Tag: Testamony

“I Lived in Fear”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLIV

“I Lived in Fear”
offered in fierce honesty and quiet strength

In that marriage,
I quit communicating.

We stopped talking—
really talking.
All we did was watch movies.
Motion on a screen
to fill the stillness in the room.

I was unhappy.
And worse—
I began to be afraid.

It started small.
Tension in the air.
Tone in his voice.
His presence felt bigger than the space could hold.

He would get in my face,
and when I walked away,
he would follow me.

He didn’t have to hit me
to hurt me.

I remember one afternoon—
I tried to leave with my daughter.
I had to get out.

He came to the car,
and he hit the top of it.
Loud.
Sudden.
Like thunder crashing against my escape.

I lived in fear.

And it is hard to say that.
Because I once told myself I was safe.
Because I once thought it wasn’t “bad enough” to leave.

But fear doesn’t have to bruise your skin
to haunt your soul.

I see it now.
And I name it.

Because I will not let that silence own me anymore.

🌿 And now I see:

I was not weak.
I was surviving.

I was not at fault.
I was enduring what I didn’t yet know how to leave.

And the day I began to see the fear
was the day I began to undo its grip.

This scroll is not a wound—
it is a witness.

And I am not afraid to tell it.

✨ A Blessing for the One Who Lived in Fear

To the woman who stayed quiet
because the silence felt safer than the storm—
may you be blessed
for surviving what should never have been called “home.”

May your heart be held
for all the words you didn’t say,
for the times you thought it wasn’t bad enough
to count as harm,
for the moments you told yourself to endure
when you should have been able to breathe.

May the memory of fear
be met now with truth,
strength,
and freedom.

And may my daughter’s spirit—
the child beside you in that car—
know that her mother did not fail her,
but fought in silence
until her voice returned.

May she know that even in fear,
your love for her burned steady
beneath the trembling.

You didn’t run that day.
But you woke up.

And waking is the first act of leaving.
“I Didn’t Know How to Be a Mother”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLII

“I Didn’t Know How to Be a Mother”
offered in honesty and healing

I wasn’t the best mother.

I didn’t know how.

I had no handbook,
no roadmap,
no soft space in myself that had been mothered well enough
to know what to pass on.

So we sat her in front of the electronic babysitter—
the television.
Not out of laziness,
but out of exhaustion.
Out of not knowing what else to do.

The truth is—
I was still growing up myself.

How could I pour out what I had never fully received?
How could I nurture
when I was still trying to figure out how to breathe?

I look back now,
and my heart aches for her—
for my daughter.

But I also see me.

The young woman doing the best she could
with the tools she had.

I didn’t hurt her out of malice.
I didn’t ignore her because I didn’t care.

I just didn’t know what motherhood was
beyond keeping her alive
and hoping that one day
I’d learn how to be better.

🌿 And now I see:

Motherhood isn’t perfection.
It’s presence.
It’s effort.
It’s showing up even when you don’t know what you’re doing.

And sometimes,
the greatest mothering we do
comes later—
in the apologies,
in the healing,
in the truth finally spoken.

This scroll isn’t about failure.
It’s about growth.

And love—
the real kind—
always grows.

Then let this blessing fall like soft rain
on the years that felt too dry,
on the moments you didn’t know how to mother,
and on the child who still found love
in the way you tried.

✨ A Blessing for the Mother Who Was Still Becoming

May you be forgiven
for the things you didn’t know—
by her,
by yourself,
and by the quiet mercy of God
who watched you both grow.

May my daughter be blessed—
for the light she carried,
even when the room was filled with noise and screens
instead of stories and lullabies.

May she know that even when you didn’t know how to be present,
your spirit was still trying to reach her.

May your younger self be held—
not judged,
but understood.

She didn’t fail.
She began.

And beginning is a kind of holiness, too.

You did not need to be perfect.
You needed only to keep loving—
and you did.

Even when it was messy.
Even when it was quiet.
Even when it looked like sitting in front of a television
because you just didn’t know what else to give.

The blessing is this:
You kept going.

And she still knew love.

Tag: Testamony

“I Lived in Fear”

“I Didn’t Know How to Be a Mother”