Sis, how are you!? I have to tell youâIâve been in the strangest space, within myself and with the people around me. This whole process has unearthed every emotion imaginableâugly, sad, hard, beautiful, and everything in between. And Iâm still trying to make sense of it all.
Thatâs the thing about healing and being vulnerable. Itâs not pretty. Social media and self-help books make it seem like a simple, linear journeyâlike all you have to do is follow a 10-step program. Say these mantras. See a therapist. Surround yourself with loving, supportive people. But what about my sisters who donât have anyone they can trust? The ones too ashamed to even begin speaking their truth, afraid of judgment or being misunderstood. What about those of us whose families refuse to extend grace, who wonât allow us to grow beyond our past? The ones who donât have friends or a safety net?
What about my sisters who canât afford therapy? Who canât follow a self-help checklist because even getting out of bed feels like carrying the weight of the world? And what about the ones who are still stuck. Who canât just leaveâbecause we all know leaving isnât just a choice; itâs a strategy. Itâs not as simple as packing a bag and walking out the door. Itâs planning, calculating, staying quiet, playing possum until itâs safeâuntil weâre ready.
Healing isnât neat. It isnât easy. But itâs real. And for every sister (or person rather) out there who feels unseen, unheard, or stuckâI see you. I feel you.
I hope that this storyâmy storyâreminds you that you are not alone. You are not stupid. You are not foolish. You are doing your best, and that is enough.
Every single day, you show upâeven on the days when it feels impossible. And if all you can do is get out of bed and take a shower, then that is enough. You are enough.
As you read this, I hope you feel the presence of someone who truly sees you. A real, honest, unapologetically raw friendâmaybe even a sister. Someone who isnât afraid to be vulnerable, who wonât sugarcoat the truth, who will stand beside you through the messy parts, not just the pretty ones.
And most importantly, I hope you know that I am rooting for you. Always.
Timeline: 2016
The next year of my life would be spent in what I like to call hibernation.
Now, I know what youâre thinkingââSis, hibernation? What are you, a grizzly bear? Were you curled up in a cave somewhere, dodging responsibilities and living off snacks?â
And honestly? Youâre not entirely wrong. But let me explainâŚ
Like a bear in winter, I disappeared into myselfâhiding from the cold, harsh reality of what my life had become. I was conserving energy, nursing my wounds, trying to make sense of it all, and preparing for the season when I would rise againâstronger, wiser, and ready to step back into the light.
But letâs be realâhibernation wasnât just about healing. It was also about dodging. Dodging the truth, dodging accountability for the role I played in the downfall of my own life. I wasnât just resting; I was retreating.
By definition, hibernation means withdrawing into a deep, restorative stateâa period of stillness, survival, and transformation. But itâs more than just sleep. Itâs a conscious escape from the noise. A shedding of the weight I was no longer willing to carry. A reckoning with myself, whether I was ready for it or not.
I found myself searchingâgrasping for anything to numb the pain, to quiet the storm raging inside me. I reached for things bigger than myself, desperate for something that could patch the wounds I wasnât ready to face. And I found a few.
Work was always a welcome distraction, a space where I could breathe. I had a small circle of coworkers who became more than just colleaguesâsome of them remain my closest friends to this day.
Smoking weed became my escape, my refugeâthe only thing that could quiet the relentless storm in my mind, even if it only lasted a little while.
There was religion. Within the 12 Tribes of Israel and the Hebrew Israelites, I found more than just faith. I discovered a community and a support system. I found a way to make sense of the chaos that had taken root inside me. More importantly, I discovered a way to incorporate more discipline in my world. I felt I needed to believe in something. Something bigger than myself.
And to top it off, Cipher and I found ourselves teetering on the edge of yet another journeyâarguably the biggest (and most chaotic) distraction of all. Because clearly, we hadnât had enough change already, right?
Parenting. Again.
I will never forget how the conversation started.
I was on the balcony, smoking a joint after putting Baby A to sleep, scrolling through social media, and there it wasâagain. Another post. Photo’s of my family, gathering, celebrating. Another reminder that somewhere, people who once called me their own were together, laughing, living⌠without a care in the world for me. And I broke.
Tears streamed down my face, silent but heavy, as I stared at the screen, praying to Godâbeggingâfor the pain to stop. Thatâs when I heard the sliding door pull back.
Cipher stepped outside. He sat on the chair beside me, his presence grounding me in a way I couldnât explain.
“Get up,” he said, motioning for me to come closer. “Sit on my lap. Talk to me baby-girl. Whatâs wrong?”
His voice was soft, coaxingâpulling at the little girl inside me who just wanted to be seen.
“We have a great life, my love” he continued. “Iâve given you everything you asked forâa beautiful home, a peaceful place. Baby A is thriving. What is wrong now?”
And just like that, the seal broke, and the words came rushing out like a flood, unstoppable and unfiltered.
“I want a family too!” The words tore from my throat, raw and desperate, tumbling out between ragged breaths. “I want to feel whole. My family hates meâand I hate them! Itâs so f*cked up. No one speaks to me. No one cares. I have no one. No support. No allies. My child will grow up alone, never knowing the joy of a big family, never feeling that warmth, that belonging.” My voice cracked, but I kept going. I couldn’t stop.
“And my fatherâhe gets all the grace. No one holds him accountable for what he did. I bet no one even questioned him. No one told him he was wrong. Or alienated him! But me? Iâm the outcast. Iâm the sacrifice for everyoneâs comfort. I always am! Why?!”
Now, sis, let me pause for a secondâbecause looking back, I see it so damn clearly. In that moment, I wasnât just talking about my family. A huge part of me was talking about Cipher, too. It wasnât just them who made me feel like the sacrificial lambâit was him, too. It was all of them.
As long as everyone could blame me, who needed to take responsibility? I was the one they threw under the bus to avoid facing their own mess. The scapegoat, the punching bagâthe one carrying all the weight while they walked away, untouched and free.
My chest heaved. I held up my phone with shaking hands. The post that shattered me was still glowing on the screen. “Look at this” I cried. ” And what do I have? Just you and Baby A. Thatâs it.”
And then he said something that set my soul on fire.
“So letâs make more of us.”
“Letâs build a family so big youâll never feel alone again.
Whatever you want, itâs yours.”
Even in the midst of my chaotic outburst, he seemed so rational. He was the calm in the storm of my tears and rage, always so steady, so collected. When he said those words to me, somehow they felt like a solution. It was like everything he had doneâevery hurt, every violation, every moment of painâjust disappeared from my mind. It was as if I barely even remembered those things anymore. I was desperate for things to be better. I needed a way out of the endless cycle of pain.
It didn’t take much convincing at all. Just like that, we were working on Baby #2.
PAUSE! Now, before you even go thereâI already know what you’re thinking.
“What in the world were you thinking, sis?! Another baby?! With that man?! Are you serious?! What made you do something so reckless?!”
Hold on, sis. Let me explain.
Iâm not just here to tell you my storyâIâm here to share the lessons Iâve learned along the way. I donât want you to get stuck like I did. And if youâre already in it, I want to help you recognize it, own it, and get out.
Hereâs the lesson Iâve learned: Being with someone who manipulates you can twist your reality in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. When you’re isolatedâwhether by choice or because theyâve pushed you away from everyone elseâyou become so much more vulnerable. You make decisions that seem like theyâre about survival, but in reality, they only pull you deeper into their control. Isolation clouds your judgment. Before you know it, youâre making choices that only feed the pain. You start to believe the only way to salvation is through your abuser. However, the truth is, the real way to salvation is away from them. You become so desperate for relief. You start accepting the bare minimum. You convince yourself that itâs the best youâll ever get.
And sis, thatâs exactly what I was doing. Looking back, I can see it nowâthat wasnât the right choice. But in the moment, it felt like the only one that made sense.
But I did learn a lot from my first pregnancy, and I was determined to make sure things were different this time. Or at least, that was the goal. I was determined not to repeat the same traumas, not to fall into the same destructive patterns. At least, that was the plan on the surface.
First, I set out to find the perfect doctorâsomeone who wasnât just skilled, but truly compassionate. I needed someone who saw me, not just as a patient, but as a person. Someone patient, kind, and most importantly, BLACKâa reflection of the strength and resilience I knew I needed to find within myself.
Second, I kept it all to myself for the most part of my pregnancy. No fake support, no empty congratulations, no baby showers filled with pity gifts from people who didnât truly care. It was just me and my growing baby, walking this path togetherâquietly, intentionally.
Third, I made a deliberate choice to let go of anything that tied me to my past. If it wasnât helping me heal, it had no place in my life anymore. I unfollowed, deleted, and blocked most of my family on social media. I couldnât bear to keep seeing their lives move on without me, and I sure didnât need them witnessing mine. I refused to be one of the subjects of their “hot topics” at the next family gathering. I couldnât carry that pain any longer.
I turned inward. I shut out the noise, the distractions, the world, and focused on what truly mattered. I leaned into God, trusting that the healing I needed would come from within. Peace would come from surrendering to Him, and the wisdom from my newfound faith would guide me.
This pregnancy I vowed to myself that, I wasn’t seeking validation. I wasnât asking for approval. I was proving something to myself: that I, too, deserved redemption. That I, too, deserved love.
And if I couldnât find it within the family I was born intoâŚ
Then I would create my own.
At first, my pregnancy with Baby M was peaceful. Effortless, even. My body embraced the changes with open armsâno morning sickness, no pain, no stress. Cipher was working long hours at a busy dealership, so he was rarely home, and honestly? I loved it.
With the money he was bringing in, he encouraged me to stay home, to relax and enjoy my pregnancy. And I tried to. I really did. But of course, there were rules.
- I wasnât allowed to leave the community.
- I wasnât allowed to have friends over.
- I wasn’t allowed access to the car.
But I had faith. A new, unshakable belief that God was guiding my steps. That Cipher, as my âhusband,â was doing all of this for my protection. And so, I submitted. I put my trust in God and then in my “husband”.
Most of my pregnancy was spent in quiet solitude, just me and Baby A. And for a while, it was everything I needed. We spent most of our days at the community pool. We played at the community park, painted, and did yoga. I even started homeschooling my little one. It was a rare moment of stillness. It was a chance to just beâa mother, a vessel, a woman preparing to bring life into the world once more.
When Cipher was home, he was different. Softer. More patient, more present. He liked that I wasnât sick this time, that I wasnât miserable. And my increased sex drive? A win-win for him.
For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe that this time⌠things would be different.
But that peace was only temporary.
As my second trimester crept in, my body began to betray me. Exhaustion consumed me. I had gained over 60 pounds, and simple tasksâhousework, cooking, even standing for too longâfelt impossible. But more than that, I couldnât keep up with my “wifely duties“, if you know what I mean. And that? That was unacceptable to Cipher.
It only took three weeks before he was teetering on the edge. But this time, he didnât explode in rage. This time, he was calculated.
“I have needs,” heâd say, over and over.
I was too exhausted to meet any of those demands. My body felt like it was dragging through mudâheavy, sluggish, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I was always hot, unbearably hot, and the 90-degree Miami heat didnât make it any better. I couldnât catch a break.
And then came the night I will never forget.
I was asleep on our low, Asian-style bed when I felt somethingâa presence. My eyes fluttered open, and there he was, standing above me. His breathing was shallow, his body moving in a way that made my stomach turn. And before I could reactâbefore I could even process what was happeningâit hit me.
Warm. Sticky. Humiliating.
He had ejaculated all over my face.
As he turned away, his voice was calm, cold.
“If youâd just do your job as a wife, I wouldnât have to do any of this shit.” he spat. “This is your one job.”
âWives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.” Ephesians 5:22-24 ran though my mind.
The only way I could make sense of what had just happened was by convincing myself that I deserved it. And for a long time, thatâs exactly what I believed. I told myself I had failed my “husband”, that this was the consequence of my own selfishness. I thought I had brought this upon myself.
And just like that, the last of my dignity washed away.
As he walked away, I scrambled for somethingâanythingâto wipe myself clean. My hands shook as I fumbled in the darkness, my breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. I couldnât believe what had just happened. And whatâs worse?
I couldnât understand why this cut deeper than all the times before. Worse than the relentless criticism, the cruel remarks that chipped away at my spirit. Worse than the constant pressure to satisfy his every need, even when I had nothing left to give. Worse than the tearing of stitches.
This was different.
This was a new level of humiliation. A new depth of dehumanization.
I was pregnantâcarrying his child. Nurturing his daughter within me. How could he look at me, this bodyâthe temple that held his flesh and bloodâand defile it like that? How could he stand over me while I slept, helpless, and strip me of the last shred of dignity I had left?
I was doing the workâsacrificing my body, my energy, my very being to bring our child safely into the world. And yet, in that moment, he saw me as nothing more than a thing to be used, discarded, and left thereâdirty, ashamed, and broken.
This became the norm in our household for years to come. A twisted routine. If Cipherâs needs werenât met, there would be consequences. And so, I did everything in my power to keep him satisfiedâto meet his requirements, to avoid the inevitable punishment.
But eventually, exhaustion swallowed me whole. My body gave out before my will did, and I had no choice but to accept my fate.
I barely slept at night, training myself to stay awake, fighting off sleep like it was my enemy. Iâd wait for daylight when Cipher was at work to finally rest. But try being seven months pregnant and resisting sleepâŚ
Yeah, sis. Impossible.
I kept telling myself I deserved this. That this was my karma, the consequence of every mistake Iâd ever made. I had disobeyed my parents, defied God, and gone against my familyâs wishes. This was my punishment. My grandmother always says, “We all have a cross to bear.” And in my mind, this was mineâone of many, but it felt like the heaviest one yet.
I told myself I had to endure it. That leaving wasnât an option, that dishonoring my âhusbandâ would only bring more suffering, more karma, more pain.
Somewhere between my past, my faith, and the hope for a future that felt impossible, I was trapped. And there was no telling if Iâd ever find a way out.
And so, I stayed. Trapped in the cycle, uncertain of what would come next, but knowing one thing for sure: something had to give… and soon.
Chapter 8: A Revelation
Launching 4.4.25
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