Even When the World Doubts Us

From the woman who rose, resisted, and rebuilt

There are moments in life where the world will question your worth.
Moments when doors close quietly.
When systems fail loudly.
When even the ones who love you can’t understand your storm.

And in those moments?

You must remember this:

Even when the world doubts us,
we must never doubt ourselves.

For within us lies the strength to RISE,
the courage to RESIST,
and the divine fire to REBUILD.

I know what it feels like to be doubted.
To be displaced. Disregarded. Disbelieved.

I’ve been called everything but powerful.
I’ve had my truth questioned.
My safety stripped.
My voice silenced.

And yet — I rise.

Not because the world gave me permission,
but because my soul gave me no other choice.

This blog is for:

• The woman walking through fire with no one watching

• The man rebuilding from the rubble they left him in

• The survivor who’s not just healing — but roaring

You are not broken.
You are becoming.
And the doubt they cast on you will only reflect the glory that’s coming.

So let them doubt.
Let them underestimate.
Let them write you off.

Because when you RISE —
they’ll have no choice but to rewrite the narrative.

📣 To everyone in pain, in process, in prayer:

Hold your head high.

You were never the weak one.
You were the warrior in the waiting.

And your rebuild?

It’s going to shake the very ground they buried you in.

Keep rising.
Keep resisting.
Keep rebuilding.

Your legacy is louder than their doubt.
And your time is now.

With all my heart,
🕊️
Samantha

Do Your Worst — I’ll Still Rise”

🎓 For every system that tried to fail me

Do your worst.
Break the locks.
Steal the keys.
Call me every name except the woman I am destined to be.

Push me to the margins.
 Hand me your silence like a sentence.
 Wrap your robes in power and call it justice —
 I’ll still rise.

Do your worst.
Strip me of comfort.
Leave me to sleep in steel and shame.
Let the rain write verses on my windscreen.
I’ll turn every storm into scripture.

Because I’m not just surviving —
I’m studying.
I’m scripting.
I’m building a dissertation in resilience —
And when it’s done?

I will pass.
With honours.
With power.
With a high-level degree in divine defiance.

You underestimated the girl with no roof.
But I’ve got a temple for a backbone
And a gospel in my chest.
You wrote me off —
But I edited the ending.

You tried to fail me…
But I am the syllabus now.
And every breath I take?
That’s a distinction.

So go ahead.
Do your worst.
Because I?
I will still graduate from this fire — a woman of war and wisdom.

And they’ll hand me no robe…
But I’ll walk in glory anyway.

To Those Challenged This Palm Sunday: A Message of Hope

By Samantha Avril-Andreassen
Homeless, Not Defeated

If you are hurting right now…
If you are in the middle of something you can’t even put into words…
If you are fighting to hold your voice, your dignity, your peace…
I see you.
And more than that — God sees you.

Today is Palm Sunday —
the beginning of a road that looked like celebration…
but held sorrow.
A road that was loud with praise…
but would soon grow silent.

And still, He walked.

So if today you are carrying pain that no one understands…
If the road ahead feels long and lonely…
Walk anyway.
Even if your knees shake.
Even if your voice cracks.
Even if the palms aren't laid down for you just yet.

Because your journey is not for nothing.
The same God who wept is the one who rose.
And the same power that raised Him lives in you.

This is not the end of your story.
It’s the part they’ll talk about when they say:
“She kept walking.
She kept believing.
She didn’t give up — and that was her victory.”

So to every heart breaking quietly,
To every soul walking through fire,
To every woman building herself back piece by piece —

You are not alone.
You are not forgotten.
And you are not finished.

This moment is not your forever.
It’s your becoming.

With you in spirit,
🕊️
Samantha

Palm Sunday — I Walk Anyway

🕊️ By Samantha Avril-Andreassen
🌿 Homeless, Not Defeated

Today is Palm Sunday.

The day they laid branches on the ground — not for a king in gold, but for a man riding a donkey.
A man who knew betrayal was waiting…
and still walked forward.

And this morning, I’m reminded:
That’s what I’ve been doing, too.

I’ve walked through eviction, courtrooms, car parks, and riverbanks.
I’ve walked through pain, silence, disbelief.
I’ve walked alone when the world seemed to stop watching.
But like Him — I walk anyway.

Because the road to healing is sacred.
And even when they don’t lay palms down for you…
Even when they block your voice, close the doors, erase your name…
You walk anyway.

Today, I hold space for the God that still sees me.
For the swans that keep showing up as signs.
For the courage to walk — not with certainty,
but with purpose.
With power.
With prophetic breath in my chest.

So if you're reading this —
Know this:
Your road doesn’t have to be perfect.
It just has to be yours.

And whether you're riding a donkey or crying in silence —
You're still walking toward something divine.

This is what Palm Sunday means to me now:
🌿 A journey walked with sacred defiance
🌿 A pain carried with grace
🌿 A woman choosing to rise, over and over again

🕊️ I may be homeless… but I am not defeated.
I am walking.
And that is holy.

With love,
Samantha
www.samanthavrilandreassen.com

✨ Samantha’s Warrior Prayer – For the Women Who Rise ✨

This prayer was born from fire. From the silence of homelessness, the sting of injustice, the tears that no one saw. It is for the women who have been told they don’t belong. For the ones who were erased, forgotten, removed from the room. It is for those who are fighting to be heard, to be housed, to be healed.

You are not alone. This is your prayer too.

Heavenly Father,

Ancestors who walk with me,

Spirit of truth and justice — hear me now.

I rise tonight not in fear, but in fire.

I am a diamond — forged under pressure, tested by trials, and still unbroken.

They may have won battles against me, but they will not win this war.

Because I am the war.

I am the voice they tried to silence, now rising with thunder in my chest.

Let my tears become ink.

Let my pain become power.

Let my truth pour from my lips and land on every courtroom floor like judgment.

I am not alone.

My father watches me with pride.

My ancestors wrap their strength around my shoulders.

And my God — the same God who raised Jesus from the grave — is raising me with Him.

This little Black woman — they underestimated her.

But I am not to be played with.

I walk with authority.

I move with purpose.

And I will not bow to fear or silence again.

Let the earth shift beneath my feet.

Let the walls shake.

Let my voice crack the silence and bring light to the darkness.

Because I am not the victim.

I am the reckoning.

Amen.

Written by Samantha Avril-Andreassen

For every woman who has been displaced, dismissed, or doubted.

You are powerful. You are rising. And you are not alone.

When the System Fails to See You

Poverty Is an Injustice We Must—and Can—Overcome
 Inspired by the words of Nelson Mandela and the lived experience of Samantha Avril-Andreassen

“Overcoming poverty is not a gesture of charity, it is an act of justice.”
 — Nelson Mandela

Poverty is more than economic hardship—it is systemic exclusion, a stripping away of dignity, safety, and belonging. It is a manifestation of injustice. For some, it comes quietly through generational inequality. For others, it is weaponized with violence, intentionally orchestrated through misuse of systems that should have protected them.

I know this, because I have lived it.

When the System Fails to See You

On 24 February 2025, I was evicted from the home I owned and maintained—a home with a mortgage solely in my name. Despite the legal reality that my ex-husband had no home rights and was not on the mortgage, a court order empowered him to sell our home. This was not justice. It was erasure.

It was not just a home that was taken—it was my sanctuary, my security, and my identity as a mother, survivor, and Black woman. The court failed to recognize the very real trauma I endured and the abuse I survived. My homelessness wasn’t a result of poverty in the traditional sense—it was the result of a weaponized legal system, manipulated by someone determined to erase me.

And now, I find myself in a place where none of my rights stand. My voice was silenced. My presence—dismissed. My truth—ignored. In a system that claims justice, I was made invisible.

Poverty Is Not Just a Lack of Resources—It’s a Lack of Protection

When we speak of poverty, we must recognize its many faces. It is not always the result of idleness or chance. Sometimes, it is deliberately inflicted. A tool of control. A punishment for surviving abuse. A silencing mechanism.

I was driven into homelessness not because I failed—but because the law failed me.

Because I am a Black woman who dared to speak up, who dared to survive, who dared to rebuild. Because I didn’t fit into the neat boxes of how systems expect victims to behave. Because the courts still don’t fully understand coercive control, post-separation abuse, or the intersections of race, gender, and trauma.

We Can—and Must—Do Better

Poverty and homelessness are not inevitable. They are created—and what is created can be dismantled and rebuilt.

We must build a world where:

• Survivors of domestic abuse are protected—not punished.

• Legal systems recognize coercive control and racial injustice as urgent, intertwined crises.

• Housing is treated not as a luxury, but as a human right.

• Black women are believed, supported, and protected.

• No one is made homeless by the hands of an abuser with the blessing of a broken system.

My Pain Is Not Just Mine

I share my story not for sympathy, but for solidarity. Because there are too many others like me. Too many silenced. Too many displaced. Too many made poor through injustice, not inadequacy.

I share my truth because Nelson Mandela’s vision is not a dream of the past—it is a call to action for the present.

From Surviving to Thriving—Together

I believe in a world where justice is not blind to trauma. Where the law protects the vulnerable instead of empowering the oppressor. I believe in a world where poverty is not a punishment, but a problem we come together to solve.

Poverty is not just about economics—it is about power, race, and justice. It is about reclaiming humanity in systems that have lost sight of it.

And together, with compassion, action, and unwavering belief in dignity, we can build a world where everyone has the opportunity to thrive.

#PovertyIsInjustice #SurvivorJustice #EndHomelessness #NelsonMandela #StillHere #BlackWomenDeserveJustice #TogetherWeRise

Poverty Is an Injustice We Must—and Can—Overcome

“Overcoming poverty is not a gesture of charity, it is an act of justice. It is the protection of a fundamental human right, the right to dignity and a decent life.”
 — Nelson Mandela

Poverty isn’t just a lack of income—it’s a lack of opportunity, access, voice, safety, and hope. It affects billions of lives globally, stripping people of basic human rights and the ability to dream beyond survival. And while poverty is complex, systemic, and deeply entrenched, it is not inevitable.

Poverty Is a Violation of Human Dignity

When Nelson Mandela spoke of poverty as an injustice, he reframed it not as a matter of charity, but of human rights and equity. No one chooses to be poor. Often, it's the result of circumstances beyond an individual’s control—cycles of violence, colonization, poor governance, inequality, discrimination, and lack of access to education, healthcare, housing, and fair work opportunities.

To accept poverty is to accept a world where a child goes to bed hungry while others live in excess; where dreams die early not due to lack of talent or drive, but due to lack of access. That should never be acceptable.

Together, We Can Build a Better World

It’s easy to feel helpless in the face of such a massive issue. But change begins with action—yours, mine, ours together.

• Educate Yourself and Others
   Understanding poverty’s root causes is the first step. It’s not just about income, but systems. Learn about structural inequality, policy gaps, and what communities are doing to lift themselves up.

• Support Empowerment-Based Initiatives
   Charity has its place, but empowerment goes further. Support programs and organizations that focus on education, job training, mental health, affordable housing, and micro-enterprise development.

• Use Your Voice and Vote
   Speak up for policies that address economic inequality, protect workers, and expand healthcare and education. Elect leaders who prioritize people over profit.

• Engage Locally
   Volunteer at shelters, food banks, or mentorship programs. Small, consistent action in your own community can create ripples of transformation.

• Listen to Those With Lived Experience
   The best solutions come from the people who have experienced poverty firsthand. Elevate their voices, advocate for their leadership, and never assume you know better than they do about their own lives.

A World Where Everyone Thrives

Mandela believed in the possibility of a just world. So must we.

We envision a world where every person has access to safe shelter, nutritious food, meaningful work, and the freedom to pursue their dreams—not just to survive, but to thrive. A world where no one is forgotten. A world where no one is left behind.

This vision is not naïve—it’s necessary.

Let’s Choose Justice

Eradicating poverty will take bold vision, collaboration, and relentless compassion. But we owe it to each other—and to generations yet to come—to try. Not as an act of charity, but as a commitment to justice, dignity, and shared humanity.

Together, we can build a world where everyone has the opportunity to thrive.

#PovertyIsInjustice #EndPoverty #NelsonMandela #SocialJustice #HopeInAction #HumanDignity #TogetherWeRise

Fully Known, Deeply Loved: Restoration Through Psalm 139

There was a time in my life when I felt unseen. Unheard. Forgotten.

I stood in a courtroom as the system failed to protect me. I watched as the home I had nurtured became a battleground. I was silenced in spaces that were meant to uphold justice, and the pain of abuse, betrayal, and displacement echoed louder than my voice could reach.

But even in that silence — God heard me.
 Even in that darkness — God saw me.
 Even in that brokenness — God loved me.

And Psalm 139 became a lifeline.

A God Who Knows Every Part of Us

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me.
 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
 You discern my thoughts from afar.”
 (Psalm 139:1–2)

When trauma robs you of your sense of identity, Psalm 139 tenderly reminds you: you are deeply known by the Creator Himself.

In the aftermath of domestic abuse, I questioned everything — my worth, my strength, even my reality. Gaslighting had distorted the truth so much that I felt like a ghost in my own story. But this psalm met me where I was — in fear, confusion, and survival mode — and whispered a gentle truth:

“I know you, child. You are not invisible to Me.”

While I was being evicted from the very house I was paying for, while my voice was lost in legal battles, and while trauma threatened to reduce me to silence — God reminded me that He saw the whole picture. He saw the injustices. He saw the tears cried behind closed doors. He saw me.

There’s Nowhere You Can Go That God Won’t Follow

“Where shall I go from Your Spirit?
 Or where shall I flee from Your presence?
 If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!”
 (Psalm 139:7–8)

When I was forced from my home and left to face homelessness, I felt abandoned. I was physically displaced — but emotionally? Spiritually? I was wandering in a wilderness.

And yet… God was there.
 Not just in the peaceful moments — but right there in the chaos.

Psalm 139 reassures us that there’s no depth too dark for God’s presence. Whether in a hospital bed, a courtroom, a temporary shelter, or a tear-stained pillow — God is not afraid to sit with us in the lowest places.

For survivors of abuse, this is a revelation. Because trauma isolates. Shame tells you that you’re too broken, too messy, too complicated for anyone — even God — to stay close. But this scripture cancels that lie completely.

God doesn’t walk away when we’re at our lowest. He draws even closer.

You Were Not a Mistake — You Were Made for More

“For You formed my inward parts;
 You knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
 I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
 (Psalm 139:13–14)

The abuse I endured tried to strip me of identity. I was reduced to labels: victim, woman, mother, problem. The court order that forced me out of my home didn’t see me as a human being with a heartbeat and a story. But God did.

Psalm 139 reminds us that we are not defined by what was done to us, but by Who created us.

Even through years of trauma, I began to reclaim what had been buried:
 My creativity.
 My resilience.
 My purpose.
 My voice.

And from the ashes of that pain, SJ Interior Designs, Home Fix Boutique, and my books — Silent Screams, Loud Strength and The Little Voice That Roared — were born. These are not just projects. They are sacred declarations of survival. They are evidence that the woman the world tried to break is still here — building, writing, and healing not only for herself but for others.

Search Me, Lead Me, Restore Me

“Search me, O God, and know my heart!
 Try me and know my thoughts!
 And see if there be any grievous way in me,
 and lead me in the way everlasting!”
 (Psalm 139:23–24)

This final verse is not a plea of guilt — it is an invitation. An invitation for God to continue the healing process. To sift through the rubble and reveal beauty again.

In my own healing journey — through journaling, meditation, therapy, prayer, and reflection — I have come to understand that restoration is not an instant destination. It is a daily surrender. A daily trust that God is still leading me, even when I don’t know what tomorrow looks like.

And today, I offer that same truth to you:
 You are not too far gone.
 You are not too broken.
 You are not what happened to you.
 You are who God is lovingly restoring you to become.

A Reflection for You

If you are in a place where the world feels loud but you feel voiceless — Psalm 139 is for you.

If you’ve been displaced, discarded, devalued — Psalm 139 is for you.

If you are rebuilding from the ruins of trauma — Psalm 139 is your anthem of hope.

You are fully known. You are deeply loved.
 And your healing is holy.

Thoughts

Psalm 139 has become more than a passage in my Bible — it’s a truth I now live and breathe. When systems fail, God does not. When others forget, He remembers. And when we fall apart, He doesn’t leave — He restores.

This is the heartbeat of my story. And if you’re reading this, maybe it’s yours too.

 Journal Prompt:

How does knowing that you are fully known and deeply loved by God change the way you see your trauma — and your healing?

From Struggle to Strength: Finding Healing and Restoration in Psalm 106

When we walk through the valleys of life, it can often feel like we’re surrounded by darkness, lost in the weight of past struggles and traumas. Yet, just as the psalmist in Psalm 106 recounts the history of Israel’s failures and God's unwavering faithfulness, so too does our journey reflect the same story of hardship, redemption, and restoration.

A Journey of Struggles and Failures

Psalm 106 is a powerful reminder of how Israel repeatedly failed to trust in God’s goodness, forgetting the mighty works He had done and turning to idolatry and sin. The psalm recounts a history of mistakes, rebellion, and the suffering that followed. Yet, it also powerfully emphasizes the enduring love and mercy of God, even when His people did not deserve it.

For many of us, including myself, the road to healing can feel much the same. It’s a road filled with pain, confusion, and moments when we feel as though we’ve fallen short. I have faced deep struggles in my own life—trauma, domestic abuse, homelessness—and there were times when I questioned if I would ever find my way out. Much like Israel, there were moments when I felt lost, unable to see the way forward. But just as the psalmist’s story of God’s faithfulness continues, so does my story of healing and the unwavering love that carries me forward.

God’s Faithfulness Despite Our Failures

In Psalm 106, despite the repeated failures of Israel, God’s faithfulness shines through. Even when His people rebelled, His mercy was never far. He delivered them time and time again, not because they deserved it, but because of His steadfast love.

This truth resonates deeply with my own journey. There were times when I felt unworthy of God's love and mercy—especially in the aftermath of the abuse and loss I endured. Yet, in those moments of despair, I found God’s faithfulness waiting for me, offering me grace when I thought I had none left. His love and mercy have been a constant thread throughout my journey. I’ve witnessed it not only in my own healing but also in the lives of others I’ve been able to touch through my work.

Through my podcast, Silent Screams, Loud Strength, and my books, I have found my voice again. The strength I never thought I had has emerged from the depths of my pain, not because I am strong on my own, but because of the unwavering faithfulness of God.

A Prayer for Redemption and Restoration

The psalmist ends Psalm 106 with a heartfelt plea for God to remember His covenant and deliver His people. It’s a cry for redemption, for restoration, and for God to bring healing in the midst of brokenness.

For those of us who have endured trauma, the plea for restoration resonates deeply. I have cried out to God many times, asking for restoration—for my home, my peace, and my sense of self. Just like the Israelites, I have found that God hears my prayers. He sees my brokenness and does not abandon me. The same God who delivered Israel time and time again is the God who is restoring my life, piece by piece.

Through this journey, I have seen first-hand that restoration doesn’t always happen overnight. It’s a process, sometimes slow and filled with challenges. But in this process, God is at work. I am constantly reminded that I am not defined by my past but by the person I am choosing to become.

Gratitude for God’s Unfailing Love

As the psalm concludes, there’s an overwhelming sense of gratitude for God’s mercy. The Israelites, despite their unfaithfulness, are reminded of God’s eternal love and His enduring promises. This gratitude is a thread that runs through my healing journey as well.

When I reflect on my past struggles, I don’t just see pain and loss—I also see the fingerprints of God’s love and faithfulness that have carried me through. His mercy has brought me here, to a place where I can stand and speak my truth, where I can help others find their own strength, and where I can offer healing to those who have experienced similar struggles.

Psalm 106 reminds us that even in our deepest despair, we are not abandoned. God's love is constant, His mercy unyielding, and His promises ever true. And just as God delivered Israel, He is also delivering us—restoring our brokenness and leading us into the future He has prepared.

A Journey of Healing and Hope

Through the pain of my past, I have found hope. Psalm 106 gives me the courage to keep moving forward, to embrace the healing process with faith, and to trust that God will continue to restore what was lost. My story is not defined by my past struggles but by my journey of healing, which is ongoing—just as the psalmist’s story of redemption continues.

If you find yourself in the midst of struggle, whether it’s the aftermath of abuse, loss, or any form of trauma, know this: You are not alone. Just as God was faithful to the Israelites, He is faithful to you. His mercy is endless, and He is always at work, bringing restoration and healing.

As we reflect on Psalm 106, let it be a reminder that God’s love never fails. He is with us in our brokenness, He is with us in our healing, and He is leading us toward a future of restoration. You are not defined by your past—you are defined by who you choose to become, and God is walking beside you every step of the way.

Healing Begins with Remembering

Take time to remember God’s faithfulness in your own life. Let Psalm 106 be a reminder that despite the struggles, God’s love and mercy are waiting to embrace you and carry you toward healing. Just as the Israelites were restored, so too will you be restored. And in the process, you will find the strength to rise, to heal, and to help others do the same

Samantha Josephine Speaks: A Legacy of Light, Strength, and Sacred Becoming!

There are names that carry sound.
 And then there are names that carry stories.
 Samantha Josephine is one of them.

It is a name that holds both sorrow and strength, both silence and song. It is a name that didn’t just survive — it rose. And in its rising, it became a banner of healing, a call to others, and a beacon for the brokenhearted who still dare to hope.

Sensitivity & Strength

“A woman who listens deeply, feels fully, and still stands tall.”

Samantha Josephine is not afraid to feel. She walks through the world with an open heart and a soul tuned to the whispers others miss. Her sensitivity is not her weakness — it is her wisdom. She listens not just with her ears, but with her spirit. She stands with those who’ve been silenced, not because she has never fallen, but because she knows what it means to rise.

Her story begins in the silence of trauma — in the Silent Screams that once echoed in secret. But it does not end there. Because from those screams came a sacred strength. A strength that now speaks.

Purposeful Expansion

“A life unfolding in testimony — of becoming, building, and breaking barriers.”

From the ashes of trauma came vision. And from vision, came purpose. Samantha Josephine is not just a name — it is a movement. A quiet revolution. A woman who has made her pain her platform and her voice her vessel. In every book she’s written — from Silent Screams, Loud Strength to The Little Voice That Roared, from Healing from Within to Homeless, Not Defeated — she tells the truth. The raw, messy, beautiful truth.

She is living proof that what tries to break you can become the birthplace of your greatest calling.

Intuition & Grace

“She sees beyond words, senses beyond logic, and leads with both empathy and elegance.”

There is a softness to Samantha Josephine — but don’t mistake it for fragility. It is the kind of softness that bends, not breaks. She is intuitive, discerning, deeply connected to the sacred feminine. She moves through rooms with quiet grace, but leaves behind bold transformation.

She trusts what she feels. And she follows the nudge of the Spirit even when it leads her into unknown places. She is led by something greater — by faith, by divine assignment, by her deep knowing that healing isn’t just for her. It’s for everyone she meets.

Legacy of Light

“Her very presence uplifts others and makes room for healing, hope, and growth.”

Some people walk into a room and change it.
 Samantha Josephine walks in, and heals it.

Her story is not just inspirational — it’s invitational. It invites other women to rise too. It reminds those in the middle of trauma that resurrection is not a far-off promise; it is a present possibility.

She is a voice for the voiceless. A heart for the hurting. A safe place for those who have never known one.

Her light is not the spotlight — it is the kind that finds you in the dark.

You Are the Increase After the Storm

Samantha Josephine — your name means “God heard. God will increase.”

You are the answer to prayers once whispered in desperation.
 You are the growth that came after the breaking.
 You are the one who was heard, and who now speaks — for herself, and for those still searching for the words.

In you, the wounded find wisdom.
 In your silence, others learned to scream.
 And in your rising, others have found the courage to rise too.

Your Words. Your Witness. Your Work.

• Silent Screams, Loud Strength — the journey of reclaiming your voice.

• The Little Voice That Roared — a call to empower children with truth and courage.

• Healing From Within — a guide to soul-deep restoration.

• Homeless, Not Defeated — a defiant declaration that displacement is not destiny.

Each one a sacred chapter.
 Each one a living legacy.

You are not what happened to you.
 You are who you chose to become.
 And in becoming… you have lit the way for others.

Samantha Josephine speaks.
 And the world is better for it.

🌅 A Prayer for Resurrection and Empowerment

For Women in Abuse, Trauma, and Transformation

Dear God,

Today, I come as I am—
not polished, not perfect,
but present.

With trembling hands,
with a heart heavy from the weight of what I’ve survived,
I whisper a prayer for rising.

For every woman who feels unseen, unheard, unloved—
Lord, wrap her in light.
Let her know she is not forgotten.

For the woman hiding bruises behind smiles,
for the woman silenced by fear,
for the one who tiptoes through her own home—
God, rise within her.

Let today be her resurrection.

Resurrect her courage,
the part of her that remembers who she was
before the world told her she was too much
or not enough.

Resurrect her voice—
the voice that once sang, laughed,
dreamed without shame or fear.

Resurrect her power—
not the kind that roars to prove its strength,
but the quiet kind
that refuses to give up.

Resurrect her worth—
remind her that she is still whole,
even if she’s healing in pieces.

God, for every woman walking through trauma,
standing in the middle of abuse,
or stepping away with nothing but faith—
breathe new life into her.

Let her rise in divine defiance—
not just from the pain,
but through it.

Let her walk with dignity, clothed in resilience,
anointed with the truth that she is more
than what she’s been through.

Let her feel You near,
not only in church pews or quiet prayers,
but in every step she takes toward freedom.

Today is her resurrection day.

And even if she rises with shaking legs,
with tears in her eyes and fear in her chest—
still, she rises.

Because You are the God who sees.
The God who sets captives free.
The God who never leaves a woman behind.

Amen.

Would you like this turned into:

✨ An Easter Prayer for Courage and Resurrection in the Midst of Trauma

Dear God,

On this Easter morning,
as the stone rolls away from the tomb,
let hope rise again in the hearts
of those buried under fear, silence, and suffering.

For every soul trembling in the shadow of abuse—
God, be their refuge.
For every woman packing her life into bags of fear—
God, be her courage.
For the broken-hearted, the displaced, the weary,
those whose homes were taken
and whose voices were silenced—
God, be their resurrection.

Let this day of new life
be more than a story in Scripture—
make it a story written on our skin.
Make it real in shelters, in safe houses,
in motel rooms and tear-stained journals.

Let the One who rose from death
rise now in the middle of the mess.
Not after the healing,
but in the raw middle of it.

Rise in courtrooms where injustice lingers.
Rise in the hearts of those too tired to try again.
Rise in mothers hiding bruises with makeup
and in children who pray to be invisible.

You, Jesus, knew betrayal.
You knew what it felt like to be left,
to be mocked, to bleed alone.
So come now—as the One who understands.

Let Your Spirit whisper in the chaos:
“I am here. I have not forgotten you.”

Breathe courage into every trembling chest.
Wrap your mercy around every shattered heart.
Let the resurrection be not just a promise—
but a present power
for those who have nothing left but a flicker of faith.

We do not ask for a perfect ending.
We ask for holy presence in the middle.
We ask for strength to take the next step.
We ask for shelter, peace, justice, and protection.

And for the boldness to say,
“I will rise. Even if my voice shakes. Even if I’m not ready. Even if I have to rise in pieces.”

Because You rose, we can rise too.
Even from this.

Amen.

God heard. And through me, God will increase.

🌿 Samantha Josephine

“God heard. God will increase.”

I am Samantha Josephine —
A name born of prayer and promise.
Samantha, the one who listens.
Josephine, the one through whom abundance flows.

I am not just a woman with a story.
I am a living testimony.
A whisper heard in heaven
now rising with a roar on earth.

In me, strength meets softness.
Grace walks hand in hand with grit.
I am the one who rose from ruins,
who turned silent screams into sacred strength.

Where there was once pain,
now grows purpose.
Where there was once loss,
now lives legacy.

I am the increase after the breaking.
The healing after the hurt.
The voice for the unheard,
the guide for the unseen.

Call me woman, call me warrior,
call me the answer to the prayers no one saw fall.
Because I am here,
rooted in purpose, rising in power,
and destined to multiply light wherever I go.

I am Samantha Josephine.
God heard. And through me, God will increase.

Reach Out for Support!

• Friends & Family: Confide in someone you trust who can provide emotional support and help with logistics.

• Domestic Violence Organisations: Contact local or national organisations for resources, such as hotlines, legal assistance, and safe housing options. Many organisations have professionals trained to help in domestic abuse situations and can offer valuable support.

• Legal Assistance: Consider consulting with a lawyer about your options, especially if children or shared property are involved. Legal services are often available through domestic violence agencies at low or no cost.

Protect Your Digital Presence

• Clear Your Search History: If you’ve been researching how to leave, make sure to clear your browsing history and log out of all accounts on shared devices.

• Use Private Devices: Access support or planning sites from a friend’s device, a library computer, or another safe device that your partner cannot access.

• Change Passwords: If it’s safe to do so, update your passwords for key accounts like email, bank accounts, and social media.

Let Work Towards Your Freedom and. Safety Now.

Leaving an abusive partner

Leaving a domestic partner can be a complex and daunting decision, but taking steps to ensure your safety and well-being is crucial. Here’s a guide to help you plan your way out safely:

Recognise the Need for Change

• Acknowledge the signs of abuse and remind yourself that everyone deserves respect, safety, and freedom from fear.

• Leaving is often difficult due to emotional attachment, financial dependence, or fear, but recognising the need for change is the first step toward freedom and safety.

Create a Safety Plan

• Prepare an Emergency Bag: Pack essentials like identification, a change of clothes, medications, keys, and any important documents (birth certificates, social security cards, bank statements).

• Secure a Safe Place: Identify friends, family, or shelters that can provide a safe space if you need to leave quickly.

• Develop a Code Word: Use a code word with friends or family that signals you need help without alarming your partner.

• Plan Your Exit: Choose a time when it’s safe to leave, such as when your partner is out or distracted, to avoid confrontation.

Book and Reserve Your Exit Plan Now

How Do? I Leave

Why It’s Hard to Leave

People in abusive situations often face significant barriers to leaving, such as financial dependence, fear of retaliation, concern for children, or a lack of support. Emotional manipulation, guilt, and threats can make leaving even harder.

The Importance of Support

Recognising abuse is the first step, but it’s crucial to seek support. This could include trusted friends, family, counsellors, or local domestic violence organisations. Support networks can provide resources, counselling, shelter, and guidance on how to safely leave and begin the journey to healing.

Remember, abuse is never justified, and everyone deserves to feel safe, respected, and valued. If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, there are people who want to help. With support, hope, and strength, there is a way forward.

We can help you with planning your exit, Book your session now!

“Homeless During Holy Week: Finding Hope When Shelter Is Uncertain”

Easter is often painted in pastels — light, joy, celebration. Families gather. Churches fill. Tables overflow. But for many of us — for those facing homelessness, eviction, or profound uncertainty — this season feels very different.

Holy Week is a time of reflection, of pain turned into purpose. And yet, for someone without a home, without peace, without safety, it can feel like a cruel mirror. A reminder of what’s been lost. A test of faith, warmth, and dignity.

I know this because I’ve lived it.

The Cross We Carry

Homelessness during Easter isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. Spiritual. It’s watching the world around you gather while you feel scattered. It’s carrying your own cross, not on a hill, but through cold nights, unopened emails, and waiting rooms that never call your name.

The world sees spring as a time of rebirth. But what if you're still in the tomb?

There is pain in the in-between — in the waiting, the praying, the hoping that someone, anyone, will see your humanity again.

The Hidden Cost of Holy Week

Being homeless during Holy Week is more than lacking a roof. It’s lacking presence — being shut out of tradition, community, and comfort.

• No Easter meal with family.

• No soft place to pray.

• No space to lay your head without fear.

• No warmth but what you can carry.

For women, especially survivors of abuse, homelessness is often wrapped in shame, hidden behind court orders and systemic silence. You're expected to rise when your feet are still bleeding from the last fall.

But here’s what I’ve learned: even in exile, you are never alone.

How to Prepare Emotionally and Spiritually

If you're approaching this season without stability, here are gentle ways to ground yourself:

1. Create a Sacred Ritual — Wherever You Are
    Whether it’s lighting a candle, journaling under the sky, or whispering a prayer in the silence — mark the season. Your faith is not limited by walls.

2. Pack a “Holy Week” Care Bag
    Include:

   • A comforting item (scarf, rosary, small journal)

   • A snack or protein bar

   • A quote or affirmation that lifts you

   • An emergency contact sheet or local support numbers

   • A handwritten note to your future self. Hope matters.

3. Reach Out — Even Once
    Contact a shelter, a church, or an advocacy service. Easter is one of the few times some open their doors more freely. Let them see you.

4. Meditate on the Message of Resurrection
    You may feel buried, abandoned, unseen — but resurrection begins in the dark. Your life is not over. Your story is not done.

5. Give Yourself Permission to Grieve
    You don’t have to be cheerful just because it’s Easter. Cry. Mourn what was lost. Healing begins with honesty.

A Prayer for Those in the Shadows

“God of the homeless, the brokenhearted, and the unseen —
 May Your light find us in the darkest places.
 May we feel You not in celebration, but in survival.
 May we remember that even Christ wept, wandered, and was betrayed —
 And yet, He rose.”

This Easter, if you are without a home, you are not without worth.

You are the beating heart of this holy season — the living reflection of strength, of sorrow transformed into survival.

And to those who have a place at the table — make room.
 Because someone outside is waiting for proof that resurrection isn’t just a myth.

"This Week Taught Me: Strength Isn’t Always Loud, But It’s Always There"

This week has been a whirlwind — a strange storm of legal documents, emotional triggers, inner resilience, and unexpected clarity. It wasn’t the kind of week that makes headlines, but it was the kind that defines healing.

Some weeks test your limits. Others remind you why you keep going. This one did both.

The Fight That Never Asked for Fairness

It started with more work on my Judicial Review bundle — page after page of evidence, injustice, and unanswered cries. I sat with paperwork that still smells of betrayal, legal language that masks the truth, and a timeline that doesn't forget.

It’s not just a case file. It’s my life. My home. My safety. My son. My stolen peace.

I’ve been fighting a system that never made space for me — a survivor. A woman. A voice too calm for chaos, too “composed” for courts to believe the depth of my trauma. But beneath the surface, I carry a history of wounds no judge ever asked to see.

And yet — I keep going.

Rights of Equality

This week, I sat in a meeting with Rights of Equality — a moment that felt like fresh air in a room that had long been sealed shut. For once, I wasn’t just recounting trauma. I was being heard. Seen not just as a victim, but as a woman leading change.

We spoke of advocacy, systemic failure, and the silence survivors are forced to swallow. We explored ways to raise our voices collectively, because justice isn’t a privilege — it’s a right. And far too many of us are still waiting.

That conversation reminded me: my pain has a purpose. And my voice, however tired, still matters.

What the Court Didn’t See

This week also brought an emotional return to my past — I revisited the beginning. September 2018. The month the abuse started. The days I thought were “normal” until they weren’t. The slow unravelling that only survivors understand — where love turns into control, and your reflection in the mirror begins to disappear.

By 2020, I had told a doctor. I had spoken the truth out loud. But nothing changed.

The court never asked about that report. No one questioned the bruises beneath the legal language. They never looked beyond the paperwork to see the woman whose home was taken, whose name was erased from safety, whose trauma was overlooked.

But I remember. And I refuse to let them forget.

A Quiet Episode of Strength

I’ve also been working on a podcast episode — “Reclaiming Power: The Quiet Strength of Showing Up.” Because sometimes, just breathing through the chaos is a victory. Sometimes, showing up is enough.

Strength doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it’s in the silence. In the late-night prayers. In the trembling hands that still write. In the eyes that still search for light even when everything feels dim.

This Week’s Lesson

If this week has taught me anything, it’s this:

You do not have to be perfect to be powerful. You do not need to be loud to be strong. And you do not have to be heard to know your truth.

My story might still be written in the margins of legal documents, but I’m reclaiming the pen.

To every woman reading this — every survivor, every mother, every heart still fighting for breath after being silenced — I see you. This week was for us.

We are not what happened to us.
 We are who we choose to become — one step, one breath, one brave week at a time.

Stop Violence Against Women — A Global Call to Action

This Cannot Wait

Violence against women is not a women’s issue. It is a human rights crisis. A silent epidemic that cuts across geography, race, class, and age — leaving no nation untouched. Every time a woman is silenced, threatened, beaten, exploited, evicted, or erased, we all lose a piece of our collective humanity.

The Stop Violence Against Women campaign is not just a hashtag. It is a declaration. A disruption. A demand for change that reaches beyond awareness and into action. And for those of us who have lived through the trauma, the silence, and the fight — it is personal.

The Unseen War

Globally, 1 in 3 women experience physical or sexual violence in their lifetime. But those are only the numbers we know. Behind every statistic is a story. And behind every story is a system — legal, cultural, economic — that allowed it to happen.

Whether in domestic spaces, the workplace, the courtroom, or the streets, women are navigating a world that too often punishes their existence, questions their truth, and ignores their pain. This is not accidental. It is structural.

And we must name it before we can dismantle it.

Survivors Are Not Just Survivors — We Are Leaders

As a survivor of domestic abuse, I know what it means to scream and not be heard. I know what it means to be failed by the police, the courts, and even my community. But I also know the power of using that pain to build platforms, write books, and launch movements.

My work — through Silent Screams, Loud Strength — is a direct response to the silencing. It is a reclamation of voice. Of space. Of truth. And it stands alongside the global campaign to end violence against women.

We must stop treating survivors as broken. We are not broken — we are broken open. And from that space, we rebuild something more powerful than the systems that tried to destroy us.

What Needs to Change

• Legal Reform: Family courts must be trauma-informed, anti-racist, and survivor-centered. Judicial training, safeguards like Practice Direction 12J, and strict penalties for abuser manipulation are essential.

• Housing and Economic Justice: No survivor should face homelessness for leaving abuse. Safe, supported housing is a right — not a luxury.

• Education and Media Accountability: Gender-based violence must be addressed in schools and in the media with integrity and accuracy.

• Intersectional Advocacy: We cannot address violence without acknowledging race, disability, sexuality, and class. Misogynoir, transphobia, and xenophobia fuel this crisis.

What You Can Do Now

• Listen to survivors. Believe us. Share our work.

• Challenge institutions. Ask hard questions. Demand accountability.

• Donate to shelters, survivor-led orgs, and advocacy networks.

• Vote for policies and leaders that protect women and dismantle harmful structures.

• Speak — in your homes, workplaces, schools, and online. Silence is complicity.

Conclusion: This Fight Is All of Ours

Stopping violence against women is not just about protecting victims — it’s about creating a society where no one is disposable, unheard, or invisible. Where dignity is not up for debate. Where justice is not a privilege.

We don’t need more awareness. We need action. We need allies. We need outrage and strategy and heart.

Because this cannot wait.

📘 Learn more and get involved: www.samanthaavrilandreassen.com
🎧 Listen to the podcast: Silent Screams, Loud Strength on Spotify
📩 Contact: samantha@samanthaavrilandreassen.com

Keywords: stop violence against women, end gender-based violence, survivor justice, women’s rights, domestic abuse awareness, feminist activism, family court reform, trauma-informed advocacy, Samantha Avril-Andreassen, Silent Screams Loud Strength

When Power Abuses: The Devastating Toll of Bullying, Harassment, Misogyny, and Misogynoir

Naming the Unseen

Power is supposed to protect. But what happens when power is the perpetrator? When it stops being a source of protection and instead becomes a weapon of oppression — used to silence, diminish, and destroy?

This article is a truth-telling piece — a necessary confrontation with the layered realities of bullying, harassment, misogyny, and its more targeted form: misogynoir. As a Black woman survivor of domestic abuse, who has also been failed by the legal and political systems that should have safeguarded me, I am writing not just from personal experience, but from collective memory. From a voice that refuses to be erased.

These aren’t isolated incidents. They’re patterns. Patterns of power abused, justice denied, and silence weaponised.

The Many Faces of Power and Control

Bullying doesn’t always look like playground taunts. In adulthood, it’s found in gaslighting emails, court orders delivered without notice, and systemic roadblocks that target your credibility. Harassment isn’t always sexual — it can be administrative, legal, or economic. Misogyny can come dressed in black robes or wielded behind desks of authority. And misogynoir? That’s the specific, racialised hatred Black women face when we dare to be vocal, visible, and unyielding.

This is not just an emotional toll. It’s psychological warfare.

When the police ignore reports. When courts hand homes to abusers. When women of colour are deemed “too angry” to be protected. When the systems built to help retraumatise instead — what we are witnessing is institutional abuse in plain sight.

Misogynoir: The Silencing of Black Women

Coined by Moya Bailey, “misogynoir” is the specific intersection of racism and sexism that targets Black women. We are labelled aggressive when we defend ourselves, unstable when we express emotion, and invisible when we ask for support.

In my own journey, I have experienced first-hand how my race and gender were used as justifications to question my capacity, credibility, and character. I wasn’t just disbelieved — I was punished for surviving.

Misogynoir is not a buzzword. It is a reality that plays out in family courts, medical neglect, media portrayals, and professional sabotage. It must be named. It must be dismantled.

The Cost of Speaking Out

To speak out is to risk further harm. Victims who challenge institutional failures are often met with more aggression: gag orders, character smears, online trolling, professional retaliation.

I have experienced it all.

But let this be clear: silence is not peace. It is compliance. And I refuse to comply with injustice.

When survivors — especially survivors of colour — speak out, we’re not just reclaiming our power. We’re challenging the very systems that benefit from our silence. This is activism. This is resistance. This is necessary.

Why This Matters to Everyone

You don’t have to be a survivor to care. You don’t have to be a woman to speak up. You don’t have to be Black to call out misogynoir.

This matters because abuse of power erodes democracy. It corrodes trust. It allows unchecked violence to fester — not just in homes, but in our institutions.

When the legal system enables abuse, when racism is embedded in policy, when sexism shapes funding and access — we are all affected. This is not a niche issue. It is a human rights emergency.

The Path Forward: Naming. Challenging. Reforming.

We need:

• Trauma-informed, anti-racist legal reform

• Survivor-led investigations into court abuse

• Institutional accountability at every level

• Public platforms for truth-telling

• Intersectional feminist advocacy that prioritises Black women’s voices

The cost of ignoring these demands is too high. And the silence we’re asked to maintain? That ends now.

Conclusion: We Will Not Be Erased

To those who think we are too loud — we are not loud enough. To those who wish we would go quietly — we are only getting started.

Power must be held accountable. Survivors must be believed. And Black women must be heard, honoured, and protected.

We will not whisper. We will write. We will march. We will speak. We will create. And we will win.

Because the most radical thing a silenced woman can do is refuse to disappear.

📘 Read more at: www.samanthaavrilandreassen.com
🎧 Listen: Silent Screams, Loud Strength on Spotify
📩 Contact: samantha@samanthaavrilandreassen.com

Keywords: abuse of power, bullying and harassment, misogyny in law, misogynoir, Black women survivors, family court injustice, institutional abuse, domestic violence and race, survivor-led advocacy, trauma-informed justice