✨ Letter to God: I Am Tired and I Am Pissed

Dear God,

I need to tell the truth.

Not the polished version. Not the healed-in-retrospect version.

The truth as it feels right now: I am tired. And I am pissed.

I am tired of being the one who carries the weight, holds the peace, absorbs the blow, and still gets silenced.

I am tired of pretending I’m unaffected by betrayal just to keep the peace for people who never protected mine.

I am tired of watching people who played roles in my pain now play roles in my child’s life — like I wasn’t the one who bled for it.

You saw it, Lord.

You saw me stand in the middle of deception while still trying to build a home.

You saw me answer the phone when she called — not to confess, but to deny that I even existed.

You saw me swallow grief while holding the pieces of a love I was told was real.

You saw me stay silent for the sake of peace that was never mutual.

But here’s the part that still sits in my bones:

Years later — she came to me. Looked me in my face and said,

“I just want you to know there was never anything between us. We were only ever friends.”

As if that would erase what I had already seen with my own eyes.

Because before the dust had even settled, I had gone through the messages.

She had gotten pregnant. She had a miscarriage.

I wasn’t sure if it happened while I was still married or shortly after.

It didn’t matter.

Because whether it happened before or right after the divorce,

to stand in front of me and say you were “only ever just friends”…

while pregnant shortly after the ink dried — that told me everything I needed to know.

And just a few short months after the papers were signed…

I’ll let you ponder what happened next.

🎶 Jingle bells… oh, jingle bells. 🎶

So no — her words didn’t bring peace. They brought confirmation.

Confirmation that the lies weren’t just behind my back… they were standing in front of me, smiling, asking me to forget.

And now? That same woman moves through my child’s world like she’s the chosen one.

She makes decisions. Speaks on their behalf.

Presents herself as a stable force, an expert, a nurturer — while pretending like she didn’t help fracture what she now wants to fix.

But she wasn’t there when I labored through grief.

She wasn’t there when I held my baby through panic, through tears, through hospital walls.

She wasn’t called to this.

I was.

And I’m done being erased in a story that I built with my blood.

So yes — I am angry.

Angry at the silence.

At the gaslighting.

At the professional masks worn over personal betrayal.

At the way my voice has been treated like a disruption instead of a divine right.

But God, I also know this rage cannot be my home.

So I give it to You.

Take it.

Take this fury, this exhaustion, this heartbreak dressed in dignity.

Take the weight of all the times I kept quiet to preserve a peace that never protected me.

Because now, I want what You promised.

Return to me what was stolen.

Restore the sacredness of my name in every room where it’s been misused.

Correct every lie disguised as wisdom.

Cover my child with clarity. Let them see. Let them remember me. Let them come home to truth.

I don’t want revenge.

I want release.

And I want to be free.

I’m not shrinking anymore — not for family, not for courts, not for appearances, not even in prayer.

Because I know who I am.

And You do too.

And before you go reading into this… let me be clear.

This isn’t a call-out.

This isn’t an exposé.

This is my truth — as I lived it, as I remember it, as I carry it in my bones.

If it sounds familiar to you… ask your conscience why.

Because no names were mentioned.

No identities were confirmed.

If you feel exposed, perhaps it’s because the mirror is finally being held up — not because I said your name.

This is my story.

My memory.

My emotional truth.

And under every law that protects free expression, I am allowed to speak it.

I didn’t write this to defame.

I wrote it to release.

And if your reputation feels called into question, maybe it’s time to question your own reflection — not my words.

May every woman who’s ever been silenced find her voice again — and may it echo in every room where she was once erased

1 Thessalonians 5:22