Intro
It’s hard to know you’ve fallen in “love” with the wrong person, unless you’re watching it from hindsight. The blind veil of forbidden love is so sweet, you can almost taste it in his kiss. Mr. Wrong. All women don’t fall for this kind of guy; but then again, some of us who’ve never known real love will fall for anything the first time around.
All we are looking for in a man already exists. He’s beautiful inside and out. He’s kind, loving, consistent, forgiving, nurturing, honest, protective, and he wants nothing but the best for us. His name is Jesus Christ. Sound familiar? We can all know, love, and grow closer to him every day.
For those of us who didn’t know Him, at one time we may have thought we had it all; but lost everything, only to realize that without Him we’d truly have nothing.
If you don’t know about Jesus, one thing you can be sure of is that His love is perfect. Unconditional. He knows that us being perfect is the only thing we will never accomplish on Earth, but He loves each and every one of us anyways! He will never leave nor forsake us and He will use, but not abuse us. You wonder how I know this? Why Christians feel so strongly about Christ, a man we’ve never met? Why we call Him our Savior, Protector, Deliverer, our Rock and Refuge, and our Strength? If you read this book cover to cover, I assure you, you will understand.
If you came for a cliché story about a true love gone wrong or a good girl gone bad, this isn’t it. If you want the truth, a story of struggle, strength, blindness, pain, revelation, salvation, vision, and redemption; then continue on with me. Here’s my story.
If you've never endured it
When you hear the phrase “domestic violence”, you think of a cocky man that hits his wife or girlfriend because she’s cheated on him, or smacks her around occasionally because he’s gotten drunk and remembered the time she forgot to pick him up from work or pack his lunch, right? That’s just the simple definition. You imagine, that she loves him so blindly that she decides to stay, knowing that only what she allows is what will continue. You can see this woman having two very obvious choices: to stay or to go. But do you know how hard it really is? Do you know some women have been forced to leave everything they have, just to flee to safety? Do you know that in some instances women are genuinely afraid for their safety? Do you know women have been threatened to be hunted down and beat, raped or killed if they leave their abuser? Do you understand that physically men have prevented women from leaving their own place of residence? Do you know that someone’s abuser can appear to be the person they actually believe loves them the most? Do you know that most abusive relationships begin as the world’s greatest love stories, straight out of a story book? That cute puppy love, that seemed too good to be true, and it was. Then it becomes a nightmare you are stuck in. If you’ve prepared yourself with an open mind, good cup of tea or a comfortable chair, this may take a while. I will tell you how I personally entered into one of the worst mistakes of my life, how long I endured it all, and then how I got out of it.
As a child
I was christened, and grew up going to church with my Grandparents. I consider myself being raised by my Grandparents, because my Mom, brother, and I lived with them for most of our lives. My parents were never together, so the family I knew was with my Mother and younger brother. My Grandmother was and still is the rock in my life. The epitome of a strong woman who continuously overcame the odds. And Grandpa. He was the man of my dreams. He was the perfect example of a hard-working, generous, loving, yet stern man who would do anything for his family.
I stayed with my real Father occasionally on the weekends, where I got to spend time with my younger sister, my Step-Mom and Uncles. I never had a chance to develop a close bond with my Father, because he was always working, or playing soccer, or simply not interested in getting to know who I was. The memories I have of conversations with him are about why my Mother allowed me to smell like smoke every time I came over, why my clothes were always too tight, why I dyed my hair, why I wasn’t doing well in school, and most memorably why I was the “bad child”. Our father-daughter bond was lacking love, encouragement, and a true connection deeper than the one provided by a shared bloodline. But my uncles, I loved them! They always bought me gifts, they never forgot my birthday, they always gave me money, they always played with my sister and I; they were always there. My Tios were the Dads I never had, so I began to trust them easily. One night, when I was still a preteen, my sister fell asleep watching t.v. with me, in her room. In the shadows of the hallway I saw my favorite Tio gesture for me to come into his bedroom, holding out the remote to show me I could watch t.v. with him; which wasn’t unusual, except for the fact that everyone else was asleep this night. I innocently went into his room and jumped on the bed and snuggled under the covers. After too long, he turned off the television, got closer to me, then touched, then kissed, and have proceeded to have sex with me. This happened only twice at my Father’s house before I vowed to myself that I would never return. I never took the time to explain to my Father exactly how this happened or why I didn’t want to come back to stay. This only added to the confusion caused by this seemingly unmentionable event. He presumably believed that I just didn’t want to be there and I silently wished that he would just open up and ask me what was wrong. But we were both too hard-headed to communicate with each other, which made it even more painful.
Fast forward to age 13. My mother got married for the first time, so her, her husband, my brother and I moved from a small town to a significantly larger city. I was still young and unsure of myself, but I liked being in a different place with new people. I made friends quickly in school, but young men seemed to be very fond of me especially. I began dating my friend’s younger brother, and chose (too soon) to have sex for the first time with him. He complimented me about my body and my beauty (in that order), and I became accustomed to, and actually looked forward to those compliments from him and other guys. This prompted other boys to think that because I had sex with him, they were able to have that same privilege. Two boys, in particular that I knew from school, were so determined one day, that while I was visiting a friend (after my boyfriend had left the house) the two guys surrounded me in the hallway of the house, and tried to force me into a room with them. I ran out of my friend’s house, around the block while trying to catch my breath, and grasp what actually could’ve have happened if they’d succeeded.
I didn’t see far enough into myself to see any true beauty, so I always wondered why people thought I was beautiful. However, I also took their word for it and felt validated by their flattery. Although most people chose not to look any further than skin deep. I was okay with that. Why? You ask. Because I didn’t know any better. No one taught me how to have respect for myself. No one taught me that I didn’t have to please everyone, nor should I try to do so. No one lectured me on how to determine my self-worth at a young age. I never understood why people would always call me “beautiful” when I thought I was ugly, rather than calling me smart or funny. I was always just “fine”, which translated to something everyone thought they could get a piece of.
Blinded
At the tender age of fourteen, while on my way to my girlfriend’s house I met a man, crossing the street. He stopped me, complimented me, made me smile, and told me that he was twenty-five, never seen anyone like me before, didn’t want to have sex with me, but wanted to make me his wife. (Heard that all before? Watch out for those pick-up lines!) I was taken aback by this, yet flattered, and I thought he looked older, but I could’ve cared less. I thought, maybe I could get more out of messing with him than sharing hoodies and riding around on bike pegs with these young dudes. From that point on, he proceeded to try to prove to me that he was such a good guy and would take care of me. He would always buy me things, take me to get my hair or nails done. One invitation to a day to hang out with him, turned into a trip to the hotel. He told me he loved me and didn’t want to hurt me, and that this was all my choice. I fell for it and gave in to his advances. This was all a front for
