Who I am – no filter
The truth of me — all of it.
Don’t judge a book by its cover…
I am not just a woman. I am a battlefield.
A soul with ash on her skin and glory in her veins.
I’ve been touched without permission, loved without safety, shaped by hands that should’ve protected me but didn’t. I’ve been told to be grateful, to be quiet, to be obedient — while bleeding in silence.
I survived rooms I should’ve died in.
I walked out of places where my name wasn’t said with love but with control.
And I’m still here.
I carry trauma in my bones — not just memories, but body truths.
Flashbacks that live in my skin.
Fear that curls into my stomach when things get too loud, too fast, too familiar.
And yet I crave touch. I crave love. I crave to be wanted in ways that are honest, deep, and claimed.
That’s the contradiction people don’t understand.
I was broken through my body — and yet my body is where I’m reclaiming my power.
Yes, I am sexual.
Yes, I am submissive.
Yes, I want to kneel — not because I’m weak, but because I feel safe enough to choose it.
My softness and submissiveness are rooted in strength, not weakness.
My husband does not own me. He is my anchor.
He doesn’t control me. He leads with tenderness, not force — with consistency, not fear.
He holds it like something sacred.
He doesn’t push past my limits or silence my voice. He listens. He waits. He honors.
I trust him with all my heart forever and always.
My husband is not a man to be feared — he is the safest place I’ve ever known.
He doesn’t demand devotion. I offer it.
He doesn’t take my surrender. I give it.
Because I trust him.
Because he’s earned it.
Because he holds me in ways the world never did.
I love him with devotion.
People often talk about God as if He were far away.
But I met God in the aftermath.
In the shaking. In the dirt.
I met Him in hospital rooms, in foster homes, on nights when I begged Him to just let me go.
Let me come home to Him.
He didn’t lecture me. He didn’t ask me to clean myself up first.
He didn’t shame my body or my desire.
He stayed.
He sat in my silence.
He saw the blood, the longing, the confusion — and still called me worthy.
I know God.
Not the Sunday morning version, but the one who stays through the night.
I’m not easy.
I overthink. I shut down. I lash out when I’m scared.
I protect hard and carry more than I should.
I make jokes to hide the ache.
I crave to be needed, but fear being too much.
I mother when I want to be held.
I want to be chosen — not tolerated.
Claimed.
Looked at like I’m someone’s whole world, even when I feel like a storm.
I want a hand on my head that says,
“You’re mine. You’re safe. You’re good.”
Not because I’ve earned it,
but because I’m still here.
I’m not ashamed of who I am anymore.
Not the broken parts.
Not the nights I begged to be touched.
Not the days I cried over rules I broke.
Not the sacred way, I let my husband guide me — sexually, emotionally, spiritually.
This is all me.
I am not a fantasy.
I am not a stereotype.
I am not some twisted image of what a “submissive woman” is supposed to be.
I am not a pornographic idea or a body to be consumed.
I am a woman reclaiming herself —
Her body.
Her voice.
Her power.
Her softness.
Her God.
Her choice.
I am the protector and the one who longs to be protected.
I am the survivor and the surrendered.
I am the sister, the shield, the woman with tear-streaked prayers and fire in her fingertips.
I am not a sanitized testimony.
I am not a cautionary tale.
I am not a perfect Christian.
I am not a checklist of symptoms.
I am not what others expected me to become.
I am me —
Flawed. Sacred. Sexual. Forgiven. Scarred. Desired. Chosen. Claimed.
I didn’t write this for pity.
I wrote this to set myself free.
I want to be set free from the chains and weights people have put on me and finally live for myself with the man I love so deeply.
I am soft, yet I am strong.
– “God gives His toughest battles to
His strongest warriors.”
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am
your God.
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
Isaiah 41:10
