And now, here I am.

It’s kind of funny. Over the past year, I’ve quite literally stopped in my tracks and thought, “How in the world did I get here?”

On Sunday, the preacher put a $20 bill on the table and told a woman in the audience to come get it. Then he proceeded to lead her all over that building. Front to back, left to right, into back rooms, and back again. All for that $20 bill.

His point? God shows you the prize, but you have no idea what route He’s going to take you on to get there.

I felt that. Because my route has had quite a few turns I certainly did not request.

I used to share outfits online. I thought I’d become a middle-aged, balling-on-a-budget influencer, so I started a blog. That was short-lived. Apparently, looking cute and consistently documenting it are two different commitments.

Then I started a Christian T-shirt business. It was fun, and running it taught me so many lessons. Later, I became part of a duo with a goal of speaking publicly to empower young girls. That, too, ended. A story for another time.

I knew I wanted to use my voice. I just had no idea what I would eventually need to say.

On March 25, 2022, the trajectory of my life changed. Someone introduced me to a word that finally gave a name to what I had been experiencing in a friendship for more than two decades: narcissism.

An innocence in me died that day.

I knew people could be selfish, dishonest, and hurtful. What I hadn’t understood was how manipulation could hide inside a relationship I trusted. How someone could carefully cultivate an image of goodness while causing harm behind it. And what shook me most was realizing that faith could be part of the mask.

The language. The scriptures. The appearance of concern. Things I had understood as evidence of someone’s character could also be used to keep me from questioning it.

Once I began to understand those patterns, there was a thought I couldn’t shake. And I believe God has made sure I don’t:

Too many of us in faith communities have never been taught how to recognize this kind of harm. And oftentimes, we’re the ones perpetuating it, supporting it, and giving it standing ovations.

We know how to admire charisma. We need to learn how to examine character. We know how to honor a title. We need to pay attention to the fruit.

Why am I here? It’s simple. I should not have been a middle-aged adult learning about narcissism and dark personalities for the first time. Somewhere along the way, at home, in church, or in school, I should have learned how to recognize manipulation, how to question an image that doesn’t match someone’s behavior, and how to protect myself without feeling that I was failing to love them.

We learned to be harmless. But who taught us to be shrewd?

Since that day, the lessons have kept coming. I continue to work through the harm I experienced in that friendship, I'm enduring smear campaign after smear campaign, and daily listen to people describe painfully familiar experiences. Some are on the other side of the world. Others have been sitting right beside me in a church pew.

Front to back, left to right, into back rooms, and back again.

And now, here I am.

That desire to understand has even taken me back to school to pursue a master’s degree in psychology. But every time I learn something, I think about the person who still doesn’t have words for what they’re experiencing. The person trying harder, praying harder, and wondering why nothing ever seems to get better.

I want to reach that person. Because I remember being her.

I would have preferred the $20 bill, honestly. But I believe God is calling me to use my voice to share what I’ve learned, so fewer people have to move through life unaware of these patterns or the roles we can play in allowing them to continue.

That’s what you’ll find here: honest conversations about manipulation, narcissistic patterns, faith, and discernment, with room for the questions we haven’t always felt comfortable asking.

The Beyond Harmless podcast and YouTube videos are coming soon, too. Apparently, I have a few things to say.

I don’t know where God will lead me next, but I hope you’ll stick around.

And if you see a $20 bill on the table, I highly suggest you ask God a few questions first.