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.
Survivor Speaks Truth 