Girl holding hands over face in shame

A Broken Heart; Abuse

It only takes one person to break a heart. My dad would happen to be that person. The man I thought would keep me safe, scared me himself. I even thought at one point I deserved to be… scared.

At 12 years old, my heart would have its first real break, and not by a boy. It was evening, I was a young girl going through crazy emotional changes. My brother made me very angry, causing me to lash out and say,

“You make me wanna run away.”

He laughed at me as I ran out the door to cool down on my grandma’s porch (she lives right behind us). My dad was just pulling into the driveway with his truck as my heart began to race. I was unsure If my brother would tell on me for what I had said.

Sure enough, my brother told him. About 5 minutes had past, I had cooled down enough to start walking home. As I started walking around the corner, my dad was stomping towards me. His blue eyes were as pale as snow and his face was red with anger. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and walked me over to a chair then pushed me back into it.

“What did I do?”

I asked over and over. He grabbed the sides of the chair, looked at me and started talking in a deep and angry voice. He told me he should be kicking my (a word) and called me a (b word). He was so angry at times, the chair would lift and shake.

Eventually, he was done with his fit of anger. He told me he loved me, which didn’t make since after that. He looked at me with those angry blue eyes, then walked back home. I remember staring of into the blue sky, not understanding. I had a fear in me that I had never felt before. Was I a victim of abuse, or did I deserve this? I asked that for years until I finally told someone, and they told me that nobody deserves that.

Fast forward to 8th grade, the year I made some really bad decisions with a boy (as you read in my first testimony). Eventually my father found out about those really bad decisions. I remember hearing my door being knocked on very loudly and forced open with a key. He grabbed me tightly by both arms and asked what I had been doing. He grabbed my arm and rushed me down the stairs, almost causing me to trip. The boy was outside with his parents (who were abusive drunkies).

After they all had talked, or more like yelled to us, my dad grabbed me by the arm once more. He took me inside and pushed me up against the wall. He asked me what was wrong with me, then attempted to hit me in the face. I will never forget that day.

You might be wondering why I am telling you all of this. Here’s why. My heart still hurts sometimes over this, but amazingly, I have found my way of forgiving him, and loving him. Does that mean we have a great relationship? no. Unforgiveness can hurt us more than it hurts the person who did us wrong.

Forgiveness freed me from insecurity, anxiety, and FEAR. I used to not even be able to look or sit by my father without being scared or un-comfortable. Today, all I have is love and hope for my father. He hasn’t got overly angry with me in a long time, and I am proud of him.

He deserves just as much love and forgiveness as I do. And I have Jesus to thank. My heart was in broken pieces, and God didn’t just tape them back together, but grew them back together even stronger.

So, anybody struggling with something similar, it only takes one person to break a heart, but it only takes one God to mend it.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147:3


  1. Bonny Simiyu 9/13/2016
  2. rosario61 1/16/2017
  3. Toyin 2/17/2017

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