The Silence That Wasn’t Consent.

Chapter 1: It Started in the Dark

I used to cry silently into my mattress, begging God to save me. Sometimes I’d wake up to him already inside me. Other nights, I wouldn’t wake until it was over.
He never asked. He never cared.

He’d come home already on substances, he would come with bags upon bags of cocaine, uber alcohol bottles daily (whiskey, red wine, vodka and even sake). Glassy eyes. Slurred lies. The door creaking open while I lay already vulnerable and asleep, unaware, unprotected. If I did wake up, he would then sit watching the ring cameras for hours until I would drift back to off to sleep.

He’d yank my pants down. Grab my thighs bruising me every time, sometimes I would stop it, other times I wouldn’t wake until he was in me. He’d use me. And I’d freeze. Terrified. Drenched in betrayal as he knew I had been put in this situation before. I’d lie still and cry so silently it soaked my pillow while my body was used like I wasn’t there.

I asked God to make it stop. But I was still there. Still his prey.

Chapter 2: The Gaslighting Was Just as Violent

When I started having panic attacks, he told me they were seizures.
Not trauma. Not fear. Not years of emotional abuse and months of sextual abuse spilling from my chest.

“I'm monitoring you,” he’d say while pressing his hand between my legs in my sleep, claiming he was checking my heartbeat. When I’d stir and move him away, he’d whisper lies like a lullaby:

“I’m just trying to take care of you.”

But he wasn’t watching over me. He was watching for when I’d go still. Waiting for the moment my spirit would stop fighting so he could take what he wanted.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

Chapter 3: The Poison of Control

Then came the weed.

First, it was just a couple of cones before bed, then it was medical marijuana because I was still, not sleeping. (or out of it enough for him to get away with touching me hurting me, or me to not fight back).
Then more. Stronger. Oils. Sedation.

He said it would help my “seizures.”
But the truth is, he wanted me quiet. Numb. Gone.

It worked. I stopped resisting. I honestly gave up fighting back.

I started believing his manipulation – believing he actually, loved me and cared.

I’d lie there, limp and muted but ever so aware but unable to move. I could feel it coming, I could hear the change, I could smell it coming. The sounds of a man panting like a predator while I faded into chemical fog. I was present but paralysed. Screaming in silence. Begging for him to finally stop, waiting for it to be over to go clean myself up.

Chapter 4: Hollowed

I stopped eating. I stopped hoping. But somewhere inside, I still waited for him to change. I prayed that the man I once saw glimpses of would return, hopefully sober, safe, sorry.

He never did.

I told him to stop. I cried. I begged.
He didn’t care.

Because control was his drug. And I was his favourite fix.

Chapter 5: The Night I Snapped

The night before my youngest son’s fifth birthday, he came back again. In my bed.

I had given him access still, trauma bonded, guilt-ridden, afraid. But that night, something split open in me.

I screamed. I let it all pour out, every shred of truth I had swallowed to survive. The rage. The grief. The disgust. I told him everything he had done. Every violation. Every night I laid in silence while he destroyed me.

I. Was. Done.

Chapter 6: When the Light Came

Sunday morning brought clarity like light through fog. He was still there beside me. Again.

I called his mother. I told her to come get her son

This was now over 8 months after he threw me down the stairs in front of my 7 year old son, who was 6 at the time, still remembering this to this day and I sent him to them to help him.

She looked at me and said:

“You need help. You need both couple’s counselling. You can fix this.”

And just like that, her mask fell too. She knew. Maybe they all did.

I took my children and walked away, to return home and find him finally gone. That wasn’t the end of the battle, but it was the end of my silence.

Chapter 7: This Was Rape

Let me be clear.

Yes — I was married.
Yes — I said no.
Yes — he did it anyway.

That is rape.

Marriage is not a license.
Drugs are not consent.
Freezing is not agreement.
And unconsciousness is not permission.

What he did was rape — repeatedly, manipulatively, and violently. And I will not stay quiet to protect the comfort of those who enabled it.

To You , The One Still There

If this sounds like your story…

Please hear me.

·       You are not crazy.

·       You are not to blame.

·       You are not broken.

·       You are not alone.

Your body is still yours.
Your voice still matters.
And your story — it’s not over yet.

MORE TO COME – He Didn’t Stop – Even After I Did

Affirmation

“My body is sacred. My voice matters. What happened to me was not my fault and I am reclaiming every piece of me that was stolen in silence.”

Prayer

God, You saw what happened in the dark.
You heard the cries I was too afraid to speak.
You know every wound I carry and every moment I felt frozen, voiceless, used.

Today, I give You the pain they caused.
I give You the nights I felt invisible.
I give You the shame that was never mine to carry.

Restore what was taken. Heal what was broken.
Speak life over what was silenced.
Let Your truth drown out every lie that told me I wasn’t worth protecting.

I am Yours. And in You, I rise.

Amen.