The Illusion Groomed You.

I need you to understand something before we go any further.

This isn't a self-help book.

I'm not here to hold your hand and tell you everything's going to be okay. I'm not your therapist. I'm not your church mother. I'm the woman finally ready to tell you the truth about how I survived what was designed to kill me.

And baby, it almost did.

You know that feeling in your stomach when something's wrong but everyone around you is smiling? That tightness in your chest when someone says "I love you" but their eyes are calculating your next move?

That's your body recognizing a spirit your mind hasn't named yet.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I was born into it.

They tell you that the church is a sanctuary.

A safe harbor. A place where broken people come to be made whole.

But for me—and maybe for you too—it was the first place I learned how to act.

Not how to behave. How to act. How to perform. How to wear the mask so well that even you forget what's underneath.

I was a pastor's daughter.

He was the voice of God on Sunday morning. Magnetic. Powerful. Charismatic enough to sweat through a suit and bring the house down. When he walked into the sanctuary, the air changed. People needed him. They pulled at him. They revered him.

I didn't know then that I was dealing with a Principality—a spirit that operates through systems, through institutions, through the very places we're told are sacred.

I just thought I had a complicated daddy who I loved deeply.

—

But here's what I've learned after 38 years of surviving what was designed to silence me:

It wasn't just him.

It was the deacons with multiple families sitting in the same congregation, smiling at each other during communion.

It was the youth pastors whose "mentorship" crossed lines nobody wanted to name.

It was the whispered secrets about pastors, first ladies, deacons & mother's boards—the "hidden polygamy" everyone knew about but no one spoke about because you protect the anointing at all costs.

It was all of them. They were all playing church.

And if you grew up in the Black church—or any church that valued image over integrity, performance over truth—you know exactly what I'm talking about.

—

This book isn't about bashing the church or pointing fingers at any one person.

It's about exposing the Narcissistic Spirit that hides behind the pulpit, in the pews, in the deacon board, in the choir director's smile.

It's about the energy that grooms you to accept crumbs and call it a feast.

It's about how good people—people who genuinely love you, who would rescue you otherwise can still be vessels for a spirit they don't even recognize.

My father eventually left the denominational church. Found a ministry rooted in actual service, not performance. Did the work. Showed up for me when I needed rescuing from my own abusive relationship.

He was one of the better ones back then. And the spirit still operated through him.

That's how insidious it is.

—

I learned early: In the church, you protect the image. You don't ask questions. You just sit in the front row, smooth your dress, and smile.

That moment taught me the most dangerous lesson of my life:

Love is performance. As long as you look good on the outside, it doesn't matter if you're empty on the inside.

I didn't know then that I was being groomed—not by any one person, but by a system.

That learning to silence my own reality to protect an image would set me up for every narcissist I would meet later.

Many different people. One spirit.

The best friend who weaponized my secrets at fourteen.

The "bestie" who sabotaged my livelihood at thirty.

The husband who changed the rules after I followed them.

The mentors, the lovers, the family members who all wore different faces but carried the same energy.

I just thought I was surviving.

But the truth is, you don't survive spiritual warfare by pretending it isn't happening.

You survive by naming it. By recognizing the pattern. By refusing to call the wound a blessing.

—

Here's what nobody tells you about narcissistic abuse:

It doesn't announce itself.

It walks in wearing love. Wearing devotion. Wearing the robe, the title, the smile that makes everyone else feel safe.

And that's the trap.

Because by the time you realize what's happening, you've already been trained to protect it. To defend it. To excuse it.

To perform.

—

This isn't just my story.

If you grew up in a glass house—a place where everything looked perfect from the outside but was shattered on the inside—you know this story too.

If you've ever been told to forgive without accountability, to submit without question, to honor someone who dishonored you—you know this spirit.

If you've ever felt crazy for naming what everyone else pretended not to see—this book is for you.

—

This is a Spiritual Autopsy.

Not a self-help book. Not a testimony of triumph where I tell you I've overcome and you can too.

I'm writing this from the valley, not the mountaintop.

The OG YOU never really survives a gun to the head. You just learn to live with the barrel against your temple and call it peace.

I'm Still recognizing the pattern in new faces. Still pulling shards of glass out of wounds I didn't know I was still carrying.

But I've learned something:

Progress isn't about arriving. It's about awareness.

It's about recognizing the spirit before it takes root. About naming the energy before it consumes you. About breaking cycles that have been running through your lineage for generations.

—

This book will make people uncomfortable.

Especially the ones who've been benefiting from your silence.

Especially the ones still performing the illusion you're about to name.

But discomfort is not your responsibility.

Your truth is.

—

I survived the Glass House.

But for a long time, I carried the shards of glass inside me—in my relationships, my friendships, my self-worth.

This is the story of how I finally started pulling them out.

And if you're still carrying glass, if you're still bleeding from wounds you've been told to call "blessings"—

Let's pull them out together.

—

This is the unveiling.

This is the reckoning.

This is how we dismantle the systems that enable this spirit to run amok—not to destroy the people, but to free them.

Let's move in freedom.