This part of my story may be the most heartbreaking chapter of all—but it was also the one that built me. Through every tear, every silent night, every moment I felt alone, I was unknowingly becoming the woman I am today. A woman who, despite the pain, learned to rise. A mother who gives all the love she never received, making sure her children feel safe, cherished, and seen—even while quietly mending her own broken pieces. And a dreamer… who dares to believe again, not just for herself, but for the beautiful future she envisions for her family.
By sharing my story, I’m not here to point blame or tarnish the reputation of the father of my children.
I’m here to open my heart—to tell the truth of my journey—the silent battles, the invisible scars, the quiet strength it took to keep going.
I’m letting the light in—choosing to heal, choosing to forgive, choosing to live, the truth that few have ever seen, not even our friends.
I’m here to let the light in—to accept, to heal, and to set myself free.
Because I believe with all my heart:
someone out there needs to know—
you can walk through the darkest valleys, you can bend without breaking,
you can lose your way and still come home to yourself, you can survive—and even thrive—after it all.
You see, my life has been marked by loss and longing long before I ever became a wife or mother. I was just four years old when my mother died — far too young to understand what death really meant, but old enough to feel the emptiness she left behind. When my father remarried, instead of finding comfort, I found cruelty. The mistreatment I endured shattered my sense of self-worth. And over time, the idea of a beautiful life felt more like a fantasy I didn’t deserve.
I dreamed once — of becoming a nurse, of going to America, of building a life that meant something. But dreams are fragile when no one believes in them. So I buried mine. I stopped hoping. I just survived.
But as painful as my past was, nothing could have prepared me for the deepest struggle of all — the one I am still living through today.
When I came to Japan as a trainee, I thought maybe this was my way out. A way to escape the brokenness back home. A chance to start fresh. I didn’t expect to meet anyone — especially not someone who would shape the next chapter of my life.
He was a half-Filipino, half-Japanese man who had just come from Cebu — like me. Maybe we bonded over our shared background. Maybe I was just tired of carrying everything alone. Maybe I just needed someone… anyone. I didn’t overthink it. I had already stopped dreaming, stopped hoping. I just accepted what life brought me.
And then I got pregnant.
I was terrified — unprepared in every way. But there was a tiny heartbeat growing inside me, and I knew I had to face whatever came next. My sister — the one who raised me like a mother — held me through the storm with love and understanding. But my older brother, the same one who once protected me from our stepmother, couldn’t accept my situation. That shattered me. We didn’t speak for almost a decade.
During my pregnancy, I returned to Cebu. I didn’t care about the shame or whispers — all that mattered was the baby inside me. I gave birth surrounded by the people who truly loved me: my sister, her husband, my other brother and my nieces who treated me like their big sister. My husband came back for our child’s baptism. Later, we got married.
But even before the wedding,I can still remember that time when God talked to me in my spirit, “ Are you sure do you want to get married to this man? Are you sure you wanna build a future with him? Are you sure you love him enough to share your life with him?.. And my heart really is troubled but my mind said, well maybe I love him because I wouldn’t gave my all if I don’t love him, and I will be a disgrace in our family to have a child with no father. So yeah, I just listened to my mind though my heart is troubled. I could feel a quiet voice deep inside me whispering that something wasn’t right. But I ignored it. I thought love meant giving everything, even when your heart is full of doubt. I thought it would be more shameful to have a child without a husband. So I said yes… even as my soul trembled.
Not long after, the truth started unraveling.
Friends messaged me. He was going to bars. Seeing someone else. Living like I didn’t exist. I was crushed. I wanted to leave him, but his grandparents, whom I’m close with, begged me to stay, to give him another chance.
So I went back to Japan.
When I came back to Japan, it felt like he had become someone else—a stranger in the skin of the man I once knew when I was still a trainee. His ways changed. His thinking shifted. The warmth I remembered seemed to have faded into the background. He started spending more time out—drinking, singing karaoke, visiting friends. I tried to understand. Maybe that was just how things were done here after long days of work.
Meanwhile, I was starting over—this time not just as a wife, but as a new mother in a foreign land. I didn’t have the luxury of figuring things out slowly. I had to adjust, fast. I began working an 8-to-5 job, commuting by bicycle, rain or shine, to pick up our daughter because I didn’t yet have a Japanese driver’s license. Life felt like a whirlwind, but I took it all in stride. I thought, this is what it means to build a life.
After work, there was no time to rest. I’d head straight to the kitchen, cook our meals, do the laundry, clean, and prepare everything for the next day. I became a master of multitasking, not out of choice, but out of necessity. I was a mother. I was a wife. I was a woman carrying the weight of a world I was still learning to understand. And though it was hard, I accepted it. Because I believed that was love. That was family. That was life.
I had no one else to lean on. My own family was far away. His mother had already passed by the time I returned to Japan, and his father, who lived in another town, was distant both in miles and in heart.
We eventually moved to an apartment closer to our daughter’s kindergarten. I hoped things would get better. But instead, they grew heavier. From the very beginning, he always held onto his income tightly. I didn’t complain—I was earning, too. He paid the bills. I provided everything else. I told myself that was fair… until friends began asking why I was the one carrying so much of the load.
That’s when I started to question things. I tried to open up to him, to share my thoughts, my exhaustion, my dreams—but it felt like he heard my words without really listening to my heart. He was still young, still clinging to the joy of freedom, while I was knee-deep in responsibilities. He was out living, and I was just trying to survive.
But still, I kept going. Not because I didn’t have a choice—but because I loved. Because I believed in our family. Because that’s who I was… even when it felt like I was slowly losing myself.
And just when I thought I was already giving everything I could—physically, emotionally, financially—life dealt another blow I never saw coming.
That was the beginning of the darkest chapter of my life.
He fell in love with another woman in Yokohama. The betrayal cut so deep, it felt like I was being torn apart. I don’t know when it started. I don’t know how deep it went. But I know how it made me feel—like the ground beneath me cracked wide open. I was here, holding everything together, sacrificing every piece of me just to keep our little family afloat. And yet, he still looked for love somewhere else.
We ended up in a police station after he hurt me physically. I wanted to be strong — but I was scared. I couldn’t even speak Japanese well, and here I was, alone in a foreign land with no one to turn to.
I worked in a company while also working in an omise (night bar) just to survive, because he stopped supporting me. He spent weekends in Yokohama, traveling back and forth from Gifu to Yokohama, imagine how far he has travelled to see the girl, while I stayed home with our daughter. He mismanaged money, created debt, and I was the one left to clean up the mess. And still — maybe out of fear, maybe out of hope — I stayed. I thought, at least our daughter has a father.
We moved to a smaller, more affordable apartment—we simply couldn’t keep up with the rent anymore. Life felt like a steep mountain we had no choice but to climb. Then one day, he found out something that shattered him—the woman he replaced me with was in a relationship with another man. Suddenly, his world fell apart.
In his confusion, he asked me to go with him to Yokohama to confront her—to end things for good. And believe it or not, I said yes. I agreed because I wanted to know the girl personally and because I needed to see the woman he gave his heart to. I wanted to understand. I wanted answers to a question that had haunted me—Why wasn’t I enough?
So we went, together with our 3-year-old daughter at time who knew nothing about the situation. He shown me the girl’s apartment, the bar the girl is working, but unfortunately the girl hasn’t had the nerve to face me. So we went home, and they talked on our way home to Gifu since the car he was driving had Bluetooth with his phone so I heard what they were talking, luckily my daughter was sleeping at that time to comprehend why his father was talking to another woman. And perhaps they ended up their one year relationship that way.
Me?
I did what I had done too many times before—I stayed. I welcomed him back like nothing ever happened. My heart? I silenced its screams. My pain? I buried it deep, where no one could see. Not because I was weak… but because, truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do, I’m holding and protecting this family though its breaking me. I want my child to have a complete family, one I never experienced as a child.
And maybe I was ashamed—ashamed to face my family with the truth, afraid they’d see the cracks in the life I tried so hard to build. Ashamed that I made the wrong choices. I was scared our friends might find out, scared they’d judge me or pity me. And maybe… I didn’t want to believe that this was really my reality.
Or maybe—I was just trying to survive.
But survival… it has a way of awakening something in you.
In those quiet nights when everyone was asleep and the weight of everything pressed down on my chest, I would stare at the ceiling, wondering, Is this really all my life is meant to be? I was still young. I’m a woman who gave so much just to show what love meant, a mother who’s lovingly held her child to protect the chaos around her and I know I’m a dreamer, And yet I felt invisible in my own story.
There were days I felt like a ghost in my own home—seen, but not really noticed. Heard, but not truly listened to. Loved? I wasn’t even sure anymore what that felt like.
Still… I showed up. For my daughter. For the life I wanted to believe was still possible. I dried my tears before they could see. I smiled when my heart was aching. I kept working, kept hoping, kept praying.
And slowly, something in me shifted.
I began to feel this quiet whisper deep in my soul… telling me that I was made for more. That this pain wasn’t the end of my story—it was the beginning of a new one. A stronger one. A braver one.
Two years passed. We bought a house—under my name. A milestone that should’ve felt like a beginning… but strangely, it didn’t. We never talked about our future. We lived together, but the silence between us was louder than words. While he’s binge-watching his favorite movies, I was quietly searching for something more. I’d be on my phone, diving deep into the world of the internet and YouTube, not for entertainment—but for hope. I was desperate to find a way out of the life we were living. I didn’t want this to be my story forever. I wanted financial freedom. I wanted peace. I wanted to give my children a life they could be proud of.
That’s when I stumbled upon a world I never knew existed—people talking about passive income, freedom from the 9 to 5, and creating something of your own. I discovered Print on Demand, content creation, and other online income streams. And even though I had zero experience, no background, no technical skills—I felt a spark inside me. For the first time in a long time, I felt… hopeful.
It was like God was showing me a way—a new path, a different life. One I could build with my own hands. For the first time in a long while, I felt excited about something. Like God was slowly unfolding a new path before me, one I never thought was possible. And so, I started learning. I watched videos. I took notes. I imagined a life where I didn’t have to depend on anyone else—just my will, my faith, and the dreams burning quietly inside me.
And let me tell you this—I’m still learning. I’m still figuring things out. But now I know that even someone like me—with no knowledge or experience—can start dreaming again and taking small steps toward something bigger.
In my future blog posts, I’ll share those opportunities I’ve found, the ones I’m learning and trying myself—so that maybe you, too, can begin your journey. Whether you’re a mom, a dreamer, or just someone longing for more… you’re not alone. If I can find a new path, you can too.
But even with those tiny sparks of hope, the weight of reality was still heavy.
We argued about money a lot—because in his mind, I also had to provide. He couldn’t support our family fully, so it was expected that I work just as hard. There was no sense of shared vision. We never talked about dreams or goals or what kind of life we wanted as a family. He thought I would always be there no matter how he treated me. And maybe I was… but that’s also why he never changed. In the end, we were just two strangers, living under the same roof, walking through life without ever truly walking together.
Maybe… maybe it’s also my fault why he treats me the way he does. Maybe because I’m too soft as a person. I always say yes, even when I’m hurting. I keep understanding, even when I feel unseen. I never demanded too much—I only ever wanted peace, harmony, and a little appreciation for everything I’ve done and continue to do, even when it breaks me inside.
I just kept hoping… wishing that one day, he would see that all I wanted was to give our child a family. That I can take whatever life throws at me. That he’d realize I wasn’t asking for perfection—just for us to live in harmony. I wished he would finally value all the sacrifices I’ve made, how much of myself I’ve poured out just to keep this family whole, even when it wasn’t easy.
I longed for him to understand that being a father isn’t just about being physically present. All I ever wanted was a man who understood what it meant to be a father—
Someone who would show up, not just in words, but in actions…
A provider, not just of money, but of love, safety, and stability.
I wanted a man who would work hard to meet our daughters’ needs,
Who would take pride in giving them a better life than we ever had.
Not because I asked him to—but because he knew it was his role,
Because he saw their worth and wanted nothing but the best for them.
But sadly… that wasn’t the reality we were living in.
I realize… I wasn’t just staying for him—I was staying for the dream I had in my heart.
The dream of a whole family. The once I never had as a child. The hope that one day, he’d finally see me, value me, and rise to the kind of man our daughters could look up to.
I clung to that hope like it was the only light in the darkness.
But sometimes, the hardest truth to accept is that love alone isn’t enough.
You can give your everything, and still not be enough for someone who isn’t ready to receive it.
Still, I kept showing up.
I cooked, I cleaned, I worked from morning till night.
I gave my daughters all the love I had, even on the days I felt completely empty.
Because a mother’s heart keeps beating—even through the silence, even through the heartbreak.
And somehow, in the middle of that mess… I began to find pieces of myself again.
Through the pain, through the disappointments, a new fire started to burn.
It wasn’t loud—but it was real.
A quiet, powerful whisper that said:
You were made for more.
You still have a purpose.
You’re not just somebody’s wife—you are a woman, a mother, and a dreamer.
And that whisper?
It’s what kept me going.
And just when I thought my heart couldn’t carry more, life placed another miracle in my hands—
I got pregnant with our second daughter.
It was during the pandemic. I was told to stop working because of my condition. That should’ve been his moment to step up. But instead, he used my credit cards, and promised he’d pay. He didn’t. It will end up in a fight when I tried to say no. I gave in, because I had no choice. I don’t want stress anymore because I’m carrying a life inside me.
Months later, everything collapsed. The debts are starting to pile up, the lies, the loneliness. I had nothing left.
I was devastated.
I cried silently every night, trying not to let my daughter hear the heartbreak pouring out of me. Depression clung to me like a shadow — one I couldn’t shake. But my sister, she called me almost every day, checking in from a thousand miles away, her voice becoming my lifeline. She reminded me to hold on, to be strong — not just for me, for my eldest daughter and for the life growing inside me. I was pregnant with our second daughter. I had to be okay. I had to protect my unborn child from the chaos surrounding me.
In that solitude, when there was no one to lean on but God, I prayed like I had never prayed before. I poured out every pain, every plea, every broken dream. Not the kind of prayers you whisper casually, but the ones that come from the deepest parts of your soul. I knelt with trembling hands and a tired heart, asking God to carry me through, to guide my next step, to give me strength when I had none left.
One night, after wiping my tears and putting my eldest daughter to bed, I searched online, desperate to hear something that would lift me. I opened YouTube and typed in something like “Motivational Sermon”… I needed someone to tell me what to do because I don’t know what to do anymore, and that’s when I found Joel Osteen.
The first video I watched was titled “Remember Your Dream.” And as I listened, tears flowed down my cheeks uncontrollably. It was like God was speaking directly to me through his words. Every sentence hit a wound I had long tried to ignore. Every truth reminded me of who I used to be before life broke me.
He said, “You are not lacking. You are not short-changed. When God breathed life into you, He gave you everything you need to fulfill your destiny. You have royal blood flowing in your veins. You have seeds of greatness growing in you right now.”
My mind couldn’t comprehend it… but my heart felt alive for the first time in years. It was like God whispered, “Nak, (Daughter), it’s time. Dream again.”
That message planted a seed of hope in me. A seed that would slowly grow into faith, and later, into action. From then on, Joel Osteen became more than just a preacher on a screen—he became the first voice to help me believe in God again, to believe in me again.
That moment changed me.
YouTube became my daily medicine.
And it didn’t stop there.
I began listening every day—to Joel Osteen, to Terri Savelle Foy, who became the cheerleader of my dreams… to Jim Kwik, who taught me how to rebuild my mindset, to Dr. Joe Dispenza, who showed me that “the act of overcoming is the becoming process.” I learned manifestation through Dr. Tara Swart, whose teachings are backed by neuroscience. From This is Mariya, I discovered the power of energy in shaping our reality. Nero Knowledge opened my eyes to ancient esoteric wisdom and how to consciously create the life I desire. And Dr. James R. Doty, whose compassionate wisdom helped me understand the strength in vulnerability and the magic that comes from opening your heart.
These mentors helped me take control of my thoughts, process my emotions, and start believing that maybe, just maybe, everything I had gone through wasn’t the end—but a preparation for the person I was meant to become.
Each of them helped me slowly piece my broken self back together — helping me manage my emotions, heal my inner wounds, and believe again in a future full of light.
Those years weren’t wasted. They were the fire that forged me. The silence taught me to listen to my own voice. The heartbreak cracked me open just enough to let healing begin. And from the rubble of a life I thought was broken beyond repair, I began to rebuild—not just for myself, but for my children, for my future, for the woman I am becoming.
Because even when love lets us down, we can rise from the ashes of what was, and create something even more beautiful from the pieces.
Yes, I’m still living with the man who has hurt me so deeply. The same man who crushed my spirit, who made me feel invisible, useless, unwanted. But I’ve learned to see through his pain too — to understand that maybe, just maybe, he never really loved me the way I needed. Maybe he was never ready to be a husband or father. Maybe I was just part of a life he didn’t want.
That realization tore me apart. Really.
It made me feel like I was the failure. Like our family was a mistake. But even in that pain, my mentors reminded me: “Everything serves a purpose.” Even the heartbreak. Even the betrayal.
So I chose to reimagine myself. I chose to rebuild — not for him, but for my children. For my future. For my soul. I had to. Because no one else was going to do it for me.
And even now, though my heart still carries the heaviness of the life I’m enduring, I’ve learned to stand still in the storm. I’ve learned to quiet my heart when he rages. I still cry, yes. But I no longer cry out of weakness. I cry because I’m healing. Because I’m growing.
I’m becoming.
And I know this — without a doubt — when the time is right, when everything is well, when its time, I’m ready… God will set me free. And I will live the life that God put in my heart. A future where my children and my family will flourish — full of love, harmony, and abundance. I feel it deep in my bones: one touch of God’s favor, and everything will change.
Even though my husband brought me so much sorrow, I don’t wish him harm. I value him as the father of my children. And I’ve even learned to thank him. Because by not loving me, he taught me to love myself. By not seeing my worth, he led me to discover my Devine identity. By breaking my heart, he forced me to rebuild it — stronger, wiser, more resilient.
He never gave me my dream life — and so, I’m creating it for myself, my children and my family.
His betrayals became my armor. His rejection became my reason. My tears became the sacred water that grew the seeds of who I was always meant to be.
And to you, my dear reader…
If you’ve ever felt unloved… unseen… broken beyond repair — I want you to hear this:
You are not a mistake.
You are not forgotten.
And this is not the end.
You were created with purpose, with beauty, and with power beyond your imagination. Even if your life feels like it’s falling apart — even if no one understands your pain — there is still a light in you. A divine spark. And it’s waiting for you to believe in it again.
You can begin again.
You can dream again.
You can rise — just like I am rising.
One day, you’ll look back on everything that tried to break you… and smile, because you’ll realize: it built you.
So hold on, beautiful soul.
Your comeback story is already unfolding.
And I can’t wait to see the woman you’re becoming.
With all my heart,
— Annie
