It was May 2013 when we met. If I could go back and reroute that day, I probably would—but here’s the story.

It was a sunny spring afternoon, and I was standing on 79th Street on the southeast side of Chicago, pouring my heart out to God during my then-church's annual citywide prayer meeting. A friend who was with me on my assigned block praying and later called me about someone he thought I should meet.

“If it wasn’t for this guy,” he said, “you should at least consider getting to know him. He’s a good catch.”

I was ready to say, “I’m not dating right now,” but something about his words intrigued me. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

“He’s a pastor.”

Zeal Without Wisdom

At that point, I was a fairly new Christian—on fire, passionate, and ready to help save the world. I had already encountered God in powerful and supernatural ways that left no doubt in my heart that He was real. I was on a beautiful journey of healing, discovering who I was, and being transformed into the image of Christ. It was a vibrant, hopeful season in my life.

So, naturally, I wondered: Could this man be from God?

But I was torn. I had just come out of a six-year relationship before salvation and tried dating again—unsuccessfully. I couldn’t remember a time I wasn’t involved with someone. I believed the Lord was calling me into a season of singleness.

A Fast Track to “I Do”

Despite my reservations, we ended up on the phone. He seemed genuine, interested, and spiritually grounded. He asked a lot of questions and pursued me hard. His charisma and flattery could sweep any girl off her feet.

But I remember telling my roommate, “I’m not really attracted to him. He has a big nose” (I said that—LOL). He looked like a traditional, old-school pastor in his pictures—not exactly my vibe. I didn’t grow up in church, and I certainly didn’t see myself as anyone’s “First Lady” in a big church hat.

Still, I decided to try something different. Three months later, we were married. Yes—just like that.

But there was a catch: no one could know.

The Secret Marriage

Shortly after our first date, he told me his story. He said he was divorced and shared how horribly his ex-wife had treated him. I felt compassion. He also explained that his church didn’t believe in remarriage and that we’d need to keep things quiet until he figured out how to address it.

So I married him in secret. Only my then pastor, his sister, and a few friends knew. My family—especially my mother—was devastated.

Love-Bombed and Blindsided

After about 9 months we became public. Most likely believed we just got married. That first year and a half felt like a dream though because I didn't recognize the toxicity yet. But I didn’t know I was being love-bombed (says a lot about me and what I normalized).

When I got pregnant with our daughter, things shifted. He became distant and critical. As my body changed, he lost attraction to me. The critiques started slowly—masked as helpful advice—but they chipped away at my self-esteem.

Subtle red flags emerged, but I ignored them. I believed our connection was special and that, since we both knew God, we could overcome anything.

I was wrong.

The Spiral Into Abuse

The critiques turned into contempt, name-calling, and put-downs. I was never graceful enough, never

cooked or cleaned to his liking, and from the moment we brought our daughter home, I was labeled a bad mother.

I jumped through hoop after hoop trying to earn back the love I thought I had—but the more I gave, the less I received. The arguments became explosive. I cried myself to sleep. I lived in constant fear of getting something “wrong,” which eventually led to anxiety.

I prayed endlessly—asking God to change him, not realizing God planned to remove the relationship altogether.

Awakening to Purpose

Even in that dark season, God never stopped speaking. He kept revealing my purpose, but my attempts to pursue it were mocked. I was told my life didn’t matter, that my only role was to serve and support him.

Eventually, I had enough. I secretly enrolled in a life coaching program with the support of my old supervisor, who let me attend classes during work hours. That space became my lifeline. It helped me reflect—and realize I was deeply unhappy and being mistreated.

When I started setting boundaries and saying “no,” his mask came off completely. He said I had changed. Just three months after using my credit and emptying my account to get the house he wanted, he had me served with divorce papers.

A Dangerous Exit

He began emotionally tormenting me at home—blasting music during meetings, taking the sheets so I couldn’t sleep, smashing speakers, and demanding I sign the divorce papers immediately.

One day, after a particularly hostile encounter, I called the police—on my mother’s advice. He left before they arrived, but came back with blood on his face and falsely claimed I assaulted him.

From that moment on, it became: Mission: GET OUT.

Discovering Narcissism

A social worker friend sent me a blog post about narcissism. Until then, I thought the term just described someone conceited. But this—this explained my life.

Later, a relationship expert we saw for counseling told me she suspected narcissistic abuse. She said I’d need therapy to reconstruct my identity and healing.

I dove into research—books, articles, YouTube. I was stunned to find that narcissists often operate in disturbingly similar ways: gaslighting, manipulation, charm in public, cruelty in private. When I read about covert narcissism, it described my life exactly.

What I learned was that I was dealing with a covert or vulnerable narcissist . Many believe these are the worse kind (there's a spectrum) and I have to agree because they are the hardest to detect and very methodical. As I delved deeper into understanding this kind of narcissism, I came to realize the complex and often counterintuitive ways it can manifest in behavior. As opposed to the grandiose narcissist that most people are familiar with, who often displays their self-importance and need for admiration blatantly, the covert or vulnerable narcissist presents a starkly different image. They might appear shy or modest, yet they are dealing with the very same grandiose sense of self-importance internally.

This incongruence between their inner world and their outward behavior often lead to a series of subtle yet detrimental interactions with those around them. My ex does not fit the stereotypical mold of narcissism that is flamboyant and attention-seeking. Instead, he often flied under the radar with insecurity-fueled bravado, which made him not only harder to spot but also quite challenging to address once his true nature came to light. This new understanding became a crucial addition to my knowledge bank. As I learned more about the characteristics and behaviors of a covert or vulnerable narcissist, I began to navigate my relationship and interactions with him with more awareness and insight.

Uncovering My Own Roots

But healing wasn’t just about understanding him. I had to understand me.

I grew up in dysfunction. My mother, the product of an affair, lost her mom as a baby and lived a Cinderella-like childhood. She married an abusive man. I too came from an adulterous relationship—I didn’t know my father growing up because he was married to someone else.

There was verbal abuse, rejection, and abandonment. And while I now have deep compassion for my mom and what she endured, those experiences made me a prime target for abuse.

From Codependency to Christ

I realized I was codependent and lacked self-love. I had always needed a "friend" or someone to talk to—searching for the love I never received growing up, which only Jesus could provide.

My ex seemed perfect: charming, confident, “emotionally intelligent.” But it was manipulation. Over time, I became isolated, drained, and confused.

I sacrificed everything—my thoughts, my needs, my sense of self—to please someone who never planned to love me in return.

But God…

Yet here I stand—still healing, but free. Still restoring, but clear.

I’ve learned that Jesus is the only one who can truly fill the void. That my worth is not measured by someone’s acceptance or rejection. And that walking away from abuse is not failure—it’s faith.

Breaking the Cycle – My Story of Narcissistic Abuse Recovery