When Love Is a Lie: Recognizing the Hidden Signs of Abuse

Leticia Francis Author

Rachael turns red flags into a new rulebook, self-awareness, reprogramming, and reinvention after domestic and parental abuse.

Some women arrive in your life like a lighthouse; steady, bright, and unafraid to tell the truth about the rocks. That’s Rachel.

A 30-year healthcare professional, she spent decades holding other people’s lives together while quietly surviving parental abuse and later, domestic abuse. When the fog began to lift, she didn’t obsess over the perpetrator. She turned toward the only place with leverage: herself.

This is the heart of exiting survival mode: Self-Awareness → Reprogramming → Reinvention. Rachel walked every inch of that road—shaky at first, then stronger, then unmissable. Here’s what she learned, and how you can apply it.

Phase 1: Self-Awareness — “I can’t change them; I can choose me.”

Survival mode blurs the truth and normalizes harm. Rachel grew up tiptoeing around volatility, so “walking on eggshells” felt familiar—almost loving. That early training dulled the sound of red flags later: the “compliments” that were actually control (“You’re prettier without makeup,” “I prefer your hair like this”), the quiet wedges driven between her and her friends, the subtle isolation masked as care.

What Self-Awareness looked like for Rachel:

• Naming the pattern. Love-bomb → control → isolation → self-doubt. She stopped debating whether it “counted” as abuse and called it what it was.

• Telling the truth about conditioning. Being taught to be “nice,” “grateful,” and “low-maintenance” had trained her to make everyone else comfortable—even at her own expense.

• Listening to the alarm inside. That tiny voice that says, Something’s off. If you’re wondering whether it’s abuse, it already hurts. Believe your body before you believe their words.

Try this: Write a “Red Flag Translation” list.

• “You look better without that lipstick.” → I want control over how you show up.

• “Your friend is using you.” → I need you isolated so I’m your only mirror.

• “I’m just protective.” → I’m policing you.

Seeing the language changes the power.

Phase 2: Reprogramming — “I rebuild my reflexes.”

Knowing isn’t enough. Survival mode lives in the nervous system. Rachel committed to pattern change, not just insight. She stepped into group work—where women didn’t need a hundred disclaimers to be believed. She rebuilt trust with her own intuition, one tiny decision at a time.

What Reprogramming looked like for Rachel:

• Boundary rehab. “No” became a full sentence, not the beginning of a debate.

• Micro-choices to restore self-trust. “What music do I like? What do I want to wear?” (If that sounds small, ask anyone who’s been controlled—these choices are revolutionary.)

• Community as medicine. Abuse isolates; healing reconnects. Being seen by people who get it dissolved shame and sped up change.

• Stop chasing closure. She quit trying to understand why they did it. That energy now funds the future she’s building.

Try this: For 30 days, practice “green-light decisions.” Pick one daily choice (outfit, playlist, meal). Ask, What do I want? Decide within 10 seconds. No polls. No apologizing. You’re reinstalling your internal authority.

Phase 3: Reinvention — “I become someone my future can depend on.”

Reinvention isn’t pretending it never happened; it’s integrating what happened so it never owns you again. Rachel secured her home, untangled debts, rebuilt her social world in her 40s (no small feat), and created Lemonade—a brand forged from her name and her refusal to waste pain.

She also turned outward with fire and tenderness, naming the cultural myths that keep us stuck:

• “The customer is always right.” Translation: tolerate mistreatment.

• “He’s mean because he likes you.” We teach this to girls—then wonder why they can’t spot coercion.

• “Just leave.” Leaving is a process, not a moment. Pushing someone faster than their nervous system can handle is another form of control.

What Reinvention sounds like:

• “If I feel a niggle, that’s data. I don’t argue with it.”

• “I don’t need to be understood to be safe.”

• “My standards aren’t too high; my history was too low.”

Try this: Write your Boundary Charter—five non-negotiables for love and friendship (e.g., “No isolation from my people,” “No commentary on my body or clothes,” “Disagreement without disrespect”). Share it with one safe person. Practice enforcing it in low-stakes places (work, acquaintances) so it’s second nature in high-stakes spaces (dating, family).

For the One Reading This in a Quiet Panic

• If you think it might be abuse, it already hurts. You don’t need bruises to leave.

• You don’t have to explain your boundaries to earn them.

• Seeking help doesn’t mean you must leave today. It means you’re gathering power.

Small next steps:

1. Tell one safe person, “I don’t feel okay at home. I need you to believe me.”

2. Start a written log: dates, words, incidents. The fog hates receipts.

3. Join a support group (local or online). The fastest antidote to shame is “me too.”

4. Create a practical exit folder (docs, cash, keys, copies). Power is preparation.

You are not broken; you are adapting. And adaptation can be unlearned.

The Three Phases, in One Breath

Self-Awareness: Name the pattern, trust the niggle, stop debating your pain.
Reprogramming: Retrain your reflexes—boundaries, body cues, community.
Reinvention: Build a life that can hold the real you. Choose relationships that don’t require you to disappear to be loved.

Rachel did not wait to feel perfectly ready. She chose one brave truth at a time until her life fit her again.

You were not built to break. But you damn sure were not built to just survive.

Categories: : Podcast