Chapter 8: A Revelation

Hey sis,

Before we step into this chapter, I want to take a moment to share something that carried me through this season of my life. It was more than a word—it was a prayer, a mantra, a daily conversation with The Most High. A lifeline, not just for me, but for you, for us.

We’ll use the PRAY method: Praise, Repentance, Ask, and Yield.

God, it’s me again.

Even in my confusion, even in my pain, I know one thing remains unchanged—Your love and grace. You are constant. You are real. You are with me. So today, we lift Your name in praise. We thank You for Your mercy, kindness, compassion, and unrelenting love. You are the Most High, the King of Kings, the One in control of all things. We trust You. We believe in You. We follow You.

God, we ask for forgiveness.
Forgive us for our sins, for our ignorance, for the times we’ve fallen short. We know we’ll never be perfect, but we strive daily to reflect Your light. Help us walk in Your image, to radiate Your goodness in all we do.

Lord, I ask…
Take this pain from my heart. Lead me toward a righteous path. Remove anything from my life that doesn’t serve me or glorify You. Wash my heart clean of anger, grief, and bitterness. Help me see only what is good, what is true, what is You. Protect me, shelter me, and equip me with the strength to step into the changes You have planned for my life.

Yasha—Your name means to save, to deliver, to rescue.
So today, I surrender. My will, my desires, my fears—I place them in Your hands. I acknowledge Your authority and trust You to guide me. Lead me, Lord. Help me walk in faith even when I cannot see the path. Help us surrender, trust, and follow where You lead. Because at the heart of it all, faith is about trusting in Your wisdom and Your plan—even when we don’t understand it.

Amen.

I know that trust doesn’t always come easy. When pain clouds our vision, when doubt grips our hearts, believing feels impossible. For my sisters who aren’t yet in their full-fledged prayer warrior stage—I see you. I understand. And believe that I’m not one either. I’m just a girl who had nothing and had to believe in something.

Believing feels impossible when the weight of pain is crushing, when it’s not just our own burden but our children’s too. Staying strong feels like a battle we’re too tired to fight. Holding onto faith? Some days, it feels like grasping at air.

How do we trust in something we can’t see or touch when we struggle to believe in the one staring back at us in the mirror? When we can’t even feel our own strength, how are we supposed to feel His presence?

I get it. And you’re not alone.

I’m not here to pressure or convince you—The Most High moves hearts in His perfect timing. I’m not here to push religion on you; because in my own quest for a relationship with the Almighty, I’ve learned that religion is not what is important.

It’s ALL ABOUT GOD.

I’m here to declare the greatness of GOD and His unmatched power! What I will do is remind you that it’s okay—you are seen, you are loved, and He is always with you!

It’s okay to feel lost, sis. It’s okay to question. But when He opens the door to understanding, pay attention. Don’t turn away. Be open to receiving, and just as importantly, be willing to release the things that are not of Him.

What is meant for you will never abandon you. It will not harm you. It will not break you.

Just as we are called to trust in God’s power, we must also trust in the power He placed within us. Believe in your strength, trust your intuition, and honor your understanding. Believe that you are capable—capable of growth, of learning, of becoming. Silence the noise and turn inward—listen to your mind, your body, your soul. That is your closest connection to The Most High.

You are a divine spirit, temporarily housed in a human vessel.

Recognize your power, embrace your beauty, and step fully into your limitless potential!

One of the most powerful lessons I learned during that season of my life is this. God doesn’t just fix our problems for us. Instead, He equips us with the tools we need to create change. It’s on us to take accountability for the journey ahead. We must rise to the challenge. We need to trust and believe that through Him—and through the strength He’s placed within us—we are capable. We can overcome, grow, and step into the fullness of our purpose.

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Timeline: March 2017.
Due Date: May 10, 2017.

As I embraced the arrival of my newest tribe member, I did my best to navigate life’s highs and lows with grace. Through it all, I knew I was blessed.

God had granted me the gift of motherhood once again. He had given me the space to home-school my children, molding them into the people I knew The Most High wanted to see in the world. I had the opportunity to be for them what I had longed for—a constant source of love, guidance, and protection. Distraction-free.

I poured my heart and soul into Baby A. Nursing her brought me comfort, and at three years old, she was still attached to my breast—keeping our bond sacred and secure. The thought of another child on the way brought me comfort, knowing my beautiful girl would soon have a lifelong sibling and friend.

Over the past months, I had also dedicated myself to building a meaningful bond with Cipher’s family, especially his mother—the closest thing to a mother I had ever expected to have again. I was steadfast in my desire to create a loving, present, and consistent family for my children.

And then, out of nowhere, I received an email.

It was from my mother.

Remember what I said about God and His tools?

A bit of foreshadowing—my mother, my earth angel, played a significant role. She became one of my greatest support systems. Her support helped me escape my abusive relationship.

She expressed her desire to rebuild our relationship, asked about my well-being, and inquired about my baby girl. I responded with a heartfelt email, attaching a few pictures of Baby A—but I made no mention of my pregnancy. I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. First, trust needed to be established. On both sides. I knew she wouldn’t immediately divulge everything to me, and I wasn’t prepared to do so either.

Still, I was grateful to hear from her, even if it was just a simple hello. To me, it was an unimaginable blessing—proof that God was working on my life. This was my reward for humbling myself, for changing my ways, for taking accountability. And in some sick way I believed that this was also a reward for honoring my “husband.” I believed I was finally breaking free from the vicious karmic cycle.

I kept our emails private. I didn’t want Cipher interfering with this reconnection. As time passed, our exchanges became more frequent, eventually evolving into phone calls. Whenever we scheduled a call, I’d take Baby A to the park to ensure privacy.

I’ll never forget the day she asked, “So, when are you due?”

I was sitting on a park bench, watching Baby A climb the play-set. The question caught me off guard—I froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. But then, I chose honesty.

“Soon. Very soon. I’m actually due on Grandma’s birthday.”

“That’s beautiful. Congratulations,” she said simply.

I was grateful that she left it at that. No probing questions. No demands for explanations. Just acknowledgment and respect. It was exactly what I needed—just enough.

As my relationship with my mother flourished, so did the distance between Cipher and me. We existed in the same space. There was a quiet, unspoken separation between us. Neither of us seemed eager to bridge the gap. The more I reconnected with my mom, the more I realized how much I had been missing. Her presence, even from afar, filled a void I had long accepted as permanent. It brought me joy, a sense of clarity, a fresh perspective. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had something good, something pure, something real.

But even as I clung to the good, the abuse persisted. It grew more frequent, more relentless. Worst of all, it no longer came with apologies. No remorse. No repentance. It was bold, unashamed, deafening. And though I had learned to endure it—to brace for impact, to push through—I never truly grew numb to the pain. It always cut just as deep.

Still, I refused to question my relationship with my “husband,” fearing that doing so would only bring harsher consequences. So, I did what I had always done. I convinced myself that if I focused on the light, the shadows wouldn’t consume me. That if I ignored the rot, it wouldn’t spread.

But denial can only hold back the truth for so long. When something is decaying from the inside, no amount of love, faith, or wishful thinking can make it whole. The ugliness, the poison, the festering truth—it always finds a way to seep through.

As my due date approached, the truth became impossible to ignore. Memories of my first postpartum experience flooded my mind, each one more haunting than the last. I remembered the physical pain, the exhaustion, the unrelenting weight of responsibility. But more than anything, I remembered how alone I had felt. How much I had suffered in silence. How in danger. How unprotected I was; and at the hands of my leader, my “husband”.

Despite all my preparation—finding the right doctor, grounding myself in my faith, doing everything I could to convince myself that I had control—I couldn’t shake the fear. Because deep down, I knew that none of it would matter if I wasn’t safe.

I needed a game plan to secure my safety, at least for those first few weeks. At least until I had healed. The thought of enduring the same suffering I had after Baby A’s birth was unbearable. I had to find a way to protect myself, to ensure I wouldn’t be left vulnerable when I was at my weakest.

And so, I devised a plan—a calm, well-thought-out, foolproof plan… or so I believed. I decided to lean on my closest allies. First, Baby A’s Godmother and Godfather, my dearest friends—let’s call them Tia and Tio. I invited them to come down and visit. To be there for the birth of our newest crew member. I kept it casual, making no mention of the struggles I had been facing. I figured they didn’t need to know.

A crowd tends to make an abuser put on their good-boy mask.

When they said they’d come down to Florida I was thrilled. Step one- complete. Next and most importantly, I turned to the one person I believed could keep Cipher in check—his mother. Let’s call her Lena.

I leaned into my relationship with Lena like never before. We had always had a decent bond, but I made sure we were closer than ever. I helped with her business, kept in frequent contact, and turned to her as a resource to better understand Cipher. I hoped that, as his mother, she could be a voice of reason—someone with the authority to guide him, to step in when I couldn’t.

I encouraged Lena to come stay with us in our home—just for a little while after Baby M was born. Just until I was back on my feet. I told myself it was a better solution than being alone. That she would be there to help, to keep things in order, to act as a buffer between Cipher and me when I was too weak to meet his demands.

When Lena agreed to stay with us, I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Relief washed over me. For the first time in months, I allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—I wouldn’t have to endure this next chapter alone.

But when she arrived, I quickly realized that was never going to happen.

Baby M was born on May 12, 2017, after Cipher, Baby A and I were in a car accident that totaled our vehicle. A man in a big red pickup truck ran a red light, slamming into us head-on. The impact sent our car spiraling into oncoming traffic, where we were hit by two more vehicles. The damage was so catastrophic that even our engine was ripped from the car. I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, admitted, and kept for evaluation. My body bore the evidence of the crash—deep bruises, black and blues, battered ribs, a dislocated pelvic muscle. The seatbelt had locked so tightly on impact that it left a deep, bruised imprint across my stomach and chest—a brutal reminder of how close we had come to disaster. The doctors examined me carefully, their faces grim as they delivered the truth that sent a chill through my soul.

“If your seatbelt had been just two centimeters higher… it would have killed Baby M.”

Two centimeters. The difference between life and death. The weight of those words pressed down on me heavier than the wreckage of the crash itself.

During their examination, the doctors discovered I had already begun to dilate—Baby M was coming, ready or not.

And when she arrived, she barely made a sound. She was the quiet in my storm. Beautiful. Calm. Strong. A survivor before she had even taken her first breath.

Lena spent the days in the hospital with me, as did Tia and Tio. They helped immensely with Baby A, making sure I wasn’t alone. Once we were discharged and settled back home, things felt momentarily at ease. My plan had some minor flaws, but for the most part, it had worked. Surrounded by friends and Cipher’s family, I never had to be alone with him.

But peace, as usual, was short-lived.

Whenever I confided in Lena about Cipher’s treatment of me—my fears, my desperation—I begged her to intervene. But her response was always the same: dismissive, indifferent.

“You know how he is,” she’d say. Or, “You can’t tell him anything.” As if his behavior was simply an unchangeable fact of life.

Even when she witnessed his actions firsthand and tried to step in, it never took much for Cipher to silence her. The moment he grew agitated, she would shrink back.

“Okay, I’m sorry, calm down. Just calm down, Cipher. I’m just trying to help. I only want to have a conversation.”

He refused to listen. His words were always sharp, dismissive, and disrespectful. And her response was always to throw up her hands in surrender. And finally she had enough…

“Okay, you know what I’ll just go! I won’t stay where I’m unwanted! I came down here to help!” she’d declare, one of her signature phrases, before leaving. Avoiding confrontation entirely.

That’s when I understood: Cipher’s behavior had started long before I came into the picture. He was raised this way. Lena wasn’t just incapable of holding Cipher accountable—she refused to. She enabled him, excused him, allowed the cycle to continue. Instead of standing firm, she folded. Instead of correcting him, she cowered.

And in doing so, she sent a clear message—Cipher would never be held responsible for his actions.

Not by her. Not by anyone.

Once the chaos settled after Lena left, I was struck by a painful realization—Cipher wasn’t just this way with me. He was a terror to every woman he encountered, even his own damn mother. I found myself praying to The Most High, pleading for a sign, for guidance, for the tools to help me navigate my marriage. If his own mother couldn’t get through to him, who could?

The most heartbreaking realization of all was that no one could help me, no one could save me. There was no “buffer,” no reason to hold on to hope. I was trapped in a marriage with a full-blown sociopathic narcissist.

Yes, sis, I said it. A full-blown sociopathic narcissist.

And before you come for me—trust, I did my research. But I’ll break that down in a further chapter! The first step in my healing was dissecting this insignificant, slimy little parasite to make sure I wasn’t tripping.

One evening, after completing my nightly prayers, I sat in bed watching a Bible study on YouTube, led by a Hebrew Israelite elder in the community. The topic was marriage and the biblical grounds for divorce.

I remember whispering my desperate plea to God.

“Please… just give me a sign. Something. Anything. If this marriage isn’t right, help me see clearly, because it doesn’t feel right. I know what Your Word says. I want to honor my husband, but I don’t feel honored.“

And then, as if God Himself was answering me, I heard the elder reference Malachi 2:16: “For the Lord, the God of Israel, saith that He hateth putting away: for one covereth violence with his garment.”

God condemns violence in marriage.

I sat frozen, hanging onto every word, letting them sink into my soul. Abuse is a sin. Violence is a sin. The message played until I drifted to sleep, nestled between my daughters—their small, warm bodies pressed against mine. It was the only place I felt safe. Their presence was my shield, the invisible borders that kept Cipher away from me.

But I was wrong.

Cipher spent most evening on the balcony or in the living room which I preferred. But that night I woke up to the same violation.

The same disgusting, dehumanizing act.

But this time, something inside me snapped.

Warm, sticky semen covered my face. The smell, the sensation—it ignited something in me that I had never felt before. Pure, burning rage.

I roared.
“You’re a sick fuck! My children are right here! YOUR DAUGHTERS, are sleeping beside me—you animal! How dare you!”

For the first time in a long time, I saw fear flicker across Cipher’s face. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He leaned in close, his voice low, cold, and devoid of any emotion.

“They’re not awake.”
“They’re too young to know what’s going on.”

That moment shattered something inside me.

God ripped the blindfold from my eyes. I saw my life—the life my daughters would grow up in—with crystal-clear clarity. Even if their innocent eyes remained closed, their souls would feel this pain. They would absorb this violence, this toxicity, this horror. And one day, they would come to know it as normal.

I could not allow that.

I had every biblical right to leave. Every moral right. Every human right.

But I also knew I couldn’t just leave. Not yet. I had no one, no allies, no local resources, no money. But I had the will. And this would be the start of me finding the way.

This wasn’t survival anymore. This was war.

Stay tuned for Chapter 9:
The Road To Removal PT.1