Some of the greatest hurt I have ever experienced didn't come from an enemy. It didn't come from a stranger. It came from inside the circle.

The ones you trusted. The ones you thought that, behind closed doors, you could take down the shield because they had been vetted. They had been tested. They were the ones you relied on.

If I'm honest, I'm not someone who believes in trusting people upfront. Trust is earned for me. It is validated. It is tested before it is given.

Recently, I experienced an attack from the inside.

Someone I had worked on a relationship with for over a decade. Someone I thought I could let my shield down with and truly trust. That vulnerability gave this individual access that would not have otherwise been given.

It shook me to my core.

It made me think: what happens when the greatest hurt doesn't come from the enemy, but from somebody you call mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, cousin, or friend?

This may be a post of confession, because if I'm confessing, I also have to tell you this: I am not someone who gives forgiveness very easily.

When I was getting married, my then husband asked my father for my hand in marriage. My father told him, "She's the most generous person I know, but she's also the most unforgiving person I know. Be gentle with her because she will guard you fiercely, but when you lose her trust, it's gone."

My daddy knew me.

Over the years, I have really worked on becoming more forgiving. Coming from a traditional West African culture and being raised in the Christian faith, I have struggled with what forgiveness is actually supposed to look like.

How many times do you forgive? Seventy times seven? Do you keep turning the other cheek?

West African culture can add another layer to that question, especially when the message is that as long as someone is family, there is almost no offense great enough to remove them from your life. If you are part of the family, part of the community, part of that accepted circle, there is seemingly nothing you can do that can ever get you expelled.

Growing up in a very traditional West African culture while also having the privilege of growing up in the United States and learning to question things, I found myself asking a question:

Last year, we did an intensive Bible study at my church on forgiveness, and one of my biggest takeaways was this: you have the ability to forgive someone without continuing to grant that person access to you.

Now, let me be clear.

There have been times when it was my pride that caused me not to apologize. There have been times when I didn't want to forgive, accept responsibility, or move on. There have been times in my life when I was more comfortable with the thought of being right than actually making things right.

I have had to repent for that.

Understand me: that is not what I am talking about here.

In Liberia, we say, "white teeth, black heart." Smiling in your face while something completely different lives in the heart. The O'Jays said it too: Back Stabbers.

I'm talking about the fox in the henhouse. The wolf in the den. The sleeping enemy. The double agent.

I'm talking about the abuser.

This is the part I wish I could scream. I wish I could write it across my forehead. I wish I could hire a plane and fly it across the sky:

You do not have to stay because that person is your husband or wife. You do not have to continue granting access simply because a relationship comes with a title.

There are cultural expectations we carry. There are religious expectations we carry. There are burdens that have been handed to us and called obedience when sometimes they are nothing more than expectations.

Christ came so that we could be free indeed.

I am certain that our God, our Abba, did not send His Son to Calvary's cross so that you could spend your life being abused.

So today, my dear sister, my dear brother, I want to tell you something I wish somebody had told me sooner: it may be time.

Don't wait for tomorrow. Don't wait for them to prove themselves one more time.

You can pray for them. Pray for them. Pray for them. You can do it from a safe distance.

"Oh girl, but you're a Christian. The Lord says forgive."

I know.

This is something I have had to learn. Something I have had to practice. Something I have had to take back to Scripture again and again, asking God to search me and know my heart. I have had to pray that difficult prayer asking the Lord to reveal the parts of me that need correcting too.

What I am learning is that all of these things can be true: I can forgive. I can move forward. I can pray for you. I can want God's absolute best for you. I can still remove your access to me.

So if you were looking for your sign, if you needed a reminder, if nobody in your life, nobody in your circle, and nobody in your family will tell you this, let me tell you:

Choosing not to be abused is not choosing not to be a Christian.

Sometimes it is standing fully on the promises of God and finally realizing that you are a child of the King too.

As for me? It hurt. It hurts. I cried public tears and private tears. I went to the Lord carrying guilt and a burden that, quite frankly, was never mine to carry.

I had to realize something. I am not responsible for justifying someone else's wrong expectations of me. I am not responsible for proving that I have changed. I am not responsible for convincing anyone that if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature and old things have passed away.

What I am responsible for is living out that new life. I am responsible for walking in what Christ has called me to. I am responsible for protecting the peace God has given me. I am responsible for allowing Him to search my heart, correct me when I am wrong, and lead me when I cannot understand the why behind any of it.

Sometimes that road is lonely. There are difficult days. There is rejection. There are moments when you simply do not understand why.

Sometimes, before He prepares the table in the presence of your enemies, you have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Even there, He is with you.

That is the hope I am holding on to in this new beginning, in this season of starting over: He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.

I don't know exactly what this process will look like. I am committed to it.

Even though this attack came from the inside, it did not come from beyond the reach of God.

He is still with me. His rod and His staff, they still comfort me.

After the tears, after the betrayal, after the disappointment, after the boundaries, after the lonely days and the starting over, I still believe this:

They will follow you too.

— Elma-Lorraine