2231 words Powered by word counter

🇳🇱 Deze blog is ook beschikbaar in het Nederlands.
👉Lees de Nederlandse versie hier

In this blog, I want to share my personal journey — a testimony of growth, struggle, and breakthrough. It’s a story of finding my voice in the silence, embracing my strength, and learning from the influence of others who crossed my path.

My life is proof of what is possible when you surrender to God’s guidance, even in the darkest times. I don’t just want to share my journey with you, but also encourage those who might feel lost or silent. You are not alone, and sometimes, it is through silence and listening that we find the strength we need to keep going.

Additionally, I want to honour two women who, in their own way of leadership, have had a profound influence on me: Olivia Benson, a character from Law & Order: SVU, and my former autism coach. Both women empowered me and helped me find my own path — not by telling me what to do, but by recognising my own strength and allowing me to grow at my own pace.

This is my story, a story of God, leadership, and growth.

About Followers and Silence

Let me begin with my followers. I’m beginning to understand why so many followers remain silent. Not because they are uninterested, but because the content often hits deeply. Because it’s confrontational. Because it resonates, especially when you feel it too, but don’t yet have the words for it. And because they know this is a place where that is allowed. Where they don’t have to justify their silence. Where just observing is enough.

It’s important for me to say that I see them — the silent followers who don’t always respond or respond in a way that’s visible to others, but who still offer support simply by being present. I know they’re there, and I know my words reach them. They take the time to reflect, maybe without saying anything, but they feel what I share. And that is enough.

Projection

But there was a time when I misunderstood the silence of my followers. The insecurity I had taken on — subtly projected — led me to think that perhaps my followers were not interested, or that my voice wasn’t powerful enough. That projection of insecurity made me doubt the real meaning of their silence. It was only when I let go of that projection that I began to understand why my followers were silent and how important that silence actually was. It had nothing to do with rejection, but with space for reflection.

This experience mirrors how people sometimes try to undermine your strength by projecting their own insecurity onto you. This can happen subtly — not by directly saying you’re not good enough, but by making you doubt what you’re doing, even when your success and growth are visible. What I now realise is that this projection of insecurity wasn’t mine, and it no longer has the power to make me lose my voice.

From Silence to Voice – The Power of Being Heard

There was a time when I felt I had to shout to be heard, because those who should have been listening to my voice chose to remain silent. Not because they didn’t want to listen, but because they preferred to go along with the oppressors rather than stop it. Some were the oppressors themselves, while others gave in out of fear of the consequences. However, in my frustration, I discovered something powerful: my voice was never lost. It had always been there, deep within, stronger than ever.

The moments when I shouted were not because my voice had less value, but because I felt compelled to by the fear of others to face confrontation. What I discovered is that my strength does not lie in shouting, but in the truth I now no longer suppress. My voice is not dependent on the approval of those who prefer to maintain the silence of power.

The silence I experienced was never my weakness. It was the power of those who projected their own fear of change onto me, while trying to suppress my voice. What I now see is that my strength has always been present. What I needed was the courage to speak without the fear of rejection or control.

Now I know: my strength does not lie in shouting, but in the clarity of the truth I speak, even when others do not want to hear it. I no longer need to shout, for my words come from a place of clarity and strength. They are determined, calm, and sincere, and that is enough.

Roots and Fruit

I am rooted. Just as the Bible intended. Jesus spoke in Matthew 13 about different kinds of soil where the seed of the Word fell. I recognise myself mainly in the rocky ground — I grew, but didn’t have room to take root. And yet that seed didn’t die. God moved it. To good soil.

What I now carry is the fruit of that breakthrough. Not fruit in spite of my past, but because of my breakthrough through it. This fruit doesn’t grow to earn my salvation, but because I am already saved. No works, but fruit. No proof, but life. And if you don’t immediately feel that change, trust that it is visible. Just like a plant that first takes root before it breaks through the surface. 🌱

This growth, this fruit, has deep roots. They are rooted in the experiences of my past — both the pain and the breakthroughs. It is in those deep roots, which I have built, that my identity and leadership have been shaped. It is not only the fruit of my personal growth, but also of the influences I have experienced from those who cared for me, especially my parents.

About Fathers, Mirrors, and Birth

On my birthday, I shared something about my birth: how I was born a month premature, and how that has meaning in my journey with God. In another blog, I wrote about the book A Warm Bond with God, and how I realised that with my father, something stood between God and me — instead of God being between us. This didn’t come from his will, but from his own religious trauma. He wanted to be the best father, but his experiences with faith had an impact on his relationship with God, which indirectly influenced my relationship with Him. This trauma wasn’t something he intentionally passed on, but it did affect us together.

Now, years later, I see how these insights have helped me to root myself in my own spiritual leadership. And how others sometimes serve as mirrors, bringing me back to that realisation: I don’t have to carry anything that isn’t mine. I’m not called to save anyone else, even if they expect me to put them ahead of God. I am only called to carry the light that God has given me — bright, not hidden, and not shared out of fear or coercion, but freely.

Authoritative father

Many Christians have grown up in a context where authority was central — especially male authority. As a child, you often learn: obeying is safe, being yourself is dangerous. Or: love must be earned. And that’s sometimes confused with God’s character, while He is not a controlling Father, but a loving, just, and close Father.

My father was authoritative — that’s different from authoritarian. He was clear, involved, and in his own way gentle — especially when I was young. He taught me things in a way that suited me, almost as if he intuitively knew what I needed. Perhaps because he himself needed it. Looking back, I suspect that he was also autistic, which explains the deep connection between us. But when he became ill, that stopped. His strength, his involvement — it fell silent. And that too was a mirror. Not everything that disappears is gone forever. But sometimes I had to learn to carry what no longer was.

Social and mental health workers once tried to convince me that my father was neglectful. While in the records, it was clearly stated how involved he was, even after his illness. Yet, this information was often ignored or not properly read. It was painful because it was right there. This often led to others questioning my story, and it was hard to convince them that the neglect didn’t lie with my parents, but with the incorrect interpretation of the situation by the social and mental health workers

37

Twenty years ago, I didn’t think I’d still be here, now I am 37. My life hasn’t been easy. I’ve been through deep valleys. There were nights when the thoughts that ran through my head seemed almost unbearable. Thoughts that others with autism often experience, but which for many don’t easily disappear, even with the right support. It was a dark time, but I made it through. And despite everything, I am here. Not just existing, but living and growing.

What I now carry is not just a scar, but also a testimony of enduring pain and finding strength in the darkest moments. I am stronger than ever, but I am still confronted with my limitations. It remains a daily process of growth and acceptance of what I am. Sometimes, old patterns resurface and I have to learn again to deal with what I cannot do. Yet, I’ve learned not to see that as failure, but as part of my journey.

I am where I am because of faith, perseverance, and the trust that I am not alone in this struggle. And I now know: although my limitations remain, they are not the definition of who I am. They are merely an aspect of the journey, and the journey itself is what makes me who I am.

About Olivia Benson, my former autism coach, and My Leadership

Sometimes I think that my way of leadership most resembles someone like Olivia Benson from Law & Order: SVU. Her strength doesn’t come from loudness, but from staying true to her values, even when it goes against the grain. Olivia has endured her own personal traumas and yet continues to fight for justice, not just for the victims she encounters, but also for herself. She is someone who, despite her difficult past, found her voice and fully embraced her role as a leader.

In her, I see the mirror of how I too found my own strength — not by shouting, but by speaking calmly and clearly from the truth I’ve discovered, despite everything I’ve been through. Olivia taught me that leadership is not about power or visible success, but about integrity and the courage to always stand for what is right, even when it’s difficult.

What she does in the series is the same as what I try to do in my own life: honour who I am, with a background that hasn’t always been easy, and a desire to offer others a place of rest and truth. The leadership I now have grows out of the lessons I’ve learned from her and from my autism coach. And like them, I’ve also learned to carry my own story, not out of fear, but out of the strength I’ve found in my healing and growth.

Remember who you are

What made me strong was something different. It was the quiet leadership of my autism coach. The strength of Olivia Benson — not their loudness, but their integrity. It was the kind of leadership that doesn’t push, but reflects. That doesn’t say: “do as I do”, but: “remember who you are.”

Not the words of those who wanted to make me small, but the silence of those who recognised my strength, shaped me. There were people who couldn’t tolerate my leadership. Who saw it as a threat or attached their own identity to it. Some took credit for my growth, while I was trapped under their influence. Their dominant presence — shouting, controlling — made me small. However, my autism coach and Olivia allowed me to stand in my strength, and that strength is what has shaped my leadership. Not by overpowering, but by recognising and allowing space for my own growth.

About Humility and Mirrors

Sometimes God places mirrors on your path, not to break you, but to shape you. Not as a lesson, but as a reminder: that my strength doesn’t come from myself. That I may lead without exalting myself. That I may bear without breaking.
He keeps me humble, not by making me small, but by reminding me who the Source is.

Without even putting it into words — but I know that it is so.

Closing

It is remarkable how the fact that some try to deny my leadership has become confirmation. Because I now know: I don’t need to claim it. It is visible. And what is visible doesn’t need to be defended — only carried.

Some tried to stifle it before it even had a chance to take root. But what is from God cannot be erased. It always finds a way — and I’ve walked that way.

Question of the week
What would change if you stopped proving yourself — and start to trust that you already carry what is allowed to become visible?