Jul 11 • Testimony 🙌
Why I Left
People have asked me why I left, and for a while I struggled to answer. When you've lived in an unhealthy relationship for years, you don't leave because of one argument or one bad day. You leave because your spirit slowly realizes that what you're living in isn't love anymore.
When Joey and I first got together, there were good memories. We laughed, dreamed about our future, planned a wedding, built a home together, and I truly believed we would grow old together. Those memories were real, and I don't deny they existed.
But over time, those moments became fewer and farther between. What became normal was fear, confusion, walking on eggshells, and trying to predict what mood he would be in before I even walked through the door.
I slowly became responsible for managing his emotions. If he was angry, I tried harder. If he was distant, I blamed myself. If he yelled, I apologized even when I didn't know what I'd done wrong. I believed that if I could just love him better, clean more, work harder, say the right thing, or stay quiet at the right moment, maybe things would get better.
They never did.
He regularly screamed at me and called me degrading names. He told me he didn't respect me and never would. He often refused to communicate, using silence as punishment. If I tried to talk about our relationship, ask for counseling, or tell him I felt unsafe or unloved, I was told that was my problem instead of being heard.
The abuse wasn't only emotional.
He poured beer on me while I was taking a shower.
He forced his way into the bathroom during an argument, shoved the glass shower doors toward me, and then broke my full-length mirror.
He slammed a case of beer onto my work desk while I was sitting there hard enough to break the desk in half. Beer went everywhere, and I was the one who cleaned it up.
He threw laundry into the yard because it wasn't finished quickly enough.
He pushed me against a wall.
He put his hands around my neck and tried to choke me.
Those moments changed something inside me. I began to see "nothing" in his eyes during his angry episodes, and I became afraid of what he might do next. That fear became so real that I secretly recorded one of his outbursts because I felt I needed evidence in case something worse happened. Looking back, no one should ever feel the need to collect evidence against the person they love.
There were also constant forms of control.
He complained that I didn't contribute, even though I was working, buying groceries, paying household bills, decorating our home, caring for the yard, cleaning the house, and helping provide for the kids.
He threatened that if I didn't give him what he wanted sexually, he would get it somewhere else.
At one point he told me he wanted us to remain celibate until marriage because of his renewed faith. I respected that decision. Yet there were times afterward when he initiated sexual contact while I was asleep and then acted as though nothing had happened the next day. The confusion of hearing one message and experiencing another left me questioning my own reality.
Faith, which should have been a source of healing, became another source of pain.
He held a Bible in his hands and told me God had revealed that I was evil and that he should get rid of me.
We could leave church after hearing a sermon about love, grace, and forgiveness, only to spend the drive home listening to screaming, cursing, and criticism because laundry wasn't finished or something around the house wasn't done to his expectations.
He quoted Scripture about submission while refusing to practice the kind of sacrificial love that Scripture also commands.
I spent years trying to fix a relationship that couldn't be repaired by one person.
I asked for conversations.
I asked for counseling.
I prayed.
I forgave.
I stayed.
I left.
I came back.
Three different times I moved out, built a life somewhere else, began healing, and then returned because I hoped things would be different.
They weren't.
The final turning point wasn't because I stopped loving him.
It was because I realized I could no longer ignore what God had been showing me for years.
I was living in fear instead of peace.
I felt unsafe in my own home.
I felt unwanted in my own relationship.
I was constantly trying to earn love that should never have required earning.
Leaving was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made. It broke my heart because I wasn't walking away from someone I hated. I was walking away from someone I desperately wanted to become healthy.
I still prayed for him after I left.
I still hoped he would find healing.
I still wanted him to know Jesus in a deeper way.
But I finally accepted something that took me years to understand:
I cannot change another person.
Only God can.
Today, I don't tell this story because I want revenge.
I tell it because I never again want grief to convince me that it "wasn't that bad."
It was that bad.
The good memories were real.
The abuse was real too.
Both things can be true at the same time.
I didn't leave because I failed.
I left because, after years of trying everything I knew to do, I finally chose safety, truth, and obedience to God over staying in a relationship that was destroying me.
Jesus didn't abandon me.
He patiently kept reaching for me every time I left, every time I went back, and every time I prayed for the strength to see clearly.
This time, by His grace, I listened.
And I'm never going back.
If you're reading this and wondering whether you're crazy, whether it was really abuse, or whether you somehow caused it—I understand. I asked myself those same questions for years.
I don't have every answer, but I know this: peace doesn't grow where fear is watered every day.
I'm still healing.
Therapy helped. Safe people helped.
Most of all, my relationship with Jesus gave me the courage to believe that love doesn't have to hurt like that.
If my story helps even one woman recognize that she deserves safety and dignity, then telling it was worth it.
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Why I Left
