After arriving in the U.S., I moved to California to live with a distant relative and found myself pursuing a dream — learning to fly. It was at the airport, while working toward my pilot’s license, that I met the man who would become my husband.

What followed was not the life I had envisioned.

We became part of a so-called “Christian” cult where women were taught to submit to their pastors and husbands “unto death.” I nearly complied — surrendering my voice, my body, and my dreams.

After the birth of my sixth daughter, I was bedridden for weeks… perhaps even months. I was in constant physical pain and mental anguish. Eventually, I gave up. I made peace with God and prepared to die, quietly counting down the final two weeks I believed I had left.

But it wasn’t my time.

What happened next felt like a ripple in the fabric of reality. Synchronicities began to unfold — subtle at first. Advertisements for personal development programs began appearing in my mailbox. With nothing to lose, I sent in for one. I set a five-year goal for myself… and achieved it in just three.

Then came a prolonged and painful 16-year divorce.

To protect my children and myself, we often had to go into hiding — moving between states, living under the radar, trying to stay safe. I entered the process with faith in justice… and emerged with a deep understanding of how deeply abuse and corruption run within the family court system — and the legal system as a whole.

And yet, I would not trade the gift that came from it all: my seven incredible children, all born at home and homeschooled with love, curiosity, and the freedom to grow into who they truly are. The picture you see was taken at the wedding of my third daughter — a moment that felt like the blooming of something sacred.

I no longer move through life with the same naivety I once had. I’ve earned every ounce of discernment, every scar of survival, and every insight I now offer to others.