My name is Shade, and I never imagined my search for spiritual freedom would trap me in the deepest bondage of my life.
My marriage to Tunde was dying. For years we struggled with childlessness, constant quarrels, and a coldness that no amount of counselling could fix. I prayed, fasted, and attended programmes, but nothing changed. In desperation, I confided in a close friend who recommended Pastor David — a popular deliverance minister whose church was known for breaking yokes and restoring homes.
“He is highly anointed,” she told me. “Many women have received miracles through him.”
I believed her.
The first session was powerful. Pastor David prayed intensely, laid hands on me, and declared that every spiritual husband and family curse was broken. I felt a heavy burden lift. He asked me to return for follow-up sessions. “Your case requires special attention,” he said gently.
Those special sessions became the beginning of my destruction.
What started as intense prayers slowly turned into something else. He began complimenting my beauty, telling me how strong I was, and how my husband didn’t appreciate the “virtuous woman” God had given him. One evening, after a long prayer session that left me emotionally drained, he hugged me. The hug lingered. Then came the kiss. Then more.
I was weak. Broken. Vulnerable. And he knew it.
Before I could regain my senses, I had become his secret side chick. We would meet in a small apartment he kept near the church. He would preach fire and brimstone on Sunday about adultery and holiness, then call me on Monday to meet him. The same mouth that bound demons during deliverance services would whisper sweet nonsense to me in that apartment.
The guilt started eating me alive.
Every Sunday has become torture. I sit beside my husband Tunde in the front row — the “perfect couple” everyone admires — while Pastor David stands on the pulpit preaching about purity, faithfulness, and the dangers of sin. When he says “Every spirit of immorality, I command you to die by fire!” my stomach turns. I feel like the biggest hypocrite alive.
My spirit is dying.
I can barely pray anymore. I feel dirty, used, and trapped. Sometimes when Pastor David is ministering and people are falling under the anointing, I wonder if they know the same hands performing miracles have been all over me. The shame is choking me.
I want to stop. I’ve tried many times. But he always reminds me, “Who will believe you? You came to me for deliverance. They will say you seduced me.” He even quotes scriptures to justify what we’re doing. The manipulation is complete.
Tunde has noticed I’ve changed. He thinks I’m becoming more spiritual because I cry a lot during service. If only he knew the tears are from deep pain and regret.
I’m dying inside. I went to church for healing and found fresh wounds. I went for deliverance and became more bound than ever.
To every woman out there battling in silence: Be careful where you run to for help. Not every fire is from the Holy Ghost. Sometimes the same altar you run to for salvation becomes the place of your greatest fall.
I don’t know how this story ends, but I can’t continue like this. Something has to break — either this secret or me.
Have you ever found yourself trapped in a situation you never planned? How did you escape? Or are you still struggling in silence? Share your story (anonymously if you want) in the comment section. Maybe your testimony will save someone else.
Source: Original This story is inspired by the real experiences of our readers. We believe that every story carries a lesson that can bring light to others. To protect everyone’s privacy, our editors may change names, locations, and certain details while keeping the heart of the story true. Images are for illustration only. If you’d like to share your own experience, please contact us via email.
