I was raised Catholic.
Catholic school, Catholic rules, Catholic guilt. I even graduated from a Catholic high school. Faith wasn’t optional growing up, it was just built into my life.
But somewhere along the way, I drifted.
There wasn’t some dramatic falling out. No big moment where I rejected everything. It was quieter than that. I just moved away from it. Life got busy. I got older. And if I’m being honest, I saw a lot in organized religion that didn’t sit right with me. Judgment. Hypocrisy. People preaching one thing and living another.
So I stepped back.
At the time, it felt justified. Necessary.
Looking back, I don’t think I was rejecting God. I think I was reacting to people. And people are flawed.
I can’t even pinpoint when I started feeling pulled back toward something spiritual again.
It wasn’t overnight. It didn’t come all at once. It showed up in small, quiet moments I almost ignored. And then every once in a while, it would hit me so loudly I couldn’t brush it off.
One of those moments came before I had to testify in front of a grand jury so my assailant could be charged.
In the weeks leading up to it, I was a mess. Constant anxiety. Fear sitting in my chest like something heavy I couldn’t move. My thoughts spiraling, my body acting like I was in danger all the time.
And then the morning of, something shifted.
The fear didn’t disappear. The nerves were still there. But something else showed up too.
Peace.
Real peace. The kind that doesn’t make sense given what you’re walking into.
I felt protected.
Like there was this invisible armor around me. Like no matter what happened that day, I was going to be okay. Not untouched, not unaffected, but safe in a way I couldn’t explain.
I carried that feeling with me the entire day.
A few days later, I was telling a friend about it. Trying to explain something that didn’t really fit into words. She got quiet. Then she started to tear up.
She told me about a prayer she had said for me that morning.
A prayer asking God to cover me in His armor.
Armor is not a word I use. Not ever. And yet that’s the exact word that came to me in one of the most intense moments of my life.
You can call that coincidence if you want.
I don’t.
That moment hit me even harder than the grand jury itself. It felt like confirmation. Like something reached back.
I felt carried. Held. Protected.
It made me believe that prayer is real. That God is real. Not in the rigid, judgment-heavy way I grew up with, but in a way that shows up when you’re at your lowest and gives you just enough strength to stand.
And I’m holding onto that right now.
Because two weeks from tomorrow, I will walk into a courtroom to testify against the man who assaulted me.
And I’m not okay.
I’m scared in a way that lives in my body. I can’t eat normally. Sleep doesn’t come easy, and when it does, I wake up exhausted. My nervous system feels completely shot. I’m either on edge or completely shut down.
There are moments I feel paralyzed.
And the thought that keeps creeping in is why me.
Three years ago when I was assaulted, I was just trying to find someone to share my life with. After years of focusing on my career, I finally felt ready for something real.
Instead, I met a man on an app who assaulted me within the first five minutes of our first date.
Five minutes.
That’s all it took to change the way I move through the world. What did I do to deserve this?
I’ve been stuck in that question for a while now.
I went to church this morning and from the first song, I was already crying. It felt like everything I’ve been holding in just came out at once.
Then they brought a man on stage.
A year ago, he was diagnosed with a rare cancer. It had spread throughout his body. He was told he had less than a year to live.
Today, he has clear scans. No cancer.
And I lost it.
Not just because of him. Not just because of the miracle.
But because something in me shifted.
He didn’t ask for that. He didn’t deserve that. And still, he stood in front of a room full of people and used his story for something bigger than himself.
And for the first time, the question changed.
Why not me.
Not in a way that excuses what happened. Not in a way that makes it okay.
But in a way that lets go of the idea that I was singled out.
Bad things happen. To good people. All the time.
I don’t get to control that.
But I do get to decide what I do next.
The man who assaulted me is a predator. He has hurt other women. He has never been held accountable.
I don’t believe God wanted that to happen to me.
But I do believe this.
God can step into the aftermath.
God can take something that was meant to silence me and turn it into the reason I speak.
Maybe I’m not just the woman this happened to.
Maybe I’m the one who stops him.
I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel ready. Most days I feel like I’m barely holding it together.
But I’ve felt that armor before.
And I believe it will be there again.
He doesn’t stand a chance against what’s walking in with me.
-M
Shattering the Silence 