What if the miracle you’ve been begging God for—the divine intervention, the total transformation of your emotionally bankrupt marriage—is actually you walking out the door?

In this episode, I pull back the curtain on my own bathroom-floor prayer sob sessions (complete with cold tile and mascara rivers) and challenge the dangerous theology that says staying in abusive marriages = holy martyrdom. 

If you’ve been stuck in a cycle of “pray harder, suffer longer,” it’s time to consider that the still, small voice urging you to get out might actually be God.

Key Takeaways:

• You might be the miracle. Sometimes, walking away is the divine answer.
• God doesn’t endorse abuse. Staying to suffer isn’t a spiritual badge of honor.
• Faith isn’t a formula. Praying harder won’t fix what someone refuses to change.
• Waiting on God means moving. Biblical waiting sometimes involves action, not passive endurance.
• Peace is holy. A quiet, safe life isn’t boring—it’s blessed. 
• Leaving can be faith-filled. Seeking safety is aligning with God’s heart, not betraying Him.
• You’re already worthy. Your value isn’t tied to enduring mistreatment.

Related Resources:

• If you liked today’s episode, you may relate to some of my others, including “What Are the Biblical Grounds for Divorce?” and “How Can You Tell if Your Abusive Partner Has Changed?” 

Article: When God Doesn’t Save the Marriage: Maybe the Miracle is You Walking Away

I used to pray on the bathroom floor. Not metaphorically. Literally, face-on-the-cold-tile, snot-and-tears kind of praying. I begged God to fix my marriage. To change my husband. To give me a reason to keep showing up in a relationship that felt like being emotionally waterboarded with a church bulletin.

I did all the Christian things. Memorized Scripture. Led women’s Bible studies. Read marriage books written by men. I submitted. I forgave. I baked the bread. I homeschooled the kids. I stayed quiet when I wanted to yell. And on the occasions when I did yell, I felt like the Devil himself had hijacked my body. Naturally, I apologized. Then I repented for being a rebellious Jezebel with no self-control. He could yell. But not me. 

And nothing changed.

If this sounds familiar, welcome to the club. We have snacks. 

The Prosperity Gospel of Marriage

Somewhere along the way, we absorbed a twisted theology: if you just believe enough, pray enough, submit enough, suffer enough, God owes you a miracle. Your faithfulness will change him. Your long-suffering will fix the abuse. Eventually, you’ll get the spiritual gold star and a husband who reads Brene Brown and does the dishes.

Except that’s not how God works. That’s not faith. That’s a slot machine.

Newsflash: Jesus didn’t say, “If someone abuses you, stay longer and pray harder.” He said shake the dust off your sandals and leave. (Matthew 10:14 for those of you still clutching your highlighters.)

When Waiting Becomes Inertia

We’re told to “wait on the Lord.” So we wait. And wait. And cry. And beg. And ignore the migraine-inducing, ulcer-growing, panic-attack-having symptoms of living with psychological abuse. We call it “faith.”

But biblical waiting is not passive. It’s not curling up on the bathroom tile hoping your husband has an epiphany while you spiritually evaporate. Isaiah 40:31 says those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength. They’ll mount up, run, and walk.

That’s not a woman lying in fetal position under the weight of her husband’s cruelty. That’s a woman with a backpack full of boundaries, lacing up her boots, and walking into freedom.

Maybe You’re the Miracle

Here’s a radical thought: what if the miracle isn’t him changing?

What if the miracle is you finding the courage to walk away?

I know, it sounds like heresy. Because we were taught that God’s heart breaks at the word “divorce.” But I think God’s heart breaks at abuse. I think God grieves over every woman who was taught that staying with her abuser made her holy.

God doesn’t demand that you endure psychological crucifixion to prove your love. That’s not Jesus. That’s manipulation.

The Voices We Ignore

You’ve likely heard this still, small voice: You can go. You are allowed to be safe.

But we dismiss it. We spiritualize suffering. We martyr ourselves and call it righteousness.

Let me tell you about three women I know:

• Jane prayed for 17 years. She left, and her chronic health problems began to heal. Her kids started thriving. Her faith? It blossomed.
• Molly was shunned, slandered, and scraping by. But then, she tasted peace. For the first time in decades, her nervous system exhaled.
• Sonya stayed “for the kids.” After she left, her teenage daughter said, “Mom, I’ve been praying since I was little that you’d take us away from him.”

These women aren’t failures. They’re not spiritual dropouts. They’re miracles.

Grieving the Death of a Dream

Leaving is a death. It’s the death of a dream, a marriage, a future you fought like hell to build. It hurts.

And yet, it might be the beginning of actual life.

Leaving isn’t walking away from God. It might be the first real step toward Him. Toward the you He created. Not the shell of a woman constantly performing her pain as proof of piety, but a whole, beloved, fiercely loved daughter who gets to say no.

You Are the Answer

There’s a moment I’ll never forget. I was in a hotel room with 24 journals spanning decades. I read every page. The patterns became undeniable. The pain was chronic. The hope was extinct.

That’s when I knew: the person I’d been waiting for to rescue me? She was already here. She was me.

I left.

And yes, it was hell for a while. But now? I am free. My children are free. I help other women find freedom. That’s the miracle.

So if you’re praying on the bathroom floor, wondering if God hears you, He does. And He’s whispering through your body’s exhaustion, through your gut instinct, through that still, small voice.

You are the miracle.

And you are allowed to leave.

XOXO,

Natalie