Where was He when I begged?
When I bled?
When I bent into pieces and nobody came?
This isn’t a crisis of belief.
It’s a crisis of abandonment.
Because I never stopped believing in something.
I just stopped pretending the silence didn’t hurt.
😶 When Silence Was the Only Sermon
They told me God is always listening.
But when I screamed into my pillow at 2am,
clutching nothing but memories and meds,
all I got back was static.
They told me He was near the brokenhearted.
But my heartbreak echoed.
And the echo came back empty.
I prayed with skin trembling.
With a body that held every scar like scripture.
And all I wanted—
was for someone sacred to stay.
🧠 Psychological Insight:
For trauma survivors, silence is never neutral.
It sounds like betrayal.
It feels like proof.
You don’t need a miracle when you’re drowning—
you need a hand.
A whisper.
Something more than a church telling you to just “believe harder.”
🩸 Not About Blame—About Absence
I’m not here to rage against God.
I’m here to ask:
Where the hell was He
when everything I loved collapsed?
Where was He
when the church locked its doors
and I was outside sobbing in the rain
with sin-soaked shoes and trauma-stained hands?
I didn’t need a sermon.
I needed a sign that I wasn’t invisible.
💔 For the Ones Still Waiting
This is for:
- The ones who prayed and got silence
- The ones who believed and still broke
- The ones who begged for comfort
and got bruises disguised as lessons