Survivor Speaks Truth

Tag: Perception

  • Be Careful What You Assume

    One of the lessons life has taught me over and over again is how dangerous it is to form opinions when you don’t have all the facts.

    I know this because I’ve been guilty of it myself.

    There was a time when I looked at situations from the outside and thought I had them figured out. I made assumptions based on what I could see, what I had heard, or what made the most logical sense at the time. But life has a way of humbling us. It has a way of putting us in circumstances we never imagined we’d face and showing us just how little we truly know about another person’s story.

    The beautiful thing about growth is that when we know better, we have the opportunity to do better.

    One area where people are especially quick to judge is relationships.

    The statistics surrounding marriage are not encouraging. Many marriages end in divorce, and second marriages often fail at an even higher rate. Because of those numbers, it’s easy to look at someone whose relationship has ended and draw conclusions about their character.

    Maybe you see someone whose marriage failed and assume they didn’t try hard enough.

    Maybe you see someone who has experienced two failed marriages and think, “Well, they’re the common denominator, so they must be the problem.”

    At first glance, that might seem like a reasonable conclusion.

    But life isn’t always that simple.

    Being the common denominator doesn’t automatically mean being the cause.

    A firefighter is the common denominator at every fire he responds to, but he didn’t start the blaze.

    A doctor may be present in every difficult case she treats, but she didn’t create the illness.

    Sometimes people find themselves in repeated situations not because they are causing the harm, but because they are the ones enduring it.

    Relationships are incredibly complex. Behind every separation, every divorce, every broken family, there is a story. Often there are years of details, struggles, sacrifices, disappointments, and private realities that the public never sees.

    The person who appears to have walked away may have spent years trying to stay.

    The person who seems strong today may have survived circumstances that would have broken someone else.

    The person being judged may be carrying wounds no one knows about.

    The truth is that we rarely know the whole story.

    What we see on social media is rarely the whole story.

    What we hear from one side is rarely the whole story.

    What seems obvious is often anything but.

    That’s why I have learned to become much slower to judge and much quicker to extend grace.

    Not because everyone is innocent. Not because people don’t make mistakes. We all do.

    But because I have learned firsthand that there is usually far more happening beneath the surface than anyone realizes.

    The older I get, the less interested I am in assigning blame and the more interested I am in understanding.

    Jesus never called us to be jurors in other people’s lives. He called us to love, to show compassion, and to recognize that we all have blind spots and struggles.

    The next time you’re tempted to make assumptions about someone’s character based on a chapter of their story, remember this:

    You may know what happened.

    You may know what someone told you.

    You may know what it looks like from the outside.

    But you probably don’t know the whole story.

    And sometimes, the facts you don’t know change everything.

  • The Truth Always Surfaces

    One of the many lessons I’ve learned both personally and professionally is that not everyone is who they appear to be.

    Some people spend years building a reputation for being kind, generous, compassionate, trustworthy, and godly. They know exactly what to say, how to act, and how to present themselves to the world. They are often well-liked, respected, and admired by the people around them. If you were to ask their friends, family members, coworkers, or church community about them, you would likely hear nothing but glowing reviews.

    But there is something I’ve come to understand after walking through betrayal, deception, and abuse.

    The person you think is kind only looks kind until you become their next victim.

    The person you think would never lie only seems honest until they have something to gain from deception.

    The person you think would never hurt anyone only appears harmless until you find yourself on the receiving end of their cruelty.

    The person you think would never do that often hasn’t had the opportunity, motive, or target yet.

    That can be a difficult truth to accept because most of us want to believe the best about people. We want to believe that what we see is what we get. We want to believe that character is obvious. We want to believe that dangerous people look dangerous.

    The reality is that they usually don’t.

    If they did, nobody would get involved with them.

    Abusive people rarely introduce themselves as abusive. Manipulative people rarely announce that they are manipulative. Deceptive people rarely advertise their dishonesty. If they did, nobody would trust them long enough for them to cause harm.

    Instead, they often appear charming, generous, helpful, spiritual, successful, and trustworthy. They build credibility before they reveal character.

    That is why so many victims struggle to be believed.

    People don’t compare the victim’s experience to the offender’s private behavior. They compare it to the public image they have come to know.

    “That doesn’t sound like him.”

    “That doesn’t sound like her.”

    “They’ve always been kind to me.”

    “I’ve never seen that side of them.”

    Of course you haven’t.

    Neither had the victim until they did.

    The fact that someone treats you well does not mean they treat everyone well.

    The fact that someone has never harmed you does not mean they have never harmed anyone.

    The fact that you have only experienced their public persona does not mean there isn’t a private reality that exists beyond your view.

    One of the biggest mistakes we make as human beings is assuming that our experience with someone is the only experience that matters. We assume that because a person has been kind to us, they must be kind to everyone. Because they have been honest with us, they must be honest with everyone. Because they have been loyal to us, they must be loyal to everyone.

    Life doesn’t work that way.

    People often reveal different versions of themselves to different audiences.

    A manipulative person may be generous to their friends and cruel to their spouse.

    An abusive parent may be beloved in their community.

    A dishonest business owner may appear trustworthy to customers.

    A controlling partner may seem charming to everyone except the person living with them.

    This is why discernment is so important.

    Not cynicism, or suspicion, discernment.

    Discernment understands that we never truly know what happens behind closed doors. It recognizes that there are always pieces of the story we cannot see.

    I’ve also learned that the truth has a way of surfacing, even when people work tirelessly to bury it.

    Sometimes it surfaces quickly.

    Sometimes it takes years.

    Sometimes it takes decades.

    Sometimes the truth emerges through patterns. Sometimes through evidence. Sometimes through additional victims finding the courage to speak. Sometimes through the natural consequences of a person’s choices.

    But eventually, masks become difficult to maintain.

    The pressure of living a double life catches up with people.

    The stories become harder to keep straight.

    The contradictions become more obvious.

    The fruit becomes impossible to ignore.

    What is done in darkness eventually finds its way into the light.

    That doesn’t mean everyone will acknowledge it.

    Some people are deeply invested in believing the version of reality that feels most comfortable. Some people would rather defend an image than confront the truth. Some people will continue making excuses long after the evidence is clear.

    But truth does not require unanimous agreement to be true.

    The truth remains the truth whether people accept it or not.

    I’ve seen many survivors become discouraged because they feel as though the person who harmed them has gotten away with everything. They watch the offender continue receiving praise, support, admiration, and opportunities while they are left carrying the consequences of someone else’s choices.

    If that’s where you find yourself today, I want to encourage you.

    Don’t confuse delayed accountability with the absence of accountability.

    Don’t mistake silence for innocence.

    Don’t assume that because others cannot see what happened that God cannot.

    The same God who sees every tear also sees every lie.

    The same God who sees every wound also sees who inflicted it.

    The same God who knows the truth doesn’t require a public opinion poll to determine what is real.

    You do not have to spend your life proving your story to people who have already decided not to hear it.

    Your responsibility is not to force others to see the truth.

    Your responsibility is to walk in it.

    Because the truth has something deception never will.

    It has staying power.

    Lies require maintenance.

    Truth stands on its own.

    Eventually, the masks slip.

    Eventually, the fruit speaks.

    Eventually, character reveals itself.

    And eventually, the truth surfaces.

    It always does.

  • Finding Peace When Others Don’t Know the Full Story

    One of the hardest but most freeing lessons in healing is learning to be at peace even when other people don’t know the full story of what you endured. Not everyone will understand your choices. Not everyone will hear your side of the story. And some people will come to their own conclusions based on assumptions, fragments, or secondhand information.

    That reality can feel deeply unfair.

    There is a natural desire to be understood—to explain, correct the narrative, or clarify. Especially when you’ve been hurt, misrepresented, or unfairly judged, silence can feel like agreement. But over time, many come to realize that telling their story to the wrong audience often brings more harm than healing. Not everyone is capable of holding the truth with care.

    Peace doesn’t come from convincing others. It comes from knowing what is true.

    There is a quiet strength in no longer needing external validation to confirm your reality. When you have done the hard work of facing what you endured, naming it honestly, and choosing healing, other people’s conclusions lose their power. Their opinions may still sting, but they no longer define you.

    It’s important to understand that people often form conclusions to protect their own comfort. Sitting with someone else’s injustice, pain, or trauma can be unsettling. Simple narratives feel safer than complex truths. When others misunderstand you, it is not always a failure of your communication—it is often a limitation of their capacity.

    Choosing peace does not mean pretending the misunderstanding doesn’t hurt. It means refusing to live in a constant state of defense. It means releasing the exhausting need to explain yourself to people who have already decided what they believe. Peace comes when you accept that not everyone is entitled to your story.

    There is also wisdom in discernment—knowing who deserves access to your truth. Some people listen to understand, and others listen to judge. Protecting your peace means sharing your story only in spaces where it will be honoured, not dissected.

    Being at peace in the face of misunderstanding is not weakness. It is a sign of deep healing. It means you trust yourself. You trust your lived experience. And you trust that truth does not require universal agreement to remain true.

    You can move forward with integrity even when others misunderstand you. You can heal without being believed by everyone. And you can live fully without correcting every false narrative.

    Peace comes when you stop carrying the burden of being understood by those who were never meant to walk with you.

  • 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.

  • “They Would Never Do That” — What That Really Means

    “They would never do that.”

    It’s a phrase we hear often—spoken with confidence, certainty, and sometimes even indignation. It’s usually uttered by someone defending someone they know or believe they can vouch for. But here’s the truth that often goes unspoken:

    “They would never do that” usually means, “They’ve never done it to me.”

    And that’s a huge difference.

    We all interpret people through the lens of our own experiences with them. If someone has only ever been kind to you, it’s natural to assume they are kind. If they’ve never lied to you, you believe they are honest. If they’ve never harmed you, you might conclude they are safe. But what if they only treat you that way because there’s nothing for them to gain by mistreating you?

    What if their cruelty is reserved for those closest to them—the ones they feel they can control, manipulate, or silence?

    People are not always consistent across relationships. Abusers don’t abuse everyone. Manipulators aren’t always obvious. Some of the most harmful people are also the most charming, polite, generous, and helpful—when it serves them.

    So when someone says, “They would never do that,” they’re not stating the truth. They’re making a statement about their personal experience. And while personal experience matters, it is not the whole picture.

    It’s easy to dismiss a victim’s account when it doesn’t align with what we’ve seen. But just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. Just because they smile at you doesn’t mean they don’t scream at someone else behind closed doors. Just because they seem godly in church doesn’t mean they aren’t a nightmare at home.

    Abusers wear masks. And sometimes, those masks are so convincing that even the most discerning people can be fooled.

    The real danger in saying “they would never do that” is that it shuts down conversation. It invalidates the lived experience of someone who did witness it. Someone who was on the receiving end. It implies that your experience with the person outweighs theirs—as if proximity to goodness cancels out proximity to pain.

    But both realities can coexist. A person can be kind to some and cruel to others. They can be generous with friends and controlling with family. They can charm a crowd and terrorize their partner.

    If someone is brave enough to speak up and say, “They did this to me,” the response should not be, “They would never.” The response should be, “Tell me what happened.” It should be one of curiosity, not condemnation—compassion, not dismissal.

    The truth is, many victims stay silent for years because they’ve heard that exact phrase echo in the background: They would never. And in their minds, that means no one would believe them. So they suffer quietly. They shrink. They question themselves. They internalize shame that never belonged to them.

    So let’s change the narrative.

    Instead of insisting on what someone would or wouldn’t do, let’s acknowledge what we don’t know. Let’s recognize that people show different sides to different people. Let’s create a world where someone can share their story without fear of being met with disbelief.

    Because when we say, “They would never,” we’re really saying, “I choose not to believe you.”

    And that choice has consequences.

    You don’t have to have seen it for it to be true. You don’t have to understand it for it to matter. You have to listen—with humility, empathy, and the awareness that sometimes, what we think we know is only part of the story.

    Let’s stop silencing survivors with our certainty. Let’s start believing that just because they never did it to you doesn’t mean they didn’t do it to someone.