She Who Was Silenced, Now Speaks: The Divine Reversal is Coming

By Sherita Jones | The Anointing Grace

There’s a pain that no court order can settle. A wound so deep it bleeds long after the arguments have silenced. The kind of pain that doesn’t just break your heart, it breaks your sense of self. That’s the pain I’ve carried from my encounter with the man I had twins with. A man I once thought I knew.

This isn’t about bitterness. This is about truth. About naming the abuse when no one else will. About reclaiming my voice from someone who tried to bury it beneath their narcissism.

When the twins’ father wrote me that long letter years ago, blaming me for his struggles, his finances, his stress, even his salvation, I felt my breath leave my body. He didn’t just refuse accountability. He flipped the narrative and made me the villain. He weaponized my faith, mocked my relationship with God, and painted himself as the wounded hero. But here’s the thing;

Narcissists never take responsibility. They try to rewrite history. And in his version, I was Eve with the apple. Jezebel on the throne. The Delilah sent to destroy his destiny. Not the woman he manipulated at the tender age of 15. Not the woman he abandoned, neglected, abused, and used. Not the woman he left to figure everything out on her own. Not the woman who carried his children with swollen ankles, sleepless nights, and silent prayers. Not the woman who lived in the hospital alone with sickly premature babies, holding on to life and faith at the same time. In his story, he gets to be the victim, the misunderstood man. But in God’s eyes? Heaven sees the whole truth and I no longer have to carry his version of the story like it’s my burden to bear.

He wrote as if I had plotted this. As if I manipulated the system for my “come up.” He told me I was a hypocrite. A fake Christian. A thief of his future. And still, I was the one waking up with contractions alone. I was the one buying diapers, rocking babies, making bottles while he complained about gas money and his credit score.

You see, narcissists don’t just hurt you. They assassinate your character, piece by piece. They convince the world they’re the victim, while you’re left bleeding out behind closed doors.

But God saw. Oh, El Roi, the God who sees me. He saw every tear I cried into my pillow, every time I fell to the floor in exhaustion, every lie I didn’t defend myself against because I was too tired to fight.

He saw the hate letters I received. The one where the father of my children accused me of “selling my rights” to child support. The letter that said I’m only good for one thing. The one where he said my Jesus was beneath the Devil’s sandals.

I wept reading that. 

Not just because of the disrespect. But because he attacked the very God who gave me the strength to raise these babies without him. The God who forgave me when I couldn’t forgive myself. The God who picked me up when he left me for dead emotionally. The God who didn’t walk away.

And yet, even in that pain, I still tried to believe in redemption. I still hoped one day he’d show up for them, for himself, for healing. But what do you do when someone refuses to see themselves? When every attempt at accountability is met with accusation?

You grieve.

You grieve the man you thought he was.

You grieve the family that never formed.

You grieve the support you never had.

And then, you rise.

You rise, not because it’s easy, but because your children are watching. Because generational curses break when one mother says, “It stops with me.”

I still have wounds that will eventually be scars.

I still wrestle with the pain of being blamed for the very things I carried in silence. I still have moments when his gaslighting replays in my mind, and I wonder if I was the problem. But then God reminds me:

“Daughter, I was there. And I am your witness.”

So, this blog isn’t just a story. It’s a testimony of survival. Of choosing faith over fury. Of choosing to walk in truth, even when lies are louder.

I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing this for the woman who thinks she has to stay silent to be holy. For the mother who’s gaslit into guilt. For the broken hearted believer who’s questioning if God still sees her.

He does.

But what crushed me even deeper than his letters, his absence, or his words, was watching the court side with him over and over again.

I showed up to those courtrooms with trembling hands and the truth on my lips. I brought documents, receipts, text messages, and tears. I brought evidence of pain, of neglect, of manipulation. But somehow, he always won, naturally. 

Every ruling in his favor felt like a fresh betrayal. Not just from him, but from a system that should have protected me. Should have protected my children. Instead, it empowered the very man who wounded us. The man who refused to own anything, and instead gaslit everything.

And here’s what made it worse:

God allowed it.

That’s the part I wrestled with in the dark. The part I cried about on the bathroom floor, on the floor of my prayer closet. Why would the Righteous Judge allow the earthly judge to keep ruling in his favor?

I screamed into my pillow more times than I can count. I questioned my worth. I questioned my prayers. I questioned whether heaven was listening at all. Because how could the God I serve keep letting him win?

And the Spirit whispered:

“Beloved, you are not losing. You are being refined.”

Those rulings didn’t reflect my worth, they reflected my assignment. God was pruning me in the fire, not punishing me. Teaching me how to keep my hands clean even when injustice spit in my face.

And that is what narcissists don’t understand.

They think winning in court means winning in life.

But God’s courtroom looks different.

He weighs hearts, not lawyers.

He examines fruit, not fabricated timelines.

He sees everything they hide.

I had to learn and still learning to be okay with earthly injustice, because heaven already knows the truth. The Lord has seen it all. The manipulation, the lies, the control, the tears of my children, the way I’ve labored in prayer and warfare to raise them with righteousness. And while the judge wore a robe and held a gavel, my Judge wears Glory and holds eternity.

So I endure.

Even when I don’t understand.

Even when it hurts like fire.

Even when I’m forced to submit to rulings that feel like betrayal.

Because I know Who’s really in charge.

And I know this too: there will be a divine reversal.

I don’t say that as wishful thinking. I say it prophetically. God is just. He is righteous. He is faithful. He keeps the records heaven needs and one day, every injustice will bow to His truth.

So I dry my tears.

I hold my daughters closer.

I tuck this pain into His hands again and again as it resurfaces. Because I’m not just surviving this story, I’m living into a victory that hasn’t yet been seen.