Are You the One?

Part 1 of a series—my story, piece by piece. What I didn’t see then, I understand now.

Are You the One?
1 in 3—and I didn’t know I was one of them.

1 in 3.

I didn’t know.
How did I NOT know?

I didn’t see it coming. Somehow it slipped in quietly—little by little—until it took over my life.

And I’m not the only one.

I didn’t know it then… but I do now.

1 in 3 women experience domestic violence.

That means she is someone you know.
Your neighbor. Your friend. Your coworker.
Your sister. Your mother. The woman sitting next to you in church.

She may even be you.

I am one of those three.

For most of my 11-year marriage, I would have never called myself abused.

Because I thought abuse had to leave bruises.

My life wasn’t always miserable. I created happy moments. Sometimes even happy months. But they weren’t real. They were manufactured, forced, fragile.

The truth?

Negativity, anger, and control consumed him.

I lived my life trying not to upset him.
I rushed home when he called.
I slowly lost friendships because anything that took my attention away from him made him angry.

And no matter how hard I tried…

It was never enough.

The comments.
The “jokes” at my expense.
The constant criticism.
The feeling that everything was my fault.

I knew something wasn’t right.

But I didn’t call it abuse.

The worst parts of my life were the ones no one could see.

The names he called me.
The way he tore down my body, my worth, my identity.
The lies he planted—telling me I was unlovable, unwanted, unworthy.

Those wounds didn’t show on my skin.

They lived in my heart.

And they were heavy.

So heavy that I forgot what it even felt like to be worthy of love.

Even years later, his words still echoed in my mind, and I let them.

We tell ourselves that abuse has to be physical.

Something you can point to. Something you can prove.

But abuse rarely starts there.

It starts subtly.

A raised voice.
A harsh word.
A door slammed.
An atmosphere of fear.

And over time… it becomes your normal.

You begin to believe the problems are your fault.
You question your own reality.

You feel crazy.

Most of what I endured was emotional and psychological.

But there were moments it wasn’t.

The first time, he threw me against a wall and broke my collarbone.

I told no one.

I was ashamed. Afraid. Alone.

He apologized. He cried. He promised it would never happen again.

And I believed him.

But what I really learned was this:

Stay quiet. Stay small. Stay in line.

Walking on eggshells became my life.

There were other things.

Things I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud.

Like the time he left me on the side of the road with my baby because the crying made him angry.

I got out of the car because I believed obeying him was the only way to keep us safe.

That’s what abuse does.

It rewires your thinking.
It convinces you fear is normal.
It teaches you survival instead of truth.

I was exhausted. Drained. Hopeless.

But I stayed.

Because I believed I was supposed to.

As a Christian, I thought leaving meant failing. I thought being a “good wife” meant enduring.

I knew God as a promise maker and I wanted to be a promise keeper.

But I misunderstood something deeply important:

God values my life more than my marriage.

Love,real love,does not destroy you.

The shift didn’t happen all at once.

It happened through my son.

He started seeing the world negatively….just like his father.

And one day… he joined in.

Mocking me.

In that moment, something broke inside of me, but something stronger rose up too.

I realized:

I am raising someone’s future husband.
Someone’s future father.

And I will not raise a man who makes a woman feel the way I felt.

I already loved my future daughter-in-law enough to leave.

One day, during another argument, he told me I was too hard to love.

And for the first time… I pushed back.

“Everyone else in my life loves me.
My family. My friends. My clients.
Everyone, but you.”

And suddenly, I saw it clearly.

It wasn’t me.

It was him.

So I asked the question that changed everything:

“Why does everyone else see my worth, but you don’t?”

He had no answer.

Only silence.

Even then, leaving wasn’t immediate.

It would take him nearly strangling me to death with our 8-year-old sleeping beside me…

Before I finally walked away.

If any part of this story feels familiar—

If you’ve ever questioned your worth
If you’ve ever felt like you were “too much” or “not enough”
If you’ve ever lived in quiet fear behind a normal-looking life

Please hear this:

You are not crazy.
You are not the problem.
And you are not alone.

Love does not belittle.
Love does not control.
Love does not destroy your identity.

You are worthy of a love that is safe, steady, and life-giving.

And you don’t have to wait until it gets worse to choose something different.

If you or someone you know needs help, you are not alone.

• 📞 Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE)

• 📱 Text START to 88788

• 💬 Or chat online at thehotline.org

Available 24/7, confidential, and free.

My prayer for you

Wherever you find yourself right now, may you be overwhelmed with God’s love and may His face radiate His divine favor and peace over your life.

If you have experienced abuse you are not alone! Reach out to me any time at suntanincjess@gmail.com! Life is meant to be lived together in Christ!