What I Thought Abuse Looked Like and How I Missed the Warning Signs Right in Front of Me.
For a long time, I believed abusive relationships were obvious.
I thought they were violent. Easy to recognize.
I had seen that kind of abuse before.
When I was eighteen, I went to a family function with a boyfriend. While we were there, his uncle beat the crap out of his aunt right in front of everyone.
She had black eyes. Swollen lips. A bloody nose.
I will never forget it.
That moment shaped my understanding of abuse. In my mind, that was what “real” abuse looked like. That image became my reference point.
So if there were no bruises, no blood, no broken bones, I did not see danger.
Comparing Pain Instead of Listening to It
Later, when my ex-husband yelled and screamed, I compared it to that memory.
He was angry, but he did not hit me. He was loud, but I was not bleeding. He was very intimidating, but I did not have bruises.
So I told myself it was not abuse.
He told me I was overreacting. And I believed him.
I told myself other people had it worse.
That comparison kept me stuck.
Instead of asking, “Is this healthy?” I asked, “Is this as bad as what I saw before?”
And because it was not, I stayed.
What No One Taught Me About Abuse
No one ever taught me what abuse really looked like.
It looks like:
Being afraid to speak. Walking on eggshells. Managing someone else’s moods. Apologizing for things that were not wrong. Feeling smaller over time.
No one told me that fear without bruises is still fear.
And you should never fear your partner.
When Faith Becomes a Trap
On top of everything else, my faith taught me to endure.
To be patient. To forgive. To stay.
So when something felt wrong, I assumed the problem was me.
Not him. Not the situation.
Me.
I thought I needed to pray harder. Try harder. Be better.
I never stopped to ask whether I was being harmed.
What I Understand Now
Looking back now, I understand something I did not then.
Abuse is not defined by how much damage you can see.
It is defined by the amount of damage caused.
Damage to your peace. To your confidence. To your sense of safety. To your sanity and mental health.
I was being harmed long before I was ever hit.
Long before anyone else could see it.
Why I Am Sharing This
I am sharing this because so many people stay in unhealthy relationships for the same reason I did.
They do not recognize the danger.
They think abuse has to look a certain way to count.
It does not.
If you are constantly afraid, shrinking, doubting yourself, or walking on eggshells, something is wrong.
If you are reading this and thinking, “This sounds like me,” I want you to know….
You are not alone. You are not being dramatic. You are not overly sensitive. You are not weak.
You are starting to pay attention.
And that matters.
You matter.
You deserve better.
This post is part of my “Red Flags” series, where I share the warning signs I ignored and the lessons I learned along the way. In the next post, I will talk about the first red flag I should have paid attention to and how I convinced myself it did not matter.
I was sitting in a booth across the table from my oldest daughter, in our favorite Coffee Shop. The high-backed seats provided privacy and a perfect setting for catching up on life events. The aroma of her Dirty Chai made me wish I had ordered coffee instead of my tart Kombucha. Her voice mingled with the background murmurs of other conversations around us as she told me about my grandson’s first day of kindergarten. I was studying her face as she talked. I cherished these moments, admiring how her long eyelashes accentuated her chocolate eyes. They sat under perfectly manicured eyebrows so as not to resemble the unibrow she inherited from her Father. The tiny scar on her cheek was barely visible; a reminder of the time her sister threw an old metal hanger at her in an attempt to win an argument. Her perfectly heart-shaped lips reminded me of her Dad.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I gasped when I felt someone grab me by my hair, wincing as my head and neck jerked from the force. My heart sank to my stomach, beating hard and fast. The attacker behind me growled, “You’d better get out of this place. Get back home!”
I did not need to look up to know who it was. I began screaming, “Help! Somebody, please help me!”
He pulled me out of the booth and dragged me toward the front door of the cafe.
My hands went to my head, trying to free myself from his grip. As always, he was much bigger and stronger. She sat motionless, shaken, not knowing what to do. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide and glassy with tears.
I was trying so hard to have a different life, a better life. I did not want my children to experience this violence anymore. I wanted them to know that this is not OK and that life can be peaceful.
The harder I fought to break free of his grip, the tighter he held on. There was no way I was leaving without a fight. Part of me wanted to give in, to stop the pain in my scalp, but I couldn’t let him win. Not this time. I tried to plant my feet on the floor, but they slid effortlessly across the tile. What if he overpowers me? What if I can’t get away?
I stopped screaming for help, and I started yelling at him. “Stop! Get away from me! Leave me alone! You can’t control me!”
Is it possible to have the marriage of your dreams? A wife wishing you felt loved? What if I told you that true love and soulmates can and do exist? Would you roll your eyes? That’s what I did when people mentioned it.
I remember doing a cleaning estimate in the home of an elderly couple, Elsie and Jim. I always asked our potential clients to walk us from room to room and tell us what they expect, and I would, in turn, tell them what we would do as I would reach up and rub a finger across the top of the door frame, checking to see how much dust was up there. I had a notebook and a pen, jotting down each room we entered, anything I noted, and anything they specifically mentioned.
It was a modest home in an older neighborhood that was once home to the upper middle class. The home’s original layout was smaller, with add-ons such as a step-down den and an attached, closed-in sunroom. The trees no longer let the sun in. The furniture and decor were what you would expect for someone in their 80’s. Their house was not dirty by any stretch of the imagination, but they could not keep up with the cleaning, as their eyes and muscles just were not up to the task.
Elsie was walking us from room to room, explaining what she expected and asking whether we had done certain things. She went on to tell me how she found out about us, which ensured her a discount.
When we reached the formal living room, we found metal sculptures throughout the space. Unique and clearly custom-made. Elsie could see I was looking at them with intrigue. I always like creativity, and she began to boast about how Mr. Jim had handcrafted them. She was so proud of these unusual, out-of-style, out-of-character art pieces.
“Jim had a welding hobby, making ornamental iron and porch rails. Every time he would do a project, he would make me a sculpture and bring it home. I told him he had to stop making them because I was running out of room. But it sure is the sweetest thing.” She was telling me.
I looked up. She was right, she didn’t have room for any more. When she told me the ways he showed her love, I had to admit I was a little jealous, since I was married to a self-centered, unaffectionate man. There were never birthday cards, anniversary cards, or even Valentine’s. No, those were holidays for him to have a rage because he felt like I expected him to do something, and since I expected it, he refused. I didn’t receive anything on any other day of the year, either.
“Wow, that is so cool! How long have you guys been married?” I wondered.
“Sixty years.”
When I heard those words, I stopped and felt as if something had pushed me back. How? That is more years than I had been alive, and I was surprised. I could not recall knowing anyone else who had been married that long. My parents were approaching 50 years of marriage. How in the world can you be with and live with someone that long? There is no way. One of us might kill the other first, and I was sure he’d be the one to do it to me.
She immediately answered without hesitation, “I married my best friend.”
That was that. Nothing more.
I hope she could not see the cynicism in my response,
“Oh, that’s awesome.”
But boy, did it get me thinking. Really? Are you telling me you guys actually like each other? That is incredible, and oh my god. We are doomed. I can’t stand him, and he can’t stand me. Friends? Absolutely not. Whenever there was a fight, he would announce, “I am not your enemy,” but it sure felt like he was. If he wasn’t my enemy, and he wasn’t my friend, then what was he? What would you call him?
We definitely were NOT best friends, and we were struggling to be friends, but more like acquaintances. I could not stand being around him; we had nothing in common. We were complete opposites. Whoever said opposites attract failed to add “misery.” Opposites attract misery. I desperately wanted to marry my best friend, but that had long since left the table. I do not remember a single moment we were friends. The closest we came was that my best friend and his best friend were siblings, and we were friends through friends.
After that meeting, I determined to do my best to make my husband my best friend. But how do you do that? Quick disclaimer: You don’t. I will spare you the sickening ways I tried, because this particular article isn’t about my ex.
“Mom, you need to start dating.”
It was good to hear those words. I was afraid of what my kids might think when they found out that I was on a dating app. Yes, I used a dating app because I had been so sheltered that I had no idea how to meet people. And I was not interested in going to bars. I had long left the formal setting of church, and quite honestly, I was not interested in getting back into religious control. I wanted to stay as far away from “god-fearing-church-going men” (read my other memoir material, and you’ll understand why).
During my divorce, I kept Natasha Bedingfield’s songs “Soulmate” and “Unwritten” on repeat. Those were my jam. I played them over and over. They were a lifeline to me.
I purchased a membership to the Zoosk Dating App, figuring that if I used the paid version, it would weed out the guys looking for a booty call. On the app, you can check boxes of what kind of person you do or do not want. Then they would show you a photo and a little bio. It wasn’t too hard to narrow it down. I was certainly aware of what I did not like. And I was exploring ideas of what I did want. I did not want to be with someone in my own town, but left it open just in case. My parents live 2 hours away, so I was hoping for a guy nearby them.
I put in my bio that I wasn’t looking for marriage or a long-term commitment. I just wanted adult companionship, someone to hang out with occasionally. There were two guys from Crosset. One of them had a son, and he made it clear he was looking for a mother for his boy. He was a love bomber and came on so fast and furious that it made me sick. It was too much, too soon, so I stopped conversations with him quickly. The other guy in Crosset had a working relationship with his ex and never wanted to leave her in the first place. It was apparent he was still in love with her, and I sure did not want to start a love triangle. There was the guy in El Dorado who wanted someone a little younger, a party girl. He was not my type at all. And then there was the guy who took me on my first date after the divorce. I do not remember where he was from or what his name was. I don’t recall any of their names, for that matter. Our date included Geocaching and dinner. He was a dirt bike rider, and although he was kind, we had nothing in common. We agreed to keep in touch, but we both knew we wouldn’t, and didn’t.
I did not get discouraged, as I kept seeing the face of this guy from Hot Springs. There was something about him that intrigued me; he looked like a Guru. Maybe it was his profile picture. He was squatting in a field of pansies, yet his face was fierce, not threatening. It was confident. I thought, if a man is willing to take a photo in a field of flowers, he must be pretty harmless. So we started a conversation in the app. We had several things in common, including poetry. The only thing that scared me about him was that the church still had a place in his life. I wasn’t opposed to church, but I was very hesitant.
We never spoke on the phone. Our entire conversation was via text on the Zoosk app. This went on for a few weeks, maybe a month, then he finally asked me for a date. It was arranged that he would pick me up at my parents’ house (neutral ground) while they watched my kids. I drove up after a hard day of cleaning houses, exhausted and nervous. When he announced he was on his way, I took a shot of tequila to calm my nerves.
The text came in, “I’m here.” I went outside, and he hopped out of his big white Ford F150. I had no idea what to expect. Zoosk had been our only form of communication.
Here he was, dressed in jeans and a dress shirt with boots, bald, not nearly as tall as my ex, thank god. And cute. Wow, was he way better looking in person than on the app. And his eyes were slate blue like water. His blue shirt made them pop.
I chuckled inside when I heard his voice for the first time. He had such a southern accent. It was a welcome contrast to my ex-husband.
He opened my door as I climbed up into the truck. It was nice to have someone plan everything for me. I do not think I ever had that, not in the last 24 years for sure! He would not stop staring at me. He kept saying I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
He found a parking spot downtown, and we walked to Rolandos, where he insisted we start with the top-shelf margaritas, claiming theirs were the best in town. We talked and talked. It was as if we had known each other our entire lives. There were no awkward moments of silence. Each sentence went on to the next. When we felt we had outstayed our welcome at the restaurant, we walked downtown for a bit. It was misting, so he held an umbrella over both of us while I linked my arm in his.
We decided to stop in the Bathhouse Brewery for a beer and more talk. Being with him felt right, comfortable, normal. I was so comfortable in his presence that I even set my hand on his leg while we were talking. He understood me, he listened. And I got him and hung on every word. Some would say we bonded over our similar traumas, and maybe we did. But we also had the same life goals. We had a lot in common and a few things that weren’t. But the things we did not have in common were what made us individuals. And I learned he wasn’t as active in church as he’d made out on the app, which was a relief.
Since he was driving, we decided to cash out and head back to my folks’ house to continue our conversation in the driveway. I didn’t want to get out, nor did he. After a long day at work, I fell asleep while we listened to one of his favorite songs. He woke me, and we decided to call it a night.
He once again hopped out and opened my door, such a gentleman. When we kissed goodnight, his lips were trembling. It made me smile. He felt like such a virgin. He was fresh out of a 20-year marriage with 3 kids, so I knew he wasn’t. But his sweet innocence was a delight.
He picked me up for lunch the next day, and our conversations picked up where we left off in the truck.
And here we are, ten years later, and I can honestly say I found my soulmate and married my best friend.
It wasn’t until I went on that date with my husband that I saw a future friend. I can say without hesitation that he is my best friend. There is something so different about being married to your best friend.
You’re friends because you have things in common and can sense what the other person is feeling and thinking. You care about their feelings, and they care about yours. And if you accidentally hurt them, you will apologize. You enjoy each other’s company.
I now understand what else Elsie meant when she said she married her best friend. They’re your support system, and you’re theirs.
Reflection is resurrection!
I fell in love with a stare into those green eyes, then a smile that turned into a comfortable laugh, washing away the nerves of newness.
Then… when we danced and swayed in each other’s loving arms as we found each other.
I fell in love with the placid lake, colored blue eyes that caught my gaze, and a tender gentleness of spirit as I listened to you from across the table.
Your hand that reassured mine when I reached for your arm. The laughs and giggles… The quivering lips that kissed me goodnight.
I fell in love with a woman I could embrace with my quivering lips …
…at The Baker … you made love to me so tenderly, while looking into my eyes the entire time.
I won’t forget the beautiful woman across the table, trying Irish beers, or the face of my love, smelling the roses.
I won’t forget a man casting a voodoo wish behind a screen and kissing me in the rain.
I won’t forget us being the only two on Bourbon Street kissing, while it was raining!
I won’t forget how you held my hand the whole time when I had hurt you… Yet, you still reassured me of your love.
That’s because I’ve loved you ever since the day I said it.
I think you loved me before you said it.
And you?
I fell in love with you the first time our eyes met.
Reflection is resurrection! Plaster it on the palette of your life
Sometimes our written words pierce louder than any voice spoken.
True. Sometimes they’re easier to go back and reflect on because they are tangible.
(A Poem we wrote to each other reflecting on a few memorable dates.)
Let me take you on a journey through my own cycle of pain, one that might mirror your own.
For over 24 years, I stayed stuck in a cycle of pain. Not only because I didn’t know how to escape, but also because I had no idea that part of me had become used to it. That pain was my comfort zone; I needed it. That is not easy to admit, but maybe that is precisely what you need to hear.
I was addicted to pain and suffering. And maybe you are too.
Consider if your life feels like a constant storm, with relationships that break rather than build you, where chaos feels more familiar than peace.
Then I want you to consider that you might be emotionally addicted to your struggle. In the same way, someone is addicted to alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.
You don’t choose to be this way on purpose, but you can choose to stop feeding it.
How Does Someone Get Addicted to Suffering?
It might seem strange, but when survival mode becomes your norm, your body adapts to a constant state of fear, anger, and panic, as if these emotions are essential for survival. The body doesn’t know good adrenaline from bad. It just feels familiar. So if pain becomes what you’re used to, your brain will start chasing it like a drug.
I’ll be honest with you: After I left my abusive husband, I thought I’d be free. But instead, I felt lost, restless, and empty. And one day I caught myself missing the drama, missing the feeling of being needed, even if it came with cruelty.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t just healing from abuse. I was detoxing from it.
Understanding the Chemistry of Emotion
Here’s what’s really going on under the surface. Every emotion you feel, love, sadness, rage, guilt, and fear, comes with a chemical mix your body gets used to. When you feel anger or shame over and over, your body floods itself with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline.
And your nervous system thinks,
“Ah, yes. This is normal. Let’s keep doing that.”
It doesn’t care if it’s killing you emotionally. It only cares that it’s predictable. That’s why breaking the cycle is more than leaving them. It’s also about rewiring your system and healing your brain. You have to teach your body that peace isn’t dull, it’s safe.
Why You Keep Ending Up With the Same Kind of Person
If you’ve ever escaped one toxic relationship only to fall into another… and another…
You’re not weak or broken. You’re still addicted to the feelings that chaos brings.
And your brain will unconsciously lead you straight to people who can give you the fix.
It’s not because you want to be hurt, but it’s because deep down, you don’t yet believe you deserve anything else.
The Good News: You Can Break Free
I won’t lie to you. Healing is hard, but so is staying stuck. The difference is that one of them leads somewhere beautiful.
Here’s how I started the process, and you can too:
1. Tell yourself the truth.
Not the story you’ve been told or the lie that “this is just who you are.”
Say the truth, you are addicted to survival mode, and you were made for so much more.
2. Decide that it ends with you.
Not tomorrow, not when it gets easier. Right now.
You don’t need to hit another rock bottom to be done.
3. Catch yourself.
When the negative self-talk kicks in or when you feel that familiar urge to sabotage yourself, tell yourself, “I deserve better.
Then, breathe, even if you don’t believe it yet.
4. Let peace feel weird for a while.
Because it will, trust me. Quiet will feel loud, and safety will feel foreign.
That’s okay. Stay there anyway. Let yourself get used to calm.
5. Give it time. Give yourself grace.
This isn’t about perfection; it’s about persistence.
You’re teaching your nervous system a new language. That love doesn’t hurt, and peace doesn’t mean danger.
One More Thing,
You’re not broken. You’re not stupid for staying too long. You were surviving.
And now? You’re waking up.
Your addiction to struggle isn’t your fault, but healing is your responsibility.
You deserve a life that doesn’t hurt. And it’s waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.
Why You Take Everything Personally (And What No One Told You About It)
Let’s be real. You don’t just “hear” what someone says—you absorb it. A sigh? You feel it like a slap. A short text? Your stomach drops. If they are quiet? You spiral.
Taking things personally isn’t a flaw—it’s a reaction to what you’ve been through…
Someone trained you to feel this way.
Maybe you were in a relationship like mine—one where your partner, or parents, made sure you were never really safe. Where you had to study their mood the way a sailor studies the sky. Because one wrong word, one wrong look, could start a storm.
I know what that feels like. To live in a home that felt more like a test. To love someone who used your love against you. To be blamed for everything—their anger, their silence, their outbursts, their boredom.
When you’re with an abuser, especially for years, you don’t just fear them—you become them in your own head. You start criticizing yourself before they can. You start shrinking your needs because it’s safer that way. You start interpreting everything around you as a threat.
That’s why you take things personally. Because you were trained to see danger in the subtlest shifts.
You were taught that mistakes mean punishment. That emotions are weapons. That love means walking on eggshells while setting yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.
So now, when someone gives you feedback, you feel attacked. When someone pulls away, you assume it’s your fault. When someone’s upset, you blame yourself.
But here’s the part you need to hear: It’s not your fault.
You were conditioned to believe that your survival depended on reading people perfectly. You weren’t being sensitive—you were being smart. You were protecting yourself. But now? Now you don’t have to live like that anymore.
That voice in your head telling you “you messed up,” “they hate you,” “you ruined everything”— That’s not your voice. That’s theirs. That’s the voice of the person who broke you down, not the one who gets to build you back up.
And you’re allowed to question it. You’re allowed to replace it. You’re allowed to heal—even if they never apologize.
So if you’re sitting there wondering why you take things so personally, let me say this:
You’re not crazy. You’re not broken. You’re carrying a survival instinct that once kept you safe—but it doesn’t have to run your life anymore.
You can learn to breathe again. To trust again. To love without fear. To hear someone’s words without turning them into wounds.
For the girl who thinks the tightness in her chest is normal
Good times make you nervous, don’t they?
You don’t call it fear—you call it “being cautious,” or “not getting your hopes up.” But the truth is quieter: you’re not used to peace. For so long, love has felt like tension, panic, apologizing, overthinking, and walking around someone else’s moods like they’re landmines.
So when something finally goes right… Your whole body glitches.
You look around, waiting for the explosion. You wait for the tone in his voice to shift. You wait for the moment he decides you’re “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” or “too much.”
And if nothing happens right away, your brain fills the silence with dread: Is this the part where it all turns again? You don’t trust happiness—not because you’re broken, but because you’ve survived too long without it.
Girls like us learn early that peace feels like a trap. A setup. A calm before the next storm.
No one told you that real love isn’t supposed to feel like bracing for impact. No one told you that safety isn’t the same thing as “keeping the peace.” No one told you that if your body relaxes only when he isn’t home… that’s not comfort. That’s survival.
Listen, sweetheart—if happiness feels foreign, it’s not because you’re incapable of it. It’s because someone taught you to expect pain.
And here’s the part I wish someone had whispered to me sooner: You don’t have to keep living in the story where fear feels like love. You don’t have to keep shrinking yourself just to fit into a relationship that was never safe to begin with.
Real peace doesn’t make you nervous. Real love doesn’t make you flinch. And real happiness doesn’t feel like a setup—it feels like finally coming home to yourself.
You deserve that kind of happiness. And I promise… it won’t explode.
When someone ties despair to God Himself, it buries you in a deeper kind of fear. You stop dreaming. You stop believing in the better. And every time life gets quiet, you brace yourself, because you know the calm never lasts.
I remember once, after one of our rare calm seasons, we tried to dream again. We made a little vision board together — nothing extravagant, just things a normal couple would hope for. A peaceful home. A reliable car. A future that didn’t feel like walking through broken glass.
But his face went dark, the way it always did when anything felt too good.
He looked at me and said,
“God hates me. We will never get any of this.”
And just like that, the air changed. The hope drained out of the room. My body learned — again — that peace wasn’t safe, and happiness wasn’t to be trusted.
It’s not your fault you feel this way. But you don’t have to stay there.
Sometimes it feels like emotions happen to us, like the weather. “I guess I’m just sad today.” “It is what it is.”
But here’s the part no one tells you:
You might not get to choose the feeling that shows up. But you do have a say in how long it stays there.
When we’ve been through trauma or long-term hurt, sadness, or pain can start to feel familiar. It’s almost comforting in a strange way. We stop trying to feel better because part of us doesn’t trust that “feeling better” is even possible. So we sit in the sadness like it’s the only place we belong.
Sometimes, without realizing it, we even let the pain in like a guest who shows up uninvited…. and we don’t ask it to leave. Not because we want to suffer, but because suffering is what we know. It feels predictable. Safe. Normal.
But here’s the truth:
You’re allowed to feel your feelings, and you’re allowed to move through them.
Pain doesn’t have to be your home anymore. You deserve moments of peace, even if they feel unfamiliar at first, because you deserve better.
It took me over 20 years to realize that I deserved better. I sat in my pain day after day—wishing it would go away, wanting it to stop—but doing nothing about it because it had become my comfort zone. I was stuck in a rut and had no idea how to pull myself out.
But once I finally recognized that I did deserve better, the answers started coming to me — sometimes slowly, and sometimes all at once.
I spent 24 years in an abusive marriage. Today, I can say I made it out. And so can you.
It’s not that you can’t feel better…it’s that you don’t trust better.
When you’re upset, it feels like nothing can touch you. Friends try to cheer you up, but their words bounce right off. You shut it down with,
“You don’t understand,” or “I can’t help the way I feel.”
Here’s the thing: you’re not wrong for wanting to sit in your feelings. Pain can feel safer than pretending everything’s okay. But sometimes, without realizing it, you hold on to that pain like proof. Proof that you were hurt, evidence that your feelings are real, proof that you’re not invisible.
And letting it go? That feels scary. Because misery, as heavy as it is, can start to feel familiar. Almost like home.
You’re not broken for feeling this way. You’ve just learned to live with despair for so long that happiness feels foreign. But here’s the truth: you deserve more than the familiar depression. You deserve peace, even if it feels uncomfortable at first.
Such was I. I lived in an abusive marriage for 24 years. When I finally dared to leave, I started reflecting and asked myself,
“Why had I stayed so long?”
In the future, I knew I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to end up in another abusive marriage. So I looked back at my past relationships, and they were all the same. Abusive.
Wow. Who am I? And why am I choosing this path?
That’s when I realized I had an addiction problem. I was addicted to pain—the pain and the drama of the chaos. I was stuck in a cycle, like a revolving door. So I constantly had to remind myself why I was leaving. I had to remind myself that I deserved better and that I should look for someone who was the complete opposite.
And that’s precisely what I did. Today, I stand on the other side of abuse. Stronger, freer, and committed to helping others find their own path out.
Need help? If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, emotional distress, or abuse, support is available 24/7:
Addiction Recovery: Call 866-606-0182 or visit our treatment center directory
“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein
Have you ever asked God, “Why?”
Have you ever questioned His existence?
Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?
Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?
Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?
Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?
Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?
Have you ever sought answers but found none?
Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”
Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?
Have you ever wanted to start all over?
Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?
Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?
Have you ever felt cursed?
Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?
I have.
“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi
How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that. But guess what? He understands. We were born questioning everything around us. That is how we learn and grow. The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked. Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers. Questions help solve problems. It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.
I hear you. I see what you endured. I believe every word you wrote.
You were a victim—not because you were weak, but because others chose to harm you, control you, silence you. It was not your fault. Not then, not ever. You were not to blame for the loneliness, the violence, the brainwashing, the betrayal. You were doing your best to survive inside a world that kept telling you to disappear.
And still, you are here. You are speaking. You are remembering. You are healing.
I honor your pain. I honor your courage. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to feel angry, sad, and confused. You are allowed to feel everything.
There is no right pace. No deadline. Only this: you are not silent anymore. And that is everything.
