Breaking the Cycle: A Journey of Healing and Self-Discovery

Growing up, one of the main goals for women in my family was to get a man and have babies. I was taught that becoming a wife was the ultimate achievement, and anything less meant you were a woman without value or self-respect. Looking back, I can see how absurd that mindset was, but at the time, it was all I knew. My upbringing was confined within the walls of my home, where I was not allowed to visit friends or have them over, leading me to assume that all families operated under similar rules. The mantra was clear: what happens in this house stays in this house, and you don’t tell anyone.

As I grew older, the reality of my situation became painfully clear. I constantly faced rejection from boys, which led me to make a promise to myself: whoever I slept with first, I would marry. That promise came to fruition when I was just 19, a freshman in college, and he was a man in his thirties who had just served a ten-year prison sentence. Despite the red flags and warning signs, I convinced myself that we were meant to be. I thought that since he had been incarcerated for so long, we must be close in age mentally. 

Every time he came around, my heart raced, and I felt butterflies like never before. I would let him place his hand on my chest, believing it was a way to show him how much he meant to me. What I didn’t realize at the time was that those butterflies were my heart’s way of warning me about him. The excitement I felt was masking a deeper intuition that I chose to ignore.

In conversations with my friends, I was eager to share that I was about to lose my virginity and spend my life with this man. However, the reality of that moment was far from what I had imagined or seen in movies. When the time came, lying in his mother’s house, I was filled with extreme pain—a stark contrast to the expectations I had built up in my mind. I just wanted it to be over. Thankfully, his baby son stirred in his crib, providing a much-needed distraction that encouraged him to finish.

Afterward, as I walked down the street, I could barely move, but I felt a twisted sense of victory. I had given away what I believed was the most valuable thing I had. I didn’t think I was pretty or beautiful; I thought I had nothing to offer but my body. The very next day, I called him, but my calls went straight to voicemail. As I texted him, my messages went unanswered, deepening my anxiety. I worried that something had happened to him, so I turned to Facebook, only to discover that he had deactivated his account. I didn’t think much of it, as this wasn’t the first time he had done so.

Days turned into weeks, and I continued my life with that unsettling feeling lingering. Then, one day while visiting a friend who lived up the street from his mother’s house, I received a notification on my phone. He was back on Facebook! I clicked on his post, only to find him professing his love for another woman—the mother of his child. My heart sank, feeling as though it had fallen right out of my stomach. Tears blurred my vision, but I managed to gather myself and head to his mother’s house.

When I knocked on the door, she answered, her expression filled with concern as I explained I was looking for her son. She informed me that he wasn’t home but promised to relay my message. I thanked her, but the anxiety didn’t leave me. I tried calling him again, but my calls went to voicemail, confirming what I dreaded: he had blocked me. When I finally reached him using a friend’s phone, he pretended not to know what I was talking about. I felt utterly lost, as if life itself wasn’t worth living. I had given him my virginity—the only thing I believed held value.

This became my new normal: he would block me after we had sex, profess his love for someone else online, and I would wait, hoping he would return to me. I kept in touch with his mother, drawn to her nurturing personality, which contrasted sharply with the pain he brought me. During this time, I tried to fill the void by dating and sleeping around with others, convincing myself that my body was worthless. I started binge drinking and partying late into the night.

It wasn’t until I met my children’s father and ended up pregnant that I was forced to stop the reckless behavior. Even though I was carrying a child with someone else, my heart remained tethered to the man who had taken my virginity. I thought I could never love anyone the way I loved him, and healing from that broken heart felt impossible.

After giving birth to my daughter, I hit rock bottom. I hated who I was and the cycle of mistakes I kept repeating. I desperately wanted to be better for my daughter but found myself haunted by what could have been with the other man. Frustrated and defeated, I finally caved in and told him I still loved him, not fully understanding what that meant.

Months later, I was welcomed into a church community, and that’s when my healing process began. I learned how to love myself and my body, how to forgive myself, and recognize that my worth extended far beyond my physical form. I realized that any man who wanted to be with me without committing to marriage was not the right man for me. 

Over time, my ex attempted to reach out, but instead of running back to him as I had in the past, I felt insulted that he would think I would entertain the idea of giving him another chance, especially as a mother. I won’t say I’m embarrassed by my past. Instead, I embrace it as part of my journey. I learned valuable lessons, and now I can teach my daughters the importance of self-love and the significance of not settling for the first person who shows interest.

Breaking this cycle of thinking and behavior is a powerful testament to growth. I’m determined to ensure my daughters know their worth and understand that they are so much more than the expectations society places on them. Together, we can rewrite the narrative and build a foundation of love, respect, and empowerment. I pray that this encourage you to continue to break the cycles. Never give up. I love you and God loves you more.