FACE TO FACE WITH MY ABUSER

The day of my mother’s funeral, I stood courageously celebrating the life of a woman gone too soon — my mom. I thought I was prepared for that day. I had practiced how to hold back the tears, how to smile through the pain, how to be strong for everyone else. What I wasn’t prepared for… was him.

Standing in the same space was the man who had stolen my innocence — my abuser. A neighbor and trusted friend of my parents. He was the man who often worked on weekend home improvement projects with my dad, the man whose wife I knew, whose children I played with. I never told anyone. I thought it was my fault.

He was the one who said, “It’s okay, I’m only teaching you things you’ll need to know later — but don’t tell anyone. This is our secret. You’re special.”

Those words marked the beginning of years of confusion and brokenness. That experience planted the lie that love and sex were the same thing. It made me believe that being wanted meant being used. That men were supposed to look at me that way — and that I was supposed to welcome their lustful advances.

As I grew older, that confusion followed me. Dressing provocatively, flirting for attention, and seeking validation in all the wrong places became my normal. Promiscuity, unfaithfulness, even addiction to men — they were all labeled as sin I needed to turn away from instead of being understood as signs of deep-rooted trauma. I didn’t realize that I was acting out of pain — not rebellion.

Every time I remembered a painful part of my childhood, I buried it deep inside. I was too embarrassed, too afraid to face the questions: Why didn’t you tell? What did you do? Why didn’t you stop him? The guilt, shame, and fear built walls around my heart that I didn’t know how to tear down.

For years, I wore a mask — pretending I was okay. Pretending I could be a wife, a mom, a churchgoer, and a professional without addressing the insecurity just below the surface. That hidden pain led me down a path of inconsistency, selfish behavior, self-sabotage, and addiction. I was functioning — but not free.

Then God stepped in.

He showed me a different version of me — the real me, the one He created in His image. The one with His DNA. He gave me the courage to face my trauma head-on through therapy, prayer, and community. He surrounded me with people who didn’t just tell me to “move on,” but helped me heal.

And slowly, I began to see the beauty in my brokenness.

The woman who once lived in silence now speaks truth without shame.

The girl who once hid her story now shares it to help others heal.

Today, I am honored to use my voice to bring awareness to the long-term effects of childhood trauma — to remind others that you don’t have to stay in that place of fear and shame. Healing is possible. Freedom is real.

Because when God says you’re worthy — that’s exactly what you are.

If this story resonates with you, I invite you to comment on my social media posts, forward to someone who needs to see hope, follow me to read more about my journey and find encouragement for your own healing.

Here on Tonia Talks Now — we talk real life, real pain, and real victory.