When the Light Feels Far Away: Living as a VAW (Violence Against Women) Victim

They say every journey toward healing begins with a single step, but sometimes, even taking that step feels impossible. And even when I took the first, second, third, and so on steps, I just feel so lost and nowhere near recovery. My name is Jedajane, and this is my story—a story not of survival, but of enduring. As a victim of violence against women, I still find myself in the darkness, grappling with the weight of betrayal, abuse, and pain. I share this not to seek pity, but to give voice to the silence that so many endure. Writing these words is an act of courage for me, a way to confront my reality and perhaps reach others who feel as lost as I do. This blog is not about triumph or closure. It is about the raw, unfiltered truth of living through the shadows of violence and betrayal. My hope is that by speaking up, I can begin to make sense of my pain and remind others that even in darkness, our stories matter. 

My Current Reality 

Life at this moment feels like an uphill battle against a storm that refuses to subside. Each day, I grapple with a mix of emotions—grief, anger, self-doubt, and hope. The aftermath of the abuse lingers, not just in visible scars but also in the echoes of words and actions that repeatedly play in my mind.

There’s a constant tension in navigating daily life while carrying the weight of past traumas. The challenges are not limited to the memories; they extend to rebuilding a sense of self, regaining confidence, and finding stability for my child and myself.

Emotionally, I often feel drained and disconnected. It’s a struggle to reconcile the person I was before with the one I am now—a mother trying to protect her child and a woman striving to find her strength.

What makes this journey harder is the persistent sense of injustice. It’s not only about healing but also about navigating a system that should protect me, advocating for my rights, and ensuring my child grows up in an environment free from fear.

Despite all this, there is a flicker of resilience. Even when the light feels far away, I find moments of clarity—small victories that remind me that survival is an act of courage and hope.

Even in moments when I attempt to rebuild my relationship with my husband, it feels as though the foundation is constantly at risk of collapsing. There’s a persistent fear that, at any moment, he could betray me again, just as he did when I thought we were repairing things back in 2022.

As a married person, I feel a deep sense of obligation to hold on to the person I vowed to spend my life with. But even in the good times, when I look at him, I can’t help but question myself: Is this real? Or is this just another cycle of love bombing to keep me from pursuing the justice I deserve through the VAWC case? I find myself wondering how long this façade of normalcy will last, and that uncertainty is both exhausting and disheartening.

Whenever I try to open up and share my lingering pain from his repeated betrayals, he dismisses my feelings as if they’re unfounded. It’s as if he doesn’t—or refuses to—understand that the hurt from his actions is still very real. His dismissiveness only deepens the ache, making me question whether I’ll ever truly heal in this relationship.

Living with this duality—wanting to believe in the possibility of change while bracing for more pain—is one of the most challenging aspects of my current reality. It’s as though I’m constantly walking on eggshells, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

How I Got Here

My journey to this point is rooted in the hope I had when I first met my husband. We built a life together quickly, moving in after a few months of dating in 2018 and eventually getting married in February 2020. I was ecstatic when I learned I was pregnant shortly after our wedding. However, the joy of our new beginning was overshadowed by a series of painful revelations and incidents that would change everything.

Before long, I discovered troubling details about my husband’s past infidelity with his previous partner, with whom he has a daughter. In his Messenger history, I saw how, even when his ex was just two months postpartum, he was already engaging in sexual relationships with different women and even bragged about these encounters to a friend. One incident stood out vividly—how he pursued an 18-year-old girl and managed to sleep with her after just two dates. The discovery disgusted me, especially as it coincided with the early months of our marriage and my own pregnancy. I didn’t know what to do. Ultimately, I decided to let it go since those incidents happened before we met, but the seeds of doubt, insecurity, and fear were planted. What if the same fate awaited me?

The first major blow came just 10 months into our marriage, in December 2020, when my husband physically hurt me for the first time postpartum. The punch to my face left a bruise I struggled to hide from family during my son's first month celebration. Instead of acknowledging or apologizing for his actions, he deflected and manipulated me into believing I was at fault. I refrained from discussing this with my family and friends, determined to preserve the image of my husband.

In April 2021, another violent incident occurred. During an argument over my mother-in-law’s insistence on feeding my infant son unhealthy food, my husband hit me repeatedly—even as I begged him to stop while holding our baby. After this, I moved out temporarily but begged him to rejoin us, hoping things would improve.

The most shattering betrayals came in 2022 when I discovered his infidelity. On June 5, 2022, I found a receipt from a trip to Laguna, which led to the discovery of an affair with a younger woman, Janna. Confrontations over this incident escalated to another instance of physical abuse, leaving me with a swollen face and an emotional wound that ran even deeper. Despite his promise to change, he later admitted to dating multiple women within a short period, adding to my sense of betrayal.

It made me question everything. I asked so many questions: who, when, why, where. But instead of being given concrete answers or an apology, I was met with deflection. He claimed he needed "air to breathe" and outright denied having a relationship with the 18-year-old Janna. Yet, in the same breath, he admitted to dating a total of eight women while married to me. I didn’t know how to feel about that—how does one even begin to process such a revelation? The weight of it was unbearable, like a blow to my sense of self-worth. It felt as though my reality was being systematically dismantled by the very person I had trusted most.

To support his shocking claims, he even sent me a picture of himself with another woman, as if to prove how easily he could step outside our marriage. Later, when I managed to contact Janna, she sent me yet another picture—this time of him with a different woman. Each piece of evidence felt like another stab at my already fractured heart, a reminder that the betrayal was far deeper and more deliberate than I had initially thought.

In early January 2023, we spent New Year’s together at a bayside hotel in Manila in what I hoped would be a fresh start. Despite the seemingly peaceful moments we shared, I couldn’t shake the lingering doubts and insecurities. I cried as I asked him for reassurance, pleading for honesty about whether he was still involved in any affairs. He promised me, “Matagal nang wala,” and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe him.

But just two weeks later, I uncovered the painful truth. He had continued his relationship with Janna, as evidenced by their affectionate messages where they called each other “Love.” To make matters worse, I discovered Janna’s nickname in his Messenger—“Pepe ni Kagome.” That revelation shattered what little hope I had left. It wasn’t just the betrayal itself that hurt but the deliberate way he continued to deceive me, undermining every effort to rebuild our marriage.

By early 2023, I discovered further evidence of infidelity, including messages exchanged with Janna and other women. Each new revelation felt like a reopening of old wounds. On January 30, I learned of his secret visits to another location, (Purok 13-E, Tandang Sora, Quezon City) sparking another confrontation.

From June 2022, when I first learned about the affairs, I believed we were taking steps to rebuild our marriage. I held on to the hope that we could mend what was broken, trusting his repeated assurances that the affairs had ended. But even as we worked on reconciliation, I later found out that my husband was still going out with different women, including Janna—whom he continued to call "Love." This wasn’t just a one-time mistake but a repeated and ongoing pattern of deceit, making it clear that any progress we thought we had made was an illusion; it was a repeated and ongoing pattern of disrespect and deceit, eroding any progress we thought we had made.

After the discovery in January 2023, he completely abandoned us—both physically and emotionally. Then, in March 2023, I was confronted with yet another piece of evidence when a friend sent me a photo of him and Janna cuddling on public transport. In their conversation, they discussed plans for a "lugaw date." The sight of that photo shattered what little hope I had left.

When I confronted him, he tried to minimize my pain, claiming that he didn’t mean any of the sweet words he said to Janna. He went so far as to say he only used her as a way to "get away" from me, as if that explanation should somehow erase the betrayal. But his reasoning made no sense—how could someone say such intimate words, make plans, and build a connection with someone else, yet expect me to believe it was meaningless?

What hurt even more was the way both of them denied their relationship, working together to paint me as a crazy, jealous woman. Their denials weren’t just dismissive—they were an attempt to rewrite the truth, making it seem as though my pain was irrational and unfounded. This gaslighting left me questioning my own reality and doubting my right to feel hurt.

Their actions weren’t just about infidelity; they were a deliberate effort to invalidate my emotions and silence my voice. The betrayal wasn’t limited to his cheating—it was in the way he tried to justify it, minimize its impact, and make me feel like I was the problem. That, perhaps, was the cruelest cut of all.

The breaking point came in May 2023, when I witnessed him with Janna again, riding a motorcycle together. My attempts to seek accountability were met with hostility and further emotional abuse from his family, specifically his mother. Despite his continued denials, the evidence of his actions was undeniable. In that moment, my husband was arrogant enough to tell me to simply file a legal complaint, as though my pain and the betrayal were mere inconveniences to him. Yet, fast forward to today, whenever the VAWC case we filed is brought up, he twists the narrative. He claims it’s solely my doing, accusing me of trying to ruin his life. The irony is suffocating—how can he not see that it was his repeated betrayals, lies, and violence that tore my life apart?

What makes this experience even harder to bear is the emotional abuse I endured from his mother. In that same incident, she shouted at me in front of my son, calling me “luka-luka” and threatening to get me a certificate from a mental institution. Her words weren’t just cruel; they were an intentional attempt to degrade me and distract us from her son’s undeniable betrayal. The humiliation and dehumanization I felt in that moment were compounded by the knowledge that my young child was present to witness it all.

These actions—both from my husband and his mother—illustrate a broader pattern of gaslighting and emotional abuse that seeks to discredit my experiences and make me question my reality. It’s a deeply isolating tactic, one that preys on the pain I already feel and weaponizes it against me. The impact of such behavior runs deep, leaving scars not only on me but also on my child, who is growing up in the shadow of these toxic dynamics.

This journey has taught me that emotional abuse doesn’t just come in the form of words or actions—it’s in the silences, the dismissals, and the attempts to undermine one’s sense of self. The strength I’ve had to summon to stand against this, for myself and my child, is immense. Even when the light feels far away, I hold onto the belief that no one has the right to diminish another’s worth, no matter how much they try to rewrite the story.

How I got here is a mosaic of heartbreak and resilience, woven together by moments of betrayal and my attempts to salvage what I thought could be saved. The weight of physical and emotional abuse, abandonment, and infidelity has brought me to this point—a place where I am determined to reclaim my life and protect my child from the chaos that once defined our world.

Fast forward to February 2024, a police officer reached out to me, informing me of my husband’s warrant of arrest. When I confronted him about his whereabouts, he lied to me—something that no longer came as a surprise. Despite his deception, we were able to locate him at his workplace in Sta. Cruz, Manila.

Even then, despite the lies and betrayals, he had the audacity to act sweet toward me, shedding tears as though he were the one wronged. It was a strange and unsettling moment. Part of me wanted to believe his remorse, but deep down, I knew it was just another act—a calculated move to manipulate the situation.

Weeks later, in April 2024, the reality of his continued betrayals surfaced once again. I discovered that he was still seeing Janna, and the pain of that revelation was compounded by the knowledge that his entire family was supportive of their relationship. It felt like a betrayal not just from him but from everyone who had once been a part of my life. The realization that they enabled and embraced something so hurtful left me heartbroken and questioning my worth all over again.

By early September 2024, I received an unexpected message from my husband’s mother. She was apologizing and asking me to let go of my anger, as though forgiveness could be that simple. She even invited me to her birthday celebration, framing my attendance as a gift to her. I didn’t know how to respond. I decided to take a few days to think about it, only to find that the messages had been unsent when I returned to them. The gesture felt hollow, almost performative, and it confirmed what I had suspected all along—that there was no real sincerity in her words.

On the day of her birthday celebration, I learned that Janna was present at the gathering. The wound deepened as my husband dismissed how painful this was for me, brushing it off as though it were inconsequential. It was yet another reminder of how little regard he had for my feelings and how easily he could trivialize my pain.

This experience left me grappling with a mix of emotions—anger, betrayal, and sorrow. It reaffirmed the importance of protecting myself and my child from people who have shown time and time again that they do not have our best interests at heart. These moments have solidified my resolve to move forward, not out of spite but out of the necessity to rebuild a life where my worth and dignity are no longer questioned or diminished.

On August 20, 2024, after celebrating our son's 4th birthday, I couldn’t help but confront him again. I was deeply unsettled and disturbed after learning that Janna had the audacity to attend his family’s gathering despite our ongoing VAWC case in family court. It felt like a blatant act of disrespect, as though neither he nor his family took me—or the gravity of our situation—seriously.

During the confrontation, things escalated quickly. My husband, instead of addressing my concerns, lashed out violently. He repeatedly slapped me so hard that I suffered abrasions on my face and internal bleeding in one eye. The physical pain was agonizing, but it paled in comparison to the emotional devastation of being treated this way by someone I once trusted so deeply. This incident was the breaking point that led me to file for a protection order against him.

Even then, I couldn’t bring myself to file another VAWC case against him. I was torn between the desire to hold him accountable and the hope—no matter how fragile—that we could still rebuild some semblance of a healthy relationship, especially for the sake of our son.

Ultimately, on November 27, 2024, we had a hearing for our existing VAWC case. I showed up, nervous but determined to see this through. But when the moment came, I moved to desist so that the case would no longer proceed. It was a big step for me, one that I took in hopes that this act of grace might open the door to healing. I wanted to believe that my willingness to forgive and let go of the legal battle might pave the way for us to recover as a family.

But as time went on, it became clear that my hopes were misplaced. The cycle of violence, betrayal, and disrespect continued. My husband showed very little signs of genuine remorse or effort to change. Instead, I found myself trapped once again in the same toxic dynamics, questioning why I had let myself believe that things could be different. At some point, I told him that I feel like I should've given up the first time I learned about his affairs.

This chapter in my life has taught me a painful but necessary lesson: hope without accountability is hollow. Love without respect is destructive. And forgiveness without change can sometimes only prolong the pain.

Now, as I stand at the crossroads of my next steps, I am reminded that protecting myself and my child is no longer just an option—it is a necessity. While the road ahead remains uncertain, I am determined to break free from this cycle, to reclaim my peace, and to build a life where my worth is no longer tied to someone else's validation or actions.

Small Glimmers of Hope

Despite everything, I know I love my husband. If I didn’t, this pain wouldn’t cut as deeply as it does. Love has been both my strength and my vulnerability throughout this journey, and while it has often been a source of anguish, it also reminds me of the reasons I stayed as long as I did.

I appreciate the little things he did—the times he made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t, the moments when he showed kindness in unexpected ways, and the way he would connect with our son during peaceful times. Those fleeting glimpses of the man I fell in love with kept me holding on, believing in the possibility of change. I remember when he started giving me flowers, or bringing me food that satisfied my random cravings. Those gestures, though small, felt like tokens of care and attention, moments where I allowed myself to hope that we could find our way back to each other.

My son is another light in the darkness, the reason I push forward even on the hardest days. His laughter and curiosity remind me that life still holds beauty, even when it feels overshadowed by pain. Being his mother gives me purpose and keeps me striving to build a life where he can grow up feeling loved and secure.

I’ve also found solace in small habits—journaling, taking quiet walks, and reconnecting with friends who remind me of my worth. These little acts of self-care remind me that I still have the power to find strength within myself, even when the road ahead feels uncertain.

While the path is difficult and the light often feels far away, these small glimmers of hope give me the strength to keep moving forward. They remind me that healing, while slow, is possible, and that even amidst heartbreak, there is still love, purpose, and resilience to be found.

What I Want Readers to Know

Update: January 7, 2025. Today, I found the strength to take a step I never thought I could—I asked my husband to go no contact with us. I love him deeply, and that love has been the root of my pain. But this time, I’ve come to recognize that the weight of the pain far outweighs the love we once shared. This decision tears me apart, and truthfully, I don’t even know if I’m sure of it. Yet, I realize that sometimes healing begins with uncertain steps toward self-preservation.

Throughout this journey, I’ve struggled with feeling validated in my pain. There were so many moments when I looked to my husband for acknowledgment, for some understanding of how deeply his actions hurt me, but it rarely came. Instead, I was met with deflection and blame. Despite overwhelming evidence of his cheating, he often framed his actions as a response to my supposed "toxicity," as if the brokenness of our family was solely my fault. That narrative has been one of the hardest things to process because it disregards the reality of my experience and shifts the burden of his choices onto me.

To anyone going through something similar, I want you to know that your pain is valid. You don’t need permission to feel the hurt, to grieve, or to acknowledge the damage that’s been done. Forgiveness is a noble act, but it is not an obligation. You are not required to forgive on anyone else’s timeline, nor are you required to forget. Processing the pain takes time, and it’s okay to not have all the answers yet.

One thing I’ve learned is that love alone cannot fix a relationship. It takes accountability, effort, and mutual respect. Without those things, love can become a source of pain rather than joy. I wanted us to recover as a healthy, married couple, but the situation we’re in now makes that impossible. Recognizing that is not a failure—it’s a step toward reclaiming my peace and ensuring a healthier future for myself and my child.

This story is still ongoing. I’m still learning, still healing, and still figuring out what life looks like moving forward. If you’re in the middle of your own storm, know that it’s okay to feel uncertain. It’s okay to choose yourself, even when it feels like the hardest choice in the world. And it’s okay to let go of people who cannot or will not meet you with the love and respect you deserve.

Conclusion

As I write this, I acknowledge that my journey is far from over. I am still in the process of untangling the emotions, finding clarity, and rebuilding my life. There are days when the weight of everything feels unbearable, and there are moments when I doubt myself and the choices I’ve made. But sharing my story is an act of courage, a way to reclaim my voice and remind myself—and others—that even in the darkest moments, our stories matter.

Telling this story isn’t about finding neat conclusions or pretending that everything is okay. It’s about making sense of the chaos, piece by piece. It’s about validating my pain and saying out loud that what happened was not okay. My hope is that others who feel lost in their own storms can find a glimmer of connection, knowing they are not alone.

An Open Letter to My Husband

To the man I loved so deeply,

I don’t know if you will ever truly understand the depth of the pain you’ve caused me. I loved you with everything I had, and I believed in the promises we made to each other. But over time, the cracks in our foundation became too large to ignore. Every betrayal, every lie, and every time you deflected the blame, you chipped away at the love I had for you and the trust that held us together.

I wanted us to heal. I wanted us to rebuild a life where love, respect, and accountability could coexist. But I cannot do it alone, and I cannot force you to see what I see. Love should never hurt like this. It should not leave me questioning my worth or feeling like I have to beg for the bare minimum of honesty and kindness.

Even now, I struggle to reconcile the man I fell in love with and the one who repeatedly broke my heart. I know you have your own struggles, but those do not justify the harm you inflicted. They do not erase the scars you’ve left behind.

At the same time, I recognize that I played a role in how things unraveled. After discovering your infidelity, I struggled with processing my emotions in a way that allowed us to truly heal. I clung to my pain and let it dominate our interactions, often reopening old wounds instead of giving us both space to recover. I see now that I expected you to mend the relationship entirely on your own when rebuilding trust should have been a shared effort. While your actions were wrong, I regret that I couldn’t handle the aftermath with more grace or patience.

I wish I could say that I am at peace with letting go, but the truth is, I’m not there yet. This decision—asking you to go no contact—is one of the hardest I’ve ever made. But I need to choose myself now. I need to protect my child from the chaos and show him that love should never come at the expense of dignity or self-respect.

I don’t know what the future holds for either of us. I hope that you find the courage to face your own truths one day. And I hope that you understand the importance of accountability—not just for me, but for yourself.

Despite everything, I don’t wish you harm. I only wish that things had been different.

Goodbye.