It was another afternoon of sitting in the district president’s office. I don’t and didn’t even want to talk about it. It’s like I’m sitting in the middle of an episode of “How is This Even Your Life?” I am supposed to be a counselor now who has moved on from this episode and is now helping other people. There’s supposed to be all this redemption and learned lessons and hard earned wisdom to share with others so they do not repeat your own mistakes or end up like I very unfortunately did.

It is not even worth recounting all the times I’ve asked for help. Why now in 2026, five years after I first reluctantly went to a district president, almost six years from when I disappeared from our life due to being crippled and permanently injured and utterly crushed in my spirit, why people are finally getting wind that there was something not right, I’m not even angry anymore. That’s a lie, I’m still mad, but it’s like a diffused kind of mad. I’m not resembling a bomb anymore. I just inhale.

And eventually exhale. He made us pray for each other at the end of our meeting. He went first. Once it was my turn it was like I was mute or had a lump in my throat that did not want to move. I told him I would eventually get it. After I don’t know how much longer I apologized to God for having to pray for myself first, for him to increase my hope and my faith that this is all still for our good. I thanked God for my husband and for all of the wonderful qualities that God has imprinted upon his soul that has allowed him to love us so well in such wonderful ways. It was the God’s honest truth.