The Day I Walked Out With Nowhere to Go
🎧 Prefer to listen? Hear the spoken-word version above.
People love to say I “overstayed my welcome,”
but the truth is this:
The second they said they wanted me gone, I left the same day.
No shouting.
No drama.
No pleading.
No clinging.
I packed my things, picked up my son, and walked out with a suitcase and a heartbeat full of fear.
I was homeless again.
Same old story: no safety net, no family, no backup plan, just me and God and a child looking to me for stability.
But even that wasn’t enough for them.
Leaving wasn’t enough.
Silence wasn’t enough.
Distance wasn’t enough.
They had to keep going.
Because when a Pharisaical spirit gets a taste of blood, it won’t stop until it nails someone to a cross.
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The Smear Campaign That Kept Me Bleeding
While I was sitting in a homeless shelter, wondering where we’d sleep next…
while I was trying to educate my son in a tiny box room…
while I was scraping pennies together for food…
their adult son was still trying to destroy me.
Fake profiles.
Rumours.
Twisted stories.
Traps.
Lies.
This wasn’t “someone upset in the moment.”
This was a sustained attempted character assassination that went on for YEARS.
Even when I was gone.
Even when I wasn’t in their life.
Even when I wasn’t interacting with them at all.
They were still speaking my name.
And here’s the part the spiritually asleep never see:
A lying tongue doesn’t testify against the innocent —
it testifies against the accuser.
They kept slandering me because stopping would force them to look at what they had become.
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The Lie That Cost Me My Brother
And here’s the part that still punches a hole in my chest:
My brother believed their lies.
He was fragile.
Breaking.
Mentally slipping away.
And instead of giving him compassion,
or grace,
or the tiniest sliver of humanity…
they fed him poison.
He swallowed it.
He cut me off.
And he died believing I was something I never was.
Do you know what that kind of wound does to a person?
You don’t “get over” it.
There is no “closure.”
There is no conversation after the coffin closes.
Some things stay broken this side of heaven.
And yet — they carried on slandering me even after that.
Because stopping would mean admitting they helped destroy a relationship that can never be restored.
Their lies cost me my brother.
And that is a cross I will carry for the rest of my life.
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The Day I Realised I Was Living the Same Story as Jesus
I didn’t see it at first.
But as the years went on…
as the accusations kept coming…
as they twisted kindness into “evidence”…
as they stalked, slandered, spied, and set traps…
the Holy Spirit whispered the reality:
You are walking the same road Jesus walked.
Falsely accused.
Misjudged.
Lied about.
Targeted by people determined to find something wrong even when nothing existed.
Jesus stayed in people’s homes too.
He travelled light.
He relied on the kindness of those around Him.
He did nothing but good —
and still, they hunted Him.
Not because He was guilty,
but because His presence exposed what they didn’t want to face.
That same religious spirit —
that same spirit of accusation —
is what came after me.
This wasn’t “family tension.”
This wasn’t “misunderstanding.”
This was spiritual.
This was a Pharisaical spirit that needed a scapegoat to justify its own darkness.
And just like what happened to Jesus,
their accusations created a wound that will not fully heal this side of eternity.
I will carry that cross.
Not because I deserved it,
but because they needed someone to crucify.
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Why People Turn You Into a Villain
It took me a long time to understand this, but here it is:
People who are drowning in shame always need a scapegoat.
Someone to blame.
Someone to project onto.
Someone to soak up their internal rot so they don’t have to feel it.
And I was perfect for the role.
I was the outsider.
The intuitive one.
The spiritually awake one.
The woman my friend actually listened to.
The one who could see the dynamics clearly.
When people live lives built on denial,
they attack the person who can see straight.
It’s easier to call the truth-teller “evil”
than admit your house is on fire.
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Why God Let It Happen
This is the part nobody likes to talk about.
This was not allowed to crush me.
It was allowed to forge me.
Prophets are not born from comfort.
They are carved out of brutal misunderstandings and spiritual injustice.
God let me walk through this because He knew:
A prophet must be immune to lies and unmoved by slander.
A prophet must know who she is when everyone else misnames her.
A prophet must withstand the religious spirit and still tell the truth.
And I did.
Barely.
Bleeding.
But I did.
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The Breaking
I used to think the breaking was just grief.
Or trauma.
Or emotional collapse.
But no.
The breaking was God severing every identity that wasn’t mine.
The dutiful daughter.
The peace-keeper.
The blame-absorber.
The shock-absorber for dysfunctional people.
The woman who swallowed injustice to keep the peace.
He broke all of that off me.
Because a prophet cannot carry other people’s shame.
A prophet cannot fear being misjudged.
A prophet cannot be shaped by slander.
To speak with God’s authority,
you must stop living under other people’s lies.
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The Healing
The healing is not soft.
It’s not tidy.
It’s not gentle.
The healing is this:
Choosing not to respond.
Choosing not to reopen the story.
Choosing not to rescue someone from the consequences they created.
Choosing to let God settle the accounts.
I owe them nothing now.
Not an apology.
Not a conversation.
Not access to me.
Not emotional labour.
Not closure.
I am done carrying their shame.
This is what healing looks like:
Not reconciliation.
Not resolution.
Not “being the bigger person.”
Healing is letting God draw the boundary
and keeping it shut.
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Why I’m Writing This
Because someone out there is bleeding from the same kind of wound.
Someone out there has been turned into a villain by people who couldn’t look at themselves.
Someone out there is wondering why God let them walk through such injustice.
This is why:
Because the remnant is forged in fire.
Because prophets are shaped in the dark.
Because your breaking was the doorway to your calling.
You aren’t ruined.
You aren’t cursed.
You aren’t wrong.
You were chosen.
And this — yes, this — was the fire that revealed the gold in me.
With fire and grace,
This message carries fire. Pass it on. 👇🏻
Victoria Player is the founder of Daughter of Thunder, a movement awakening spiritually sensitive women to truth, purpose, and divine power in a world that’s lost its compass. After walking through her own season of fire and rebuilding, she now writes and speaks to those who sense there’s more — guiding them from confusion to clarity, from awakening to assignment.
“I don’t bow to Babylon — I walk with the Lion.” — Daughter of Thunder
