She never told me she that she cried or how she spent sleepless nights handing her worry for me back to Yeshua again and again.

There was no evidence that the lukewarm coffee on her desk was her third cup that day. It was over a year before I realized that she only snacked during my sessions when her schedule was too full to stop and eat lunch. I thought she was just laid back and chill like that.

She never mentioned the endless prayer, studying, and research she does to unwind the endless matrix that had me bound.

She never talked about all the nights she rushed home to a family who had been waiting all day to share in a small piece of her day or how they often got what little she had left to give before falling asleep on the couch. My heart honors them today and the sacrifices they have made. A child growing up with a soldier in Yahweh’s army knows all too well the cost of serving.

Her heart was heavy, she wished she could do more. Wished she could be everything that everyone needed her to be. But that was never His plan.

She always taught me to count the cost, but she never shared the price she paid.

I never thought of how it must feel to see someone struggling, hurting, crying uncontrollably or even feeling like they can’t go on. To know the only way out is through. She can’t fix it for me or wave a magic wand no matter how much she longs to take away my pain.

And me? I was relentlessly trying to get my needs met with manipulation and chaos because I didn’t know any other way. I couldn’t handle the idea of not being in control. I thought I needed to wrap my mess in a nice little bow.

I could not let her see the depth of darkness inside of me.

I couldn’t risk losing her.

She was my lifeline. I was drowning behind every smile, silently begging for someone to see me. I could not see past my pain to understand her commitment or boundaries or that she ever cared at all when I didn’t get my way.

The truth is I wasn’t ready yet. I didn’t know enough about myself. I didn’t understand what it truly means to be part of the occult.

I hadn’t met my back parts and I had no idea what they were doing while I was just trying to find a small bit of relief.

I didn’t understand the real reason I was sent here. Or how Yahweh would use it for my good.

There’s this dynamic that unfolds when we start to experience love for the first time. And I’m not saying it happens this way for every survivor, but every time I have this conversation one on one; I get the same response, and the air gets a little easier to breathe when we normalize what so many carry in silence.

One of the hardest things for a lot of survivors to come to terms with and for me I think it was even harder than the trauma itself is the need for other people. And not just the need for other people but this inherited need of being wired to need a momma.

The void of not having a loving family forces its way into every relationship we have, and it might look something like this:

I can’t sleep because I’m nervous about going to my session and I can’t oversleep, or I’ll miss it and that is not something I could tolerate. So, I run through my list of things that I want to talk about and imagine what kind of response I will get. I sort it all out in my mind and box up anything that is too risky for another day because I need to maintain control.

The next morning, I arrive at my session with my mask in place and my walls up. But bit by bit, those walls start to shift as I sit in this atmosphere where Yeshua’s love flows freely.

It feels weird, and I’m so uncomfortable, but I ache for more of it. Yet, I know she would judge me if she knew the truth, everyone always does. I could never risk telling her.

As time passes and there’s kindness and hope being spoken, I don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t know what to do when someone can look me in the eye and speak life over me and explain that what is happening to me is very normal for what I’ve been through.  

I don’t understand this feeling that is stirring in me. I so desperately want to be there and yet, everything in me is screaming to run.

At one point, she says, “that should’ve never happened to you and I’m so sorry that it did.”

And at that moment, I feel the heat of shame flooding my face. I can’t look up; I can barely think because of all the voices in my head telling me that she’s lying.

Because shame has lied to me my whole life… but hearing that sparks a tiny bit of hope in me and I want to hold onto that feeling at any cost.

By the end of the session, I’ve relaxed a little, my shoulders have dropped, and my nervous system has started to regulate to her calm.

Holy Spirit has shown up and I don’t yet understand the cost of this journey I’ve decided to take, but I know that there is something there and I’m desperate to see it through to the end.  

So, we close up the session in prayer, I thank her and walk to my car.  My feet feel like lead as the dread of the impending isolation breathes down my neck.

Well great, that session is over and now I am completely alone for the next ten days. And I can’t tolerate the thought of that, so I push that gnawing feeling of shame and isolation down deep and it doesn’t really matter anyway.

I’ve always been alone; it’s not like I need anybody. Dang Georgia, stop being a baby, you can be so ridiculous sometimes. And the berating self-talk continues until I’ve convinced myself that being alone is the best thing for me.

Why in the world would I want to invest in another relationship just so they can eventually leave too? Geez, I get on my own nerves.

I go home hating myself because it’s my own fault for needing help. I need to escape how that makes me feel, so I scroll social media while sitting in front of the tv for hours, anything to ignore how I feel inside.

Finally, it’s time to go to bed and I drag myself upstairs and crawl into bed only to find this fresh wave of pain searing the deepest parts of my heart.

See, I’ve got littles inside crying and they don’t understand why nobody loves them and they so desperately want a momma.

Their pain is starting to bleed through, and I feel overwhelmed with sadness, but I’m just starting out on this healing journey, so I don’t understand why I feel so insanely sad.

I’m so stupid, like seriously stupid I think to myself as I lay there imagining what it would be like if my safe person was my momma.

Then my littles get even closer to the front or sometimes one comes completely out, and I cry myself to sleep because I’ve been robbed all over again. I feel like I’m 3-years-old, stuck in this stupid adult body that I hate, so there’s never going to be an opportunity for me to just once be tucked into bed or kissed goodnight.

And let’s be real, she could never really be my momma anyway, because she has her own family to take care of.

And now the shame is growing hotter because I start to feel jealous of her family. I wish I was one of her kids and the pain of that cuts me to the core. But I would NEVER admit that to anyone. I can’t even admit it to myself.

Whatever, get over it, Georgia. You have 10 long days to get through before your next session, so get your crap together.

And the countdown begins until I can get that one hour of belonging, that one hour of being seen, of someone caring, that one hour where I don’t have to feel so ashamed.

I didn’t know the cost I would pay to be where I am on my healing journey today. I didn’t know that sometimes, she hurt as much as I did or that Yeshua’s heart broke too.

I didn’t know that all of it was preparing me to fill shoes that are still much too big for my feet.

Today, I don’t talk about my need for a 3rd cup of coffee or waking up at 3am to pray for the people who get so angry at me for setting boundaries.

I can see what I couldn’t see in that stage of my journey. I understand on deep, deep levels what many will never comprehend. I make mistakes everyday, but I want to keep showing up. I want to do the work it takes to set the captives free.

I don’t always share with them the ache of knowing the price they will have to pay to be free from the occult or how desperately I wish I could instantly impart everything I’ve learned along the way.

Still, I honor them today, with much love and prayer. I may not know all of their story, but I know the hell survivors walked through. So, I quietly plead court cases for them and send warring angels on their behalf. I hope for them, cheer for them, and I wait for them.

Because I know how much Yeshua loves them. I know Yahweh has a good plan and future for them. I know it’s not too late to choose Him.

Yahweh used Warrior Bride Ministries to completely change my life. It is an integral part of both my healing and my calling. So, I’m here in the background knowing that one day down the road, if they choose to heal, they too will know what it means for each of us to count the cost.