a deliberate decision to harm you and protect their reputation simultaneously.

    That’s not a mistake. That’s manipulation.

    You Are Not Overreacting

    If you’re reading this and it resonates, please know that you are not crazy, or too sensitive.

    What you’re experiencing, or have experienced, is real. And just because others can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. That’s often how abusers operate: they isolate you, discredit you, and make sure no one else sees the version of them that you live with every day.

    Abuse Is a Choice—And So Is Healing

    We can’t force abusers to change. We can’t make them take responsibility or stop hurting others. But we can choose healing. We can choose freedom. And we can choose to stop accepting excuses for inexcusable behaviour.

    No one “accidentally” abuses someone repeatedly. They chose it. And you can choose to break free.

    If this spoke to you, or if you’re walking through the confusion and aftermath of abuse, you don’t have to do it alone. Healing is possible. And your story matters.

  • When Scripture is Used as a Weapon: How Misusing God’s Word Keeps Victims in Bondage

    God’s Word was never meant to be a weapon against the wounded. It’s a refuge, a place of healing—not a tool to control, shame, or silence. And yet, many Christians misuse Scripture in ways that keep victims of abuse trapped in cycles of guilt, pain, and spiritual confusion. Rather than offering the comfort and clarity that Scripture is meant to provide, these misapplications twist God’s truth into something fear-inducing, and oppressive. Instead of lifting burdens, they add to them.

    One of the most misquoted verses is “God hates divorce.” It’s often used to shame women into staying in abusive marriages. But the full context shows that God was condemning violence and betrayal, not the act of a victim leaving harm. His heart is for the oppressed, the mistreated, the cast aside. God doesn’t hate you for leaving abuse—He hates treachery committed against you. He grieves over the harm done to your heart and body, not the fact that you chose to walk away from it. There is no righteousness in staying where you are being destroyed. Staying in abuse is not a badge of holiness. It’s a wound God longs to heal, not a cross He asks you to carry.

    Others pressure victims to forgive endlessly with “seventy times seven,” ignoring that biblical forgiveness requires repentance. Jesus said, “If they repent, forgive them.” Forgiveness is a readiness, not a one-sided transaction that demands you continue to tolerate evil. True forgiveness does not mean tolerating mistreatment or handing your heart back to someone who continues to crush it. It’s possible to have a heart posture of forgiveness while setting boundaries and walking away. That is not bitterness. That is wisdom, discernment, and obedience to the God who calls us to guard our hearts.

    Some Christians even imply that suffering abuse is your sanctification, telling you to “count it all joy.” But God never glorifies Himself through your torment. He’s not asking you to become a martyr in your own home. The refining fire of sanctification is different from the fire of destruction. Yes, God brings beauty from ashes, but He never required you to live in the fire indefinitely. There’s a difference between trials that grow us and abuse that breaks us. One draws us closer to God; the other makes us question whether He’s even there.

    When the Church tells victims to submit more, pray harder, or “wait on God to change your spouse,” it partners with the abuser by enabling silence and shame. This isn’t biblical counsel. It’s spiritual bypassing masked as faith. Jesus stood with the broken, believed the women, confronted hypocrites, and called out injustice. He never told someone being harmed to “stick it out for holiness.” He never minimized pain in the name of appearances. He offered compassion, not condemnation. He provided protection, not platitudes.

    Scripture is meant to liberate, not imprison. Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And freedom is not found in fear, or in pretending everything is fine when your soul is bleeding. When we twist God’s Word to pressure people into staying in dangerous situations, we misrepresent His heart—and keep His children in chains. That is not the gospel. That is spiritual abuse dressed in religious language.

    Instead of silencing victims, the Church must listen, support, speak truth, and rightly teach God’s Word. Abuse is evil. Covering it up is evil. Protecting an image or an institution over people is cruel. And using the Bible to defend it? That’s spiritual abuse. Full stop.

    To anyone bound by misused Scripture: that was not God. That was not His voice. That was not His will for your life. God is not disappointed in you for wanting to be safe. He’s not honoured by your suffering. He never asked you to stay silent while your spirit was being crushed. He’s your Deliverer. He’s near to the brokenhearted. And He wants you free.

    You are allowed to leave, heal, and speak. God will still call you beloved. Always.

  • When the Cycle Continues: Why Survivors Sometimes Face Abuse Again

    It’s a question survivors often hear: “How did this happen again?” or “Why do you keep choosing the same kind of person?” As if abuse is something anyone chooses. As if healing automatically guarantees you’ll never be hurt again.

    The truth is, many survivors of domestic violence find themselves in more than one abusive relationship—not because they’re blind, broken, or weak, but because abuse leaves deep psychological and emotional scars. Without intentional healing, those wounds can affect how survivors see themselves, how they interpret love, and what they accept in relationships in the future.

    This isn’t about blame. This is about understanding. Because only when we understand the patterns can we begin to break them.

    Abuse Changes the Way You See the World

    Surviving domestic violence changes you. It rewires your nervous system to stay in survival mode—constantly scanning for danger, trying to anticipate moods, and adjusting yourself to stay safe. You learn to minimize your needs, suppress your voice, and accept the unacceptable to get through the day.

    Over time, this becomes your normal. And when something becomes normal, it’s easy to recreate it—even without realizing it.

    You may gravitate toward people who feel “familiar,” though unhealthy. You may overlook red flags because they don’t seem alarming—just typical. And you may ignore your gut instincts because you were trained to believe your feelings weren’t valid.

    Not All Survivors Lack Discernment

    Some believe survivors have “bad judgment” or “poor discernment.” But that’s a shallow and unfair assumption. Many survivors do recognize red flags. Many are incredibly intuitive, cautious, and aware.

    But abusers are often highly skilled at manipulation. They show up wearing masks—attentive, charming, kind, and spiritual. They know how to say the right things, play the long game, and slowly isolate and control without being obvious. By the time the abuse becomes clear, the survivor may already be emotionally or financially entangled.

    It’s not about discernment. It’s about deception.

    Trauma Bonds and Cycles of Hope

    Abuse often comes in cycles—kindness followed by cruelty, apologies followed by aggression. This cycle creates what’s known as a trauma bond, a powerful psychological attachment that makes it hard to leave, even when the relationship is harmful.

    If this pattern becomes familiar, it can feel strangely comforting—even addictive. Survivors may unknowingly seek out similar dynamics, not because they enjoy the chaos, but because they’ve been conditioned to believe that love comes with pain, that affection is earned, and that they are responsible for fixing the brokenness in others.

    They may also carry an immense amount of hope that the new person will be different, hope that if they just love hard enough, they’ll finally get it right. And in that hope, they miss the warning signs.

    Shame Keeps People Silent

    Survivors who find themselves in another abusive relationship often carry deep shame. They think, “I should’ve known better.” They fear judgement. They may stay quiet out of embarrassment, fear that no one will believe them the second time, and guilt.

    This silence benefits abusers. It protects their image and keeps the survivor isolated. But shame has no place here. Abuse is never the victim’s fault—not the first time, not the second, not ever.

    When Self-Worth Has Been Shattered

    One of the most damaging effects of domestic violence is how it destroys your sense of worth. Survivors are often told they’re unlovable, too emotional, too needy, or not enough. Over time, these lies take root. And when your self-worth is in ruins, it’s hard to believe you deserve more.

    You may tolerate treatment you once would’ve walked away from. You may stay longer than you should. You may settle for crumbs, thinking that’s all you’ll ever get. But none of that reflects your value—it reflects what you’ve been through.

    You are not too broken to be loved well. You are not “damaged goods.” You are someone who has survived the unthinkable. And that strength is not a weakness—it’s a reason to keep fighting for the life and love you truly deserve.

    Healing Is the Way Out

    Breaking the cycle of abuse isn’t about simply walking away. It’s about healing what’s beneath the surface. That means:

    • Rebuilding your self-worth so you stop accepting less than you deserve.
    • Learning to trust your gut and honour your boundaries, no matter how small.
    • Understanding the dynamics of abuse so you can recognize manipulation before it takes hold.
    • Surrounding yourself with people who affirm your value, not undermine it.
    • Seeking support through therapy, advocacy groups, or other survivors who genuinely understand.

    It’s okay to take your time and to make mistakes. Healing isn’t linear—and every step forward, no matter how small, is still progress.

  • Abuse by Proxy—How Hurting a Parent Hurts the Children

    When we talk about children and abuse, most people only picture harm directed at a child, but what often goes unnoticed is the profound impact of a child witnessing one parent abuse the other. Even if a child is never touched or yelled at, growing up in a home where one parent is hurting the other is a trauma that leaves invisible scars.

    Children see more than we realize. They hear the slammed doors, feel the tension in the air, and sense the fear beneath the surface. Watching their mother or father be mistreated by someone they’re supposed to trust is devastating. It shakes their foundation, warps their understanding of love, and makes them question what’s safe and what’s not.

    An abuser might say, “I’d never hurt the kids.” But the moment you harm their parent, you already have. You can’t separate the two. That parent is their safe place, their source of comfort. When that person is being torn down, the child feels it in their body and carries it in their heart.

    Some kids act out, some shut down. Some grow up believing love means control, apologies don’t require change, or that silence is safer than truth. Even years later, those messages shape their relationships, self-worth, and healing.

    When a child witnesses the abuse of someone they love, it is just as damaging as direct abuse. It may not leave physical bruises, but it leaves lasting emotional wounds. Children internalize the chaos, blame themselves for the pain they see, and grow up with deep-rooted fears and insecurities. Their nervous systems learn to expect conflict and instability. And even when they’re not the target, they absorb every insult, every silent treatment, every slammed door. The message becomes clear: love is loud, scary, and unsafe.

    These children may grow into adults who struggle with boundaries, self-worth, and trust. They may find themselves drawn to unhealthy relationships, not because they want pain, but because it feels familiar. What they saw in childhood becomes the blueprint for giving and receiving love. That’s why it’s so important not only to stop the abuse but to heal the silent wounds it leaves behind.

    If we want to raise healthy children who feel loved and safe, we must protect them from the trauma of witnessing abuse. Even if the harm isn’t directed at them, seeing one parent hurt wounds them deeply. A child cannot feel secure when their world is built on fear.

  • Unraveling Trauma Bonds: Why We Stay, and How We Heal

    To someone who hasn’t lived it, trauma bonding makes little sense. Why would someone stay in a relationship where they’re being hurt? Why defend the person causing the pain? Why go back, even after leaving?

    But for those who’ve experienced it, trauma bonding isn’t just a concept, it’s a deeply disorienting and painful reality. The invisible thread keeps you tethered to something breaking you, yet it feels impossible to let go of. Because somewhere in the chaos, there were moments that felt like love. And you learned to cling to those moments like lifelines.

    Trauma bonding happens when abuse is laced with intermittent affection, apologies, or kindness. It creates an emotional trap—a loop of confusion, fear, longing, and misplaced hope. You begin to associate your survival with the very person causing you harm. The brain responds to the unpredictability with heightened attachment, chemically binding you to the one hurting you. It’s not because you’re weak or naïve. It’s because your nervous system has been conditioned by trauma. And trauma changes everything.

    You lose pieces of yourself when you’re caught in this cycle. You question your judgment. You silence your instincts. You internalize the blame. There’s a deep sense of guilt and shame, and a loyalty that defies logic. You think, but they weren’t always like this. Or, maybe if I try harder, love more, wait longer, it’ll go back to the beginning. Worse still, you may begin to wonder if the problem is you.

    This is the cruel genius of a trauma bond—it convinces you that pain is love, that chaos is passion, and staying is strength. And no matter how much it hurts, leaving feels even harder. Because what if they change? What if you’re wrong? What if you never feel that high again?

    Breaking free from a trauma bond is one of the hardest things a person can do. And not because you don’t know it’s toxic, but because the emotional pull is so powerful. It results from intermittent reinforcement—the cycle of hope and disappointment, tenderness and cruelty, apologies followed by more harm. Your brain latches onto the highs and tries to erase the lows. Add in fear of abandonment, loneliness, or retaliation, and it becomes even harder. Then there’s the gaslighting, manipulation, and the slow erosion of your reality until you no longer trust your thoughts. Your world shrinks. You forget who you were before them. Your identity becomes entangled in their approval. And through it all, a stubborn hope remains: that maybe the love you once glimpsed will finally stay.

    But healing begins with truth. Love doesn’t break you, confuse you, or make you feel like you’re losing your mind. Love doesn’t demand your silence. Love doesn’t punish you for having boundaries. Love doesn’t hold you hostage with guilt.

    To begin healing, you must first name it. You can’t heal what you won’t acknowledge. And once you name it, you begin to see the pattern instead of just the person. If it’s safe, distance yourself, limit contact, and create space to breathe, feel, and think again. If children or circumstances make that difficult, anchor yourself in boundaries that protect your peace.

    Find support. You don’t have to do this alone. Trauma-informed therapy, support groups, and safe, validating relationships can help you rebuild your foundation. Healing requires being seen by yourself and by others who know what it’s like to crawl out of darkness.

    Stop romanticizing the past. It wasn’t all good. If it were, you wouldn’t be in pain. Remind yourself of the pattern, not just the apology. Remember that temporary kindness is not transformation. That love that only comes after cruelty isn’t love at all.

    Start tending to your nervous system. Trauma lives in the body. Breathwork, grounding exercises, EMDR, movement, and even moments of stillness are all tools that begin to rewire what trauma has tangled. As your body feels safe, your mind starts to follow.

    And perhaps most importantly, come back to yourself. Who were you before you were made small? Before you were taught to apologize for your needs? Before your voice was silenced and your light dimmed? You are still in there. Healing means remembering, reclaiming, and rebuilding.

    As you walk this path, your standards will change. Your tolerance for chaos will diminish. Your peace will become non-negotiable. You’ll stop accepting breadcrumbs in the name of potential. You’ll stop explaining your worth to people who refuse to see it. And in time, the bond that once felt unbreakable will no longer have a hold on you.

    If you’re in the middle of that process, please know that the bond was real. But it was built on pain, not love. It might feel like your heart is breaking, but you are saving your life.

    Healing doesn’t happen all at once. There will be days when grief rises unexpectedly. Days when you feel the urge to reach out. Days when the loneliness feels unbearable. But there will also be days when you laugh freely again. When you feel the sun on your face and realize you’re no longer walking on eggshells. Days when you look in the mirror and finally see someone you recognize and deeply respect.

    You are not broken. You are healing, which is the most courageous and powerful thing you can do.

    You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone or defend the truth. You are allowed to walk away from pain and begin again. And you will.

    The bond may have been strong, but your healing broke its grip.

  • The Critical Difference: Trauma-Informed vs. Uninformed Support

    If you’ve ever walked out of a counselling session, church office, or a therapy appointment feeling worse than when you walked in—ashamed, confused, or even invalidated, you’re not alone. And you’re not crazy.

    What you likely encountered was someone uninformed, not trauma-informed.

    For survivors of abuse, especially emotional, relational, or spiritual trauma, this difference is everything. The person you turn to for help can be a lifeline or another layer of harm.

    A trauma-informed counsellor, pastor, or therapist understands that trauma doesn’t just live in memories; it lives in the body, the nervous system, and the choices we make. They know that trauma affects the way we connect, feel, react, and think. They listen without rushing to fix. They validate instead of minimizing. They walk gently, knowing it’s difficult for you to trust.

    A trauma-informed person will never question the reality of your experience because it doesn’t “sound that bad.” They’ll never pressure you to reconcile with someone who harmed you. They won’t use Scripture as a weapon or suggest that forgiveness means you must return to your abuser. They understand that emotional, physical, and spiritual safety must come first.

    On the other hand, someone who is uninformed may mean well. But they often cause more harm than good. They might tell you to “pray harder,” “submit more,” or “just forgive and move on.” They might ask what you did to contribute to the situation. They might encourage you to preserve the relationship at all costs, even when that cost is your well-being. And they might do it all with a smile, believing they’re helping.

    But they’re not. What they’re doing is adding shame to pain. Silencing a voice that’s only just begun to speak. Asking a survivor to make peace with something that nearly destroyed them.

    The truth is, no matter how kind or well-intentioned someone is, if they’re not trauma-informed, they can’t fully support someone who is healing from trauma because trauma requires more than kindness. It requires awareness, discernment, education, humility, and wisdom. And a willingness to unlearn the harmful narratives passed down for generations, especially in faith spaces.

    Trauma-informed support recognizes that you are the expert of your own story. It empowers you to trust your instincts. It allows space for your questions, healing process, and boundaries. It does not guilt or rush you. It honours that you are still here and survived what was meant to destroy you.

    And that survival deserves more than platitudes. It deserves compassion, safety and truth.

    So if you’ve ever felt dismissed by someone you turned to for help, please hear this: it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t expect too much. You didn’t exaggerate. You weren’t being dramatic. You needed someone who understood the weight you were carrying. Someone who can hold space without trying to fill it. Someone trauma-informed.

    And they do exist.

    You don’t have to stay in spaces where your pain is misunderstood or minimized. You deserve better. You deserve support that sees you, believes you, and walks gently beside you on the long road to healing.

    Choose safe people. And when you find them, hold onto them—because trauma may have shaped your story, but it does not get to decide the ending.

  • Trust Your Gut — It’s There for a Reason

    We tell our children to trust their gut and then scold them when they try to do just that.

    We say, “Speak up if something feels off,” but when they hesitate around someone or try to set a boundary, we rush to smooth things over, make excuses, or pressure them to be polite.

    We tell them, “Always listen to that inner voice,” but then model the opposite, ignoring our own, rationalizing away discomfort, and second-guessing ourselves until guilt wins.

    And so they learn that honouring your gut might make you seem rude. That being uncomfortable isn’t enough of a reason to say no. That intuition needs to be explained, ignored, or justified.

    But the truth is, discomfort doesn’t always come with proof, unease doesn’t always have a name, and peace doesn’t always make sense on paper.

    We need to stop teaching our children and ourselves that intuition is something to be silenced or reasoned away.

    Sometimes, your body knows what your mind hasn’t figured out yet. And trusting that? That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

    Because not trusting your gut can have devastating consequences.

    That quiet unease you felt? It wasn’t just nothing. The hesitation, the tight feeling in your chest, or the sense that something was off, was trying to protect you.

    But so often, we ignore it. We tell ourselves we’re overthinking. We give people the benefit of the doubt. We choose politeness over peace. We excuse, override, and rationalize the warning signs our body and spirit are waving in front of us.

    And sometimes, we pay the price.

    Not trusting your gut doesn’t always lead to something catastrophic, but when it does, it’s a pain that lingers. A regret that whispers, “You knew.”

    Your gut doesn’t always come with a reason, but it comes with wisdom. It doesn’t always speak loudly, but it tells the truth.

    Honour and trust your gut, even if it makes you seem cautious, even if it means disappointing someone or is inconvenient.

    Because the cost of ignoring it is far greater than the discomfort of listening to it.

    There’s something powerful and deeply personal about that quiet voice inside us. It doesn’t shout. It nudges and whispers, but often, we’re taught to silence it in favour of logic, politeness, or other people’s comfort.

    But here’s the truth: your gut is a God-given gift. It’s not just instinct, it’s often your body’s way of sounding the alarm before your mind catches up. And when something or someone feels “off,” that feeling isn’t random. It’s a signal worth paying attention to.

    I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that it’s far better to err on the side of caution than to override your gut and live with regret. Too many of us have ignored that inner discomfort only to look back and say, “I knew something wasn’t right.” Please don’t dismiss it, whether in a relationship, a business deal, a conversation, or even a subtle energy shift when someone enters a room.

    Your gut instinct isn’t always logical or easy to articulate. But it’s still valid. You don’t owe anyone proof to justify how you feel. You’re allowed to make decisions that protect your peace, even if others don’t understand.

    This isn’t about walking around in fear or suspicion; it’s about walking in wisdom. Wisdom often starts with honouring those subtle cues that say, “Something doesn’t feel right here.”

    Sometimes, your gut will lead you away from danger you can’t yet see. Other times, it will remind you of boundaries you didn’t realize you needed to set. Either way, it’s there to serve you. It’s not weakness. It’s discernment. It’s self-protection. And it’s okay to listen.

    If a person makes you feel unsettled, don’t force a connection. If a situation brings anxiety, pause before you proceed. If your heart pulls you in a different direction, permit yourself to follow it.

    You are not being overly sensitive. You are being in tune.

    Trust your gut, honour what it tells you, and never apologize for choosing peace over pressure.

  • Abuse Destroys Relationships—Not the People Who Speak Up About It

    One of the most toxic lies we’ve been conditioned to believe is that speaking out about abuse is what breaks up families, friendships, marriages, churches, or communities. But let’s be clear: calling out abuse doesn’t destroy relationships—abuse does.

    When someone finally finds the courage to speak up, they’re not sowing division. They’re naming what already fractured the relationship long before anyone can discuss it. Abuse, by its very nature, is divisive. It creates fear, erodes trust, silences truth, and forces people into survival mode. When you’re constantly walking on eggshells or sacrificing your well-being to keep the peace, that’s not a relationship—it’s captivity.

    We need to stop blaming the whistleblower for the sound the whistle makes.

    It takes immense bravery to call abuse what it is. Most people who speak up have already endured far more than anyone realizes. They’ve stayed silent for too long, hoping things would change. They’ve tried harder, prayed harder, and forgiven more times than they can count. Speaking up is never the first step—it’s often the last straw.

    Healthy relationships don’t fall apart when someone sets a boundary or shares their pain. They grow stronger. Real love welcomes accountability. Real love says, “If I’ve hurt you, I want to make it right.” It doesn’t gaslight, deny, minimize, or flip the blame back onto the person who’s hurting.

    But abusers don’t want restoration—they want control. And when that control is threatened by truth, they panic. They’ll twist the narrative, weaponize Scripture, and turn others against the one who dared to speak. And tragically, too many people believe them, especially when the abuser seems charming, respected, or influential.

    So let’s be honest: when a relationship ends because abuse has been exposed, it didn’t end because someone spoke up. It ended because someone chose to hurt, manipulate, or control, and refused to take responsibility.

    Silencing victims doesn’t save relationships. It only protects abusers.

    If you’ve spoken out and lost people because of it, I want you to know: you didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t destroy the family. You didn’t break the church. You didn’t cause the divorce. Abuse did that. Your truth just revealed what was already broken.

    And if you’re someone watching from the outside, don’t mistake silence for peace. Don’t side with the one who “kept it together” over the one who finally broke down. Sometimes, it takes everything a person has to speak the truth out loud.

    We must stop equating exposure with division and recognize that truth is the beginning of healing. Relationships built on lies will crumble when the truth comes out, but relationships rooted in love will endure it.

    Abuse destroys. Truth reveals. Healing begins when someone has the courage to say, “No more.”

    Let’s stand with the ones who are brave enough to speak, not shame them for refusing to stay silent, because the only thing more painful than being abused is not being believed when you finally speak up.

  • It Could Happen to Anyone: The Truth About Abuse and Who It Affects

    She’s educated, faithful, independent, kind, strong, and successful. She posts pictures of her children and quotes from her morning devotions. She helps her friends, shows up for her community, and seems to have it all together.

    And she’s being abused.

    We have to talk about this.

    There’s a persistent myth—spoken or unspoken—that women who end up in abusive relationships are somehow different. That they’re needy, uneducated, unintelligent, and weak. That they didn’t see the red flags. That they should’ve known better. That they came from dysfunction and chose the same thing again. That they’re the type of woman who attracts drama.

    But those assumptions are not only wrong—they’re dangerous.

    Abuse doesn’t target a personality type. It’s not reserved for the broken or the insecure. I’ve seen abuse happen to some of the strongest, most capable, most spiritually grounded women I know. Women who lead ministries. Women who mentor others. Women who are deeply self-aware and incredibly accomplished. Women who were told growing up that they’d be safe if they prayed enough, were kind enough, and followed all the proper steps.

    And yet it still happened.

    It happened to them, and it happened to me.

    Abuse doesn’t knock on your door wearing a warning label. It often shows up dressed as love. It looks like charm, generosity, and promises that feel too good to be true, because they are. It builds slowly. Subtly. It starts with little compromises, small apologies, moments you explain away. Until suddenly, you’re second-guessing everything. You’re isolated, confused, exhausted, and wondering how someone who once made you feel special now makes you feel so small.

    By the time most women realize they’re in something dangerous, they’re already deep in it—emotionally, financially, sometimes legally. They’re trauma-bonded. They’re terrified. They’re hopeful it will change. They’re trying to keep their children safe. And most of all, they’re trying to survive while being judged for not leaving fast enough.

    I’ve heard it all.”She must not have much self-esteem.”She probably came from abuse herself.”I’d never let someone treat me that way.”She must’ve seen the signs and chose to stay anyway.”

    But here’s the truth: abuse doesn’t just happen to “those women.” It happens to women who once believed it never would. Women who thought they were too bright, stable, strong, and successful. Women like you.

    The only thing all survivors have in common is that someone chose to abuse them. That’s it.

    It’s not about weakness—it’s about manipulation. It’s not about intelligence—it’s about how well abusers hide who they are until they’ve gained control. It’s not about poor choices—how deeply someone can be gaslit, isolated, and broken down over time.

    If we keep clinging to these stereotypes about who ends up in abusive relationships, we’re harming ourselves. We’re making it harder for victims to come forward. We’re reinforcing shame. We’re keeping people silent.

    The truth is, anyone can find themselves in an abusive relationship. And no one—no one—deserves it.

    When we stop judging and start listening, when we stop asking, “Why didn’t she leave?” and start asking, “What made her feel she couldn’t?”—we begin to shift the narrative.

    We create space for healing, offer dignity, and create a safer world for survivors to step into when they finally say, “I need help.”

    I write this not just as an advocate, but as a survivor. I believed I was too grounded, faith-filled, and discerning for something like this to happen to me. But it did. And the most healing truth I discovered was this: it wasn’t my fault.

    And if it happened to you, it wasn’t your fault either.

    Let’s stop believing the myths. Let’s start believing the people who lived them.

  • “She’s Just Difficult” — The Misconception About Abused Women

    One of the most damaging lies ever told about women who have survived abuse is that they are too much. Too emotional. Too guarded. Too hard to love. Too sensitive.

    It’s a narrative that doesn’t just misunderstand trauma—it weaponizes it.

    Women who have been abused aren’t difficult. They are cautious. They are layered. They are learning to navigate a world that has, more than once, proven unsafe.

    When someone has experienced betrayal from someone who once said, “I love you,” trust doesn’t come easily. That’s not dysfunction—that’s self-preservation.

    When someone has been blamed, degraded, gaslighted, and manipulated, they may flinch at raised voices, silence in the middle of an argument or changes in tone. That’s not drama; it’s a nervous system trying to protect itself.

    When someone has been repeatedly told they are the problem, they may need more clarity, reassurance, and space to process. That’s not insecurity; it’s unlearning years of emotional warfare.

    Yet society often looks at these survivors and says, “She’s damaged.”“She’s just too broken.” “She’s hard to love.”

    But what if the truth is the opposite?

    What if she’s not hard to love—what if she needs to be loved right? With consistency, gentleness, patience, and truth.

    What if the real issue isn’t that she’s difficult but that most people have no idea how to love someone who’s had to survive what she has?

    It takes strength to open up again after betrayal, courage to choose vulnerability after being shamed for your feelings, and immense faith to love again when love was the very thing that hurt you most.

    The women who have walked through abuse and still show up with open hearts, hopeful spirits, and a willingness to heal—those women are not difficult.

    They are remarkable.

    They are resilient.

    And they deserve to be seen not as burdens but as humans. As survivors. As daughters of God doing the hard work of healing.

    If you’re one of those women, hear this:

    You are not hard to love. You are learning how to trust. You are allowed to have boundaries, emotions, and needs. And you are worthy—not despite your story, but because of it.

    It’s time to bury the lie that trauma makes someone unlovable. The truth? It reveals the depth of a soul that has survived hell and is still choosing to hope.

    That kind of woman isn’t too much. She’s extraordinary.