hat morning changed everything. I stood there blindsided, breathless, fighting desperately for my life while trying to digest what was unfolding right before my eyes. The hands of my husband that had once held and protected me were now callously and mercilessly strangling me.

The pernicious effects of alcohol from the night before had taken its toll on him as it permeated the atmosphere and manipulated him to nearly end my life that morning. Just when I thought I would take my last breath in my helplessness and apparent defeat, the Lord placed my oldest daughter in my view. She appeared to be praying and internally fighting as she witnessed my struggle. She inspired me and instantly activated my maternal prowess to live for my baby girls. I needed to be there for them and be a testimony of God’s omnipotence and saving grace.

This explosive domestic event caused a shift in the trajectory of my life and the lives of my two daughters. Bonds were severed, hearts were torn, and lives were broken, while we were abruptly uprooted from our comfort zone and placed at an unwelcome crossroad that morning. I would have never imagined waking up to this appalling and menacing entanglement with the love of my life — the person I considered to be my safe space. I felt like I had been sleeping with the enemy.

That day marked the beginning of the girls’ and my journey of adversity, opposition, loss, and isolation. Unbeknownst to me, the internal upheaval that transpired that morning stripped the lid off of Pandora’s box and exposed secrets that took my breath away and almost tempted me to feel hopeless. From that day forward, I was relentlessly bombarded with unforeseen and unimaginable discoveries that surfaced and spoke volumes that I was dealing with more than just a domestic incident in my current crisis. Spiritual warfare was staring me right in the face leaving me terribly flummoxed as it attacked me from multiple angles.

At this time, my situation was looking pretty dismal, but God! This catchphrase, “But God,” has been my mantra in every seemingly insurmountable situation because I’m aware that no one “but God” can deliver me in these situations.

I survived. Not just that morning, but the days that followed as I adjusted to my new reality as an instant single mom. I survived the silence and shame from friends and family who felt uncomfortable with my new family profile.

I survived the stigma from being both a professional and a victim — the weight of “Professional Stigma” and “Helper Syndrome.” These are the unspoken beliefs that personal struggles, particularly those involving domestic violence and mental health, are incompatible with being a competent professional. That professionals should be emotionally resilient, even immune to such societal concerns.

I survived the manipulation and gaslighting from my then husband about that horrific morning, because there had been no prior history of physical abuse in our marriage. Or, was I simply unaware of the intangible and subtle ways abuse can manifest? In this struggle, I learned that abuse has many faces: emotional, verbal, mental, physical, spiritual, sexual, and financial.

It is far more prevalent than most of us realize. That’s why our counseling — my counseling — and education focused on healthy relationships among families, friends, co-workers, and significant others, and was nothing short of revolutionary.

I also survived the misunderstanding and ridicule from both the church community and the system, neither of which fully grasped the precarious nature of our situation. Both could benefit from education, awareness, and compassion in these areas. Navigating the social system in search of resources to meet our basic needs gave me a whole new perspective. As a healthcare provider, I had no idea how unsettling and often insensitive the process is. I never imagined how scarce and difficult it is to find real help for individuals broken by relational, social, or financial crises.

As for the church, abuse is a topic too often swept under the rug, as if silence will make it disappear. There is a deep and troubling denial, an unwillingness to acknowledge the reality and prevalence of abuse, even within its own walls. This left me feeling broken, isolated, and misjudged. Ironically, we were treated like villains, when, in truth, we were the victims.

In the meantime, I had no earthly idea of the magnitude of anguish and heartache the girls and I would suffer along this journey, but I knew the omnipresence of our Heavenly Father would suffice in these difficult times. Residing in the “secret place” of the Most High God was our refuge and respite from the storm. Here we could spiritually refuel while God nurtured, healed, and revived us so that we didn’t look like what we were going through. Hallelujah!

Here, devoid of distractions, we could clearly hear Him speak to us words of wisdom and instruction to help us navigate through this storm. When all hope seemed gone because the typical earthly strongholds we relied on daily by default disappointed us, my God proved Himself to be more than enough. I was quickly reminded that God trumps every earthly stronghold — one’s village, the legal system, and the church. He is the Stronghold par excellence, the true “Rider” or “Ride or Die.”

God has given the biblical charge that we are to bear each other’s burdens in Galatians 6:2 and help each other on our heaven-bound journey. And by divine orchestration, my wound of affliction morphed into a womb of life birthing my nonprofit organization in 2019 – Three Women And A Vision, Inc. (TWAAV), which focuses on the ministry of reconciliation and social service advocacy. The three women are my two daughters and myself, of course, and by God’s grace, we aspire to make a permanent footprint in this world that fosters a culture of healing, reconciliation, unconditional love, and forgiveness.