HE LET IT ALL BREAK... JUST TO BUILD ME BACK WITHOUT PAIN

I used to think God would come quickly.

I thought the moment I cried out, He would rush in like a hero from a fairytale, sword in hand, lifting me out of the mess.

But He didn’t.

Instead, He stood still.

He watched me break.

He let me lose what I thought I needed.

He let the pain dig deep, the lies echo in my head, and the tears soak my pillow till the salt stung my skin.

He let me crumble.

And I didn’t understand it then.

I thought, “God, why would You let this happen to me? I loved You. I prayed. I tried.”

But now… now I see it.

He wasn’t being cruel.

He was removing everything that was killing me silently.

He was letting the weight of what wasn’t mine finally fall to the floor.

It started with a man I thought would love me forever.

I gave him my all my body, my loyalty, my motherhood, my dreams. I thought if I just loved him right, he'd stay.

He didn’t.

He gave me crumbs and expected me to bake a feast.

He showed up only when it benefited him, touched me only when it pleased him, and left every time life asked for more from him.

He didn’t want a family he wanted a version of me that didn’t exist.

And when he left for good, I thought I would die.

Not from the heartbreak from the embarrassment.

From the shame of believing again.

From having to start over again.

From hearing people say “you should have known better.”

But deep inside, I didn’t just lose a man I lost the version of me who begged to be kept.

And that was the beginning of everything.

Then came the silence.

No answers.

No money.

No job.

No peace.

Just me… and my daughter… and the echo of prayers I wasn’t sure God was listening to anymore.

I couldn’t afford therapy.

I couldn’t fake happy anymore.

So I just sat with myself. I sat in my pain. I sat in my confusion.

And there in that silence God began to speak.

Not with loud words.

But in the little things.

In the fact that my daughter still smiled.

In the stranger who gave me a lift when I had no taxi money.

In the morning sun that kept rising.

In the tiny bit of strength I still had to get out of bed and boil water for tea.

It wasn’t rescue.

It wasn’t fire from heaven.

It was presence.

I’ll be honest I hated it at first.

I wanted instant healing, not a slow soul surgery.

But God… God wanted to build me differently this time.

He let me cry it all out.

He let me question Him.

He let me fall to my knees in frustration, in fear, in failure.

He wasn’t offended by my honesty.

He was inviting it.

Because while I thought I was falling apart,

He was removing every fake brick I’d been building my life on.

Approval. Performance. Pleasing. Begging. Shame.

He stripped me of it all… just so He could finally show me who I really am.

And one day, something changed.

Not outside.

Inside.

I stopped trying to fix people.

I stopped explaining my worth.

I stopped showing up where I wasn’t valued.

I started resting.

I started writing.

I started hearing His voice in my own again.

I started healing

Not from love. From what I thought love was supposed to be.

God didn’t put a man in my life first.

He put peace.

He gave me the strength to love my child more fully.

He gave me new dreams slow, quiet ones like candles and storybooks and worship songs.

He gave me vision, not validation.

He gave me silence, not noise.

And in that silence I started to glow again.

Not for Instagram. Not for men.

For me.

So no God didn’t save me from the fire.

He walked into it with me, sat down, and whispered:

“I’m not taking you out until the pain can no longer control you.

I’m not removing you from the storm I’m making you the storm’s breaker.

I’m not here to make you what the world applauds I’m here to make you whole.”

And now, here I am.

Writing this from a place I never thought I’d reach:

Peace.

Not perfect.

Not rich.

Not famous.

But at peace with myself, my past, and my God.

So to the woman reading this:

If you're breaking, breaking, breaking please know…

God isn’t late.

He’s just letting what was never yours fall away.

He’s not punishing you. He’s preparing space.

Let it break. Let it burn.

Because on the other side of this pain is a version of you that you’ve never met before but God has always known.

And she’s waiting. 💛