Being raised in the church after years of “worldliness,” I wasn’t very good at keeping Jesus on my mind and boys off of it. I tried. I failed. Often.
I was taught that my purpose as a woman was simple: cook, clean, raise children, submit to my husband, love God, and be strong for everyone else. I became delusionally submissive, because that was what earned approval. I learned quickly that people didn’t want me—they wanted someone they could shape.
I did what was expected, even when resentment quietly took root. I was helping raise someone else’s children, caring for someone else’s home, supporting someone else’s marriage, and slowly realizing how replaceable I felt. Less like family. More like unpaid help.
Amber wanted us to look like the perfect God-fearing family, without practicing those values behind closed doors. She thrived on attention—especially from men who admired her “godliness.” It never crossed obvious lines, but it lived in lingering looks, soft laughter, and flirtation. Trevor wasn’t as committed as he appeared either: secret conversations, hidden food that broke our strict rules, and quietly giving me access to the laptop when I wasn’t allowed to have it.
From ages eleven to seventeen, I looked like the ideal homeschooled teenager—quiet, polite, eager to please. Inside, I was starving to be loved.
MySpace was everything back then. I had two versions of myself: one account for church people, including Amber, and one that was actually me. I learned early that men liked “young and innocent.” I was curious, aware, and completely unprepared for what that attention really meant. Among the many unsafe interactions, I eventually met my now-husband—but that story comes later.
When I was sixteen, I met a boy named Brandon. He didn’t belong to the church or my world, but he was there every day as I rollerbladed past his porch. The first time he spoke to me, I could barely get my words out. Everything felt electric. Easy. Safe.
We talked constantly through an old iPod Trevor had given me. Brandon never pushed. Nothing felt forced. When we couldn’t see each other openly, I snuck out to meet him by a pond behind our trailer park. I thought I was in love.
I didn’t know it then, but everything in my life had been training me for silence.
I had learned to obey before I learned to question.
To please before I learned to protect myself.
To confuse attention with love and restraint with worth.
So when I stepped into that night believing I had finally chosen something for myself, I had no idea how little choice I actually had.
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