“Gosh, you’re so uptight. This is probably why your mom left you and your dad and stepmom were more than willing to leave you while they went on holiday with their real family.”

Those were the words said to 12 year old me by one of my then best friends after she had held me down while she let one of her guy friends rape me. The same 12 year old who had also been repeatedly molested between the ages of 8 and 12 by a family member. Often under a blanket, right in front of my parents. My best friend put a pillow over me because I was hysterical. And the more I fought, the more violent he became with his actions. But boy did 12 year old me believe every single word she said afterwards. Surely, even though I didn’t want to, it wasn’t actually a bad thing. I just needed to stop being uptight and learn to be loveable. So I kept quiet and endeavoured to be ‘loveable’. For 10 years.

“I have found the one whom my soul loves…”

After those incidents between the ages of 8 and 12, I had completely blocked out what had happened. In fact, College was the first time I opened up about it all. Over the years, however, it began an unhealthy relationship with sex. My entire time in high school was spent watching porn as a way to ‘realign what sex should be like.’ I wanted to see sex as something that was consensual and enjoyable for everyone involved. Obviously that didn’t work. Because it eventually became an outlet for me when things got incredibly overwhelming. At university, however, I tried to stay away. I kept myself accountable to certain people. Often struggled, but succeeded more than I did fail. But even though I had stopped using ‘porn’ as an outlet, it didn’t change the fact that sex became what made me feel worthy. Even if it was forced on me, at least they found me attractive. It is what made me feel like I was wanted. The idea of it being an ‘act of love’ was not even a thought.

This scripture has been quoted so many times by newly engaged or married couples. And it always sounds rather romantic, but incredibly annoying. Because it personally makes relationships sound so euphoric and unrealistic. Like love looks like running in the field together, with a romantic song in the background.

Two years ago, when God began to do a work in my heart around relating without fear of being forced into something or fear of being considered ‘uptight’ that I’d just go with the flow, He began with this as one of the scriptures. It took me a while, because at that time I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be with Emmanuel. Or anyone. Ever. And I would never say it out loud, but I didn’t think I deserved anything better than what I had experienced. But I opened my Bible anyway.

“Scarcely had I passed by them, When I found the one I love. I held him and would not let him go, Until I had brought him to the house of my mother, And into the chamber of her who conceived me.” – Song of Solomon 3:4

‘Mother’ here refers to the Church. To the place where you were born (again). The place you were conceived. This took me weeks to digest. Because not only would I find the one I love, but we won’t have to figure it out on our own. We get to go back to the presence of God. The safest place to be. Where everything about us is known and welcomed. And where He teaches us what vulnerability really looks like. Where He can mould and shape our hearts to be receiving and giving of love. This place teaches us a healthy intimacy that can only be explored in the safety of it. I honestly believe it’s less about finding your love, and more about taking the relationship back to God and laying it back at His feet. Allowing Him to move freely and fully.

I would be lying if I said that has been easy. I hate it to be honest. This ‘going back.’ But I know it was the only thing that allowed me to be vulnerable enough with Emmanuel to share my struggle. To share where it came from. And for him to, in turn, let me know that he wasn’t upset whenever he’d kiss me and I’d sometimes cower or breakdown. Which meant a lot to a girl who was very good at self-sacrificing and people pleasing.

This aspect is possibly the hardest thing to navigate with Emmanuel because I’ll often feel incredibly rejected – and wonder if he was even attracted to me – whenever he stops us from boundaries being crossed. “I remember my therapist saying you haven’t overcome watching porn, you’ve just replaced with the physical act. That’s why Emmanuel’s ‘no’ means rejection, rather than honour” – I knew they were right. And I knew I wasn’t in a good place. But I chose not to ‘go back’ with Emmanuel. And just deal with it on my own. No Jesus. No Emmanuel. No therapists.

A few months ago, a guy I was rather attracted to and expressed a very clear interest in me approached me with a business proposal. We ended up spending a lot of time together, but I never really took it seriously because I wanted to be with Emmanuel. After several warnings that he didn’t respect my boundaries, I kept telling myself all was okay. I could navigate this well and prove everyone wrong.

One afternoon, said guy, came over unannounced in an attempt to cheer me up. We ended up having quite vulnerable chats, and things ended up going way too far.

I want to say I wanted it. I want to say it was enjoyable. But I can’t. I said “No ways, I can’t do this” and he replied with “don’t move, otherwise we’ll have to start trying to get it in again.” I told him it hurt, he replied with “it’ll pass.” I told him I didn’t want to and he just kept saying “relax.” And by the time he asked if I was okay, I was that 12 year old again who was just waiting for him to finish and replied ‘yes.’ I just wanted it to be over. Without being held down. Without being called uptight or no fun for leaving him hanging. I felt like it was all my fault. I let him into my flat. I allowed it until I realised my clothes were off. I didn’t say no loud enough. Or maybe the sternness that didn’t accompany it made him think I was joking.

In every session thereafter, I spent so much time telling the story as if I wanted it and felt completely safe. It honestly felt more embarrassing to say that I was afraid to say “no,” in case it got violent again. But I was sure I had now missed my calling. God was never going to use me. I was never going to experience what God intended for sex to be like.That was basically it for me. And after weeks of sessions where my story began to fall apart, my therapist looked me in the eyes and said, “This wasn’t consensual. I’d like to believe you convinced yourself you wanted it to be, because he’s such a nice guy and you believed he would never take advantage of you. But at some point you became aware that you really didn’t want to and that he actually didn’t care, even if his replies were tenderly delivered. And you know this. You know this because you made many attempts to communicate this but he didn’t listen. So by all means. Grieve. Scream. Get angry. Be sad. Figure out what this means between you and God. But stop hiding from God and counting yourself out of God’s plans”

When I initialy told Emmanuel about it, I phrased it the same way I had been all along because I didn’t have vocabulary for “I think I may have been taken advantage of but I also feel entirely to blame.” I spoke in circles. I cried a lot. But he held me the entire time.

He was obviously hurt. Incredibly so. He still is.

But our relationship has been based on going back to the presence of God. Always. And taking the other with you. He has always led by example in this. Even when I know he doesn’t want to. Because he knows that’s the only place where things can really be outworked in a healthy and real way. And it was while he was holding me that I realised I was a runner. I had learnt to block hurtful things out from a very young age. Pretend. Build an unbroken and unphased version of myself. And yes, I had ‘gone back’ many a times with Emmanuel, but not in the fullness of who Nandile is as a result of what she has been through. And this year has been the first time I’ve been intentional about undoing that.

After a long and deafening silence, I told Emmanuel I wanted to face the other way and he could let me go if he wanted to. He responded with a very tender:

“If you want to turn away, that’s okay. But if you’re turning away because you want to hide from me, then no. I still want to hold you”

I know Emmanuel was physically holding me in that moment, but I also know that he was taking me back. Back to the place of my birth. Knowing I was fully known there. Knowing I was fully seen there. And knowing I was worthy of a love that didn’t silence me. A love that didn’t take advantage of my weaknesses or convince me to just soldier on until they’ve gotten the pleasure out of my compliance.

I have a lot of trauma. And hurt. And anger. And fear. And shame. And sadness. And I often feel like it’s all a bit much for Emmanuel. That maybe he should go for someone less ‘damaged’. But I’m learning to lean into the goodness that has come with these 3 and a half years.

He always reminds me that I, too, am worthy of a love that heals. A love that restores. A love that wants to see it all. A love that wants to show up. A love that fights. Hard.

And a love that would not let me go that night, until I was back in the chamber of her who conceived me.