Pieces of Her: Death to Life Chapter 2: The Walk with No Shoes

 Chapter 2: The Walk with No Shoes

I was seven months pregnant, combing my hair, preparing for a church wedding. I was trying to be happy. Trying to believe in a future I desperately hoped for.

I don’t remember what started the shift—my memories go black sometimes. Flickers. Shadows. Maybe he had been drinking again. I don’t know.

What I do remember is his hands. Around my throat. Pressing me against the wall. That flicker of rage in his eyes. The same one that always came when he was about to hurt me.

There was no crying out. Only lightness. My body weakening. My legs giving out like I was falling asleep. Then—he let go.

The blood rushed back to my face. I collapsed onto the floor, breathless, dizzy. He laughed. Again.

Panic surged. I knew I had to leave. But I was too afraid to move. So I sat. Frozen. Still. As if maybe if I stayed quiet enough, he’d forget I was there. I waited. Watching. Listening.

And when I finally sensed a moment—maybe he laid down, or went into the bathroom—I moved. Quietly. Barefoot. Seven months pregnant.

I stepped outside, trembling, and ran.

I zigzagged between trees and houses, trying to block his view in case he followed. I cried silently the whole way, still afraid to make noise.

I didn’t know where to go. I thought of my sister, but I had already called her too many times. I didn’t want to be a burden.

So I walked to the pastor’s house. It took fifteen minutes, but it felt like forever.

When I got there, I thought I was safe.

I told them what happened. They listened. They nodded. And then—they told me not to call the police.

They said he was there now. At the door. That he was crying. That he was sorry. That he admitted what he had done.

They told me to forgive him. To go home with him. To be a good wife. To submit.

Because I was pregnant. Because there was a wedding coming. Because they didn’t believe in wedlock.

I was numb. And confused. But I had no shoes. No money. No home. No options.

So I went back.

One week later, I walked down the aisle of that church. Tears fell down my face—not because of joy, but because I knew I had no choice.

Another piece of me died that day.

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Quote: "Silence does not protect you. It breaks you in secret." — Audre Lorde

Verse: Isaiah 61:1 (NIV)
"He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners."

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These are the Encounters of the Soul that broke me into pieces.
This is Pieces of Her: Death to Life.
This is the light I leave on.

For the girl who is still barefoot, afraid, and running.
For the mother who is still choking back silence.
For the one who still thinks this is love.

You are not alone.
And you are so deeply loved.

Author’s Insight: On Remembering What We’ve Tried to Forget

That’s the strange thing about trauma—it fractures time.

When I read these memories, I question myself. I think, Did that really happen? It feels surreal, like a bad dream I can’t quite prove. My mind tries to reject it. I wonder if it was fake. If I imagined it. But I didn’t.

This is what trauma does. It stores itself in pieces—flickers, shadows, sensations. And when we finally say it aloud, it feels foreign, like it couldn’t possibly be true.

But the truth is: yes, it happened. Yes, it was that bad. And no, I’m not making it up.

The way my body trembles when I speak it. The silence. The footsteps. The laughter after the violence. The panic of walking barefoot and pregnant, hiding behind trees. These are not fantasies. These are fragments my mind tried to protect me from.

And now, I am safe enough to remember.

So if you, dear reader, ever find yourself wondering if your memories are real, if your pain is valid—let me speak this for both of us:

“My body remembers what my mind tried to forget. But now I am safe enough to remember. And I will believe myself—even if no one else ever did.”

We are not broken. We are not crazy. We are healing.

And that, too, is holy.

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Quote: "You don’t just wake up and become the butterfly—growth is a process." — Rupi Kaur

Verse: Psalm 34:18 — “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

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Prayer:

Dear God,
Let my breath remind me of the life still flowing through me.
Let this heartbeat remind me: I survived.
Though the pain was real, and the memories sharp,
I am not in that place anymore.

Help me speak gently to my body when it trembles.
Let me wrap it in kindness, not shame.
Let me hold it like the brave home it has always been.

I release what no longer belongs in me.
The fear. The silence. The shame.
I reclaim what is mine:
My peace. My light. My right to feel whole again.

I am safe now.
I am free now.
I am coming home—to myself.

Amen.