REAL. RAW. HERE I AM.

Series Introduction

A note from The Daughter of Sabr.

REAL. RAW. HERE I AM. is a three-part series about surviving love, betrayal, abuse, faith, and the messy, complicated fight to keep going. This is not a polished story with a happy bow. It’s not a guidebook or a fairytale. It’s the truth about what happens when violence stops but the cycle doesn’t, when trust shatters and reshapes, when faith keeps you breathing even when you’re exhausted. I wrote this because abuse thrives in silence. And I refuse to be silent anymore.

Part I: What Happened This Summer

This summer broke me in ways I didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just one fight or one mistake; it was a slow grind of betrayal, deceit, depression, and survival.

When people talk about recovery from addiction, they often talk about “replacing” one thing with another. You quit drinking, but then you start overeating. You quit smoking, but now you shop too much. You’re not really healed; you’re just swapping out one wound for another.

That’s exactly what this summer felt like in my marriage.

The Online Mess

My husband dove into online porn (which doesn’t miff me as much when the following mitigating circumstances don’t exist), dating sites, Facebook dating, even Instagram. All of it. At first, he justified it by saying it was when we were fighting, and he was mad at me, like my mistakes somehow made it okay for him to betray me.

I’m not perfect. I’ll own my part. But let’s be clear: my flaws don’t give anyone the right to create fake accounts, flirt with women, or message strangers saying they want to “eat their ass.”

And then, instead of honesty? Because that wouldn’t make sense. More lies. More passwords changed. More accusations flipped back on me. He even told me I was the one “putting things on his profile.” Like, somehow, I had time or energy to frame him? Or would ever want to.

The Collapse

While all this was happening, I was drowning in one of the worst depressive episodes of my life. Days when getting out of bed felt impossible. Moments where the weight of betrayal sat on my chest so heavy I could barely breathe. Delirium, begging my husband to come home from work in tears (which he did!), covering the peephole, even sleeping in the bathtub again.

Yet still the fights were so loud that neighbors called the police. Emotional violence, I didn’t see coming when he came home. Promises broken before they even had time to mean something.

The Pattern

Here’s the brutal truth: the physical violence stopped, but the abuse hasn’t. It’s just shifted.

No more fists, just threats to leave, never come home, or leaving and disappearing.

No more screaming, but phones “shut” off, location turned off, blocked.

No more bruises, but secret profiles and “naked bitches” on Instagram.

It’s like whack-a-mole with trauma. Every time one form of abuse dies, another pops up in its place. And I’m left asking: how much more can I carry?

Where I Am Now

I wanted this marriage to work. I still want it to work. That’s maybe the hardest part to admit. That and the failure I feel from even being in this place at all.

But this summer forced me to see that love, by itself, isn’t enough. Transparency matters. Respect matters. Safety matters. If you break trust, you don’t get to demand privacy and patience on your timeline. Rebuilding is slow, ugly, and hard. And it requires both people to show up. Every damn day.

Right now? I’m not sure if we’re both showing up. Or if our schedules of showing up will ever align.

Why I’m Sharing This

Because abuse thrives in silence. Because someone else out there is in their own “summer” of hell and thinks they’re crazy, or weak, or alone. Just begging for one good day to last and to feel your love and loyalty reciprocated a few more times. You’re not.

This is me, real and raw: betrayed, depressed, exhausted, and still somehow standing.

I don’t have a bow to tie on this story yet. I don’t have a happy ending. But I do have honesty. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

✨ From chaos to clarity, still loud, just wiser.

~DoS