Silence Is No Longer My Prison

Growing up, many of us were raised in environments where silence was expected—especially when it came to the difficult or painful realities within our homes. In my generation, it was common to be taught that whatever troubles existed behind closed doors, particularly those that carried shame or harm, were not to be spoken about. This unspoken rule became even more oppressive for those who, like me, were victims of child abuse. In these circumstances, silence transforms into a heavy burden—one that strips away the sense of safety and comfort a home is meant to provide.

Instead of being a sanctuary, home became a place of fear and uncertainty. The abuser not only inflicted harm, but also manipulated the truth—becoming an accuser who twisted reality and planted seeds of self-doubt. This distortion was often reinforced by other family members who, whether intentionally or not, contributed to the silence. The result was a suffocating atmosphere where lies took root and isolation became overwhelming.

For me, this cycle began at a very young age, deeply shaping how I saw myself and the world around me. The silence didn’t just hide the pain—it became my prison, making it nearly impossible to reach out for help or even acknowledge the truth of what I had endured.

For many years, I relied on my outward appearance as a shield. My radiant smile, carefully applied makeup, and perfectly styled hair became my armor—guarding a painful story I refused to acknowledge or share. When I entered a room, people saw what appeared to be confidence and happiness. The polished exterior often convinced others that I was carefree and untouched by worry. In reality, it was a mask, hiding deep hurt and vulnerability.

I’ll be honest—it was a story I kept buried in the back of my mind and tucked deep in my heart, so distant that I sometimes questioned whether the abuse even happened. To cope, I numbed the pain with alcohol, wore many masks, and became promiscuous—searching for comfort in all the wrong places. Silence is heavy, but behind it is a longing to be seen and heard for who you truly are.

That silence followed me for years.

Recently, as my walk with the Lord began, I participated in a Bible study based on God’s Design and Why It Matters: Rethinking Sexuality by Dr. Juli Slattery. The study opened a can of worms, forcing me to revisit memories and stories I never wanted to speak aloud. Still, one evening, the Lord kept tugging at my heart—urging me to share my story.

With hesitation and many tears, I spoke words I had buried for so long. I finally allowed the details and memories to see the light of day. Events I had tucked so far away—into what felt like another galaxy—were released in an evening of vulnerability. For the first time, my pain was witnessed.

In that moment, silence was no longer my prison.

The locked box in my heart was opened, and the work of healing began. First, I allowed the Lord to re-enter those old wounds—to bring truth and Scripture to confront the lies of the enemy. Then, through the help of my biblical counselor, I began to accept that the abuse did happen and—most importantly—that it was not my fault. Someone took my innocence at a very young age. Processing the anger, sadness, grief, shame, and guilt I had carried in silence became a vital part of my journey.

Next, I chose forgiveness.

Forgiveness has been deeply personal—a conscious decision not to hold onto the anger, resentment, guilt, and shame that once weighed me down. Instead of allowing old patterns of silence and self-blame to define my present, I am now intentionally making room for peace, hope, and empowerment to grow. This shift has been essential to my healing.

Through this process, I am learning to release the identity of victim and embrace who I truly am—a victor and a beloved child of God. I recognize that I am a woman created in His image, worthy of love, healing, and restoration.

The chains that once kept me silent have been broken.

I praise the Lord for leading me into this place of freedom, where I have finally found my voice. Now, I can share my journey in safe spaces, with the hope that my testimony will encourage and bless others who have also experienced the pain of child abuse.

Silence is no longer my prison.