To the One Who Had a Girlfriend in Birmingham

I don’t even know where to begin with you. You were the type that nobody warns us about. In church, they tell us to keep our legs closed, but they don’t teach us to guard our hearts. And the Bible? It speaks far more about guarding your heart than it does about keeping your legs closed. Not that I’m saying we should all open our legs, but you get the point.

The church doesn’t warn you about the ones like you. The ones who lead worship, who stand on stage singing about God’s love and write songs about His goodness, all while treating His creation with such disregard. Emotional infidelity isn’t talked about enough, is it? No one tells you to watch out for the ones who preach purity but live a double life. In my naivety, I thought you were different. I thought you were someone loving, someone kind, someone reflective of God’s heart. You were the opposite of everything God had for me.

I wanted to believe you were who I thought you were. When I found out the truth, on the morning we buried and said goodbye to one of my dear friends, but it was you who acted like the victim. You called out for pity, because somehow it was harder for you, as if meeting me while you were already with her was a tragedy for you to bear. You said it was so hard to meet someone you could see yourself falling in love with, all while already being committed to someone else. And for a moment, I believed you. I felt sorry for you. As if things couldn’t get worse, you wanted me to meet her because she wanted to meet your ‘dear friend in London’ who you spoke so much about. You begged me to look another woman in the eye and convince her that it was okay for me to be in your life—as a ‘friend’. You asked me to create the illusion that she was safe, that there was nothing to worry about, even when I knew the truth. Of all the hurtful things you ever did, that was the most devastating. To ask me to lie for you, to betray another woman for your sake, was a level of manipulation I still struggle to comprehend. And I thank God I never did it.

I was broken. I was vulnerable and isolated. I had just lost a friend to suicide, and I was struggling to find my footing in London. I was in a dark and fragile place I’d ever been. Looking back, it’s clear: I was an easy target. The most easily manipulated. And you didn’t hesitate to take what you could from me while I was at my lowest.

But I was not the only ‘friend in London’, you had a line of many. It’s humbling, isn’t it? To find out that I was just one in a series of other women. And the women… oh, the wonderful women. Every woman who tried to warn me about you, you dismissed as a “fangirl,” jealous or reading too much into your kindness. You made me doubt them, mistrust them, even resent them. I was too blind back then to see the truth in their words. But we live, and we learn. Now, I see those women for what they really were: protectors. They saw the pattern long before I did and tried to shield me from the hurt they’d either endured themselves or saw coming.

I love women. I love our innate desire to protect one another. I don’t believe women are inherently catty towards each other – I believe women are fierce in their love, even when it’s misunderstood. I thank God for the women who go out of their way to protect us from feeling the same hurt they’ve endured, even if we don’t see it at the time.

This is the very reason people don’t want to come to church. This is the embodiment of the hypocrisy that atheists despise in Christians. You sang songs about God on Sunday while living a double life the rest of the week. I wish I could just say it’s just you, but me, you, we all are hyporcites at times.

To the non-Christian reading this: I know this kind of hypocrisy is exactly what puts you off faith. I know that behaviour like this makes you question God altogether. But here’s what I need you to understand, the church is messy in the same way the pub is messy, because it’s full of broken people. I want to say it’s just at church, we have something stronger than Vodka, but I know God is in the pub too.

We live in a world where some are truly called by God to lead churches, while others are simply appointed by man. There are those who hold positions in churches not because they are walking closely with God, but because they meet the qualifications on paper. Don’t confuse the two. And please, don’t judge a perfect God by the actions of imperfect Christians.

Conviction is a word so underused at church. I think about it a lot. I remember frustratedly asking God, Why don’t you convict him? Why don’t you love me enough to make him feel what he’s done? I was frustrated that even though the congregation and your fans are blissfully unaware, God knew and it didn’t seem like He was doing anything about it. Watching you stand on stage, leading worship, knowing what you did to me, messed with my self-worth in ways I can’t even describe. God convicts me when I mess up—so why didn’t He convict you? It wasn’t until a wise woman said to me, “You have to be close to God to hear His conviction“, that my frustration (or more accurately anger) with God started to lift.

It’s not that God doesn’t want to convict those who do wrong, He absolutely does, but His voice becomes faint when we choose distance. When our hearts are hardened, and our ears are closed, we miss that divine whisper. It’s not about whether God cares enough to convict you or Him failing to intervene, it’s about whether you care enough to stay close enough to listen. I see now that you never really wanted to be called out.

I no longer feel resentful when God convicts me, even when it means swallowing my pride and apologising while others who hurt me seem to go on blissfully with their lives. If anything, I thank God for it. His conviction is proof that He hasn’t let me drift too far from Him, that He still cares enough to shape my heart and guide my steps. I’m grateful that God hasn’t left me to my own devices, that He continues to draw me back when I stray. Conviction reminds me that my relationship with Him is alive, that He loves me too much to let me grow cold or distant. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.

It’s taken me three years to write this, not because I lacked the words, but because I refused to write it from a place of revenge. I needed time, time to ensure that what you did to me no longer defined the main narrative of my life. And now, I write this for a purpose beyond you.

I write to remind women who’ve fallen into similar traps that they are not fools and most certainly not alone. I write to remind Christians of the immense responsibility we carry when we claim to represent Him but live in ways that betray that claim. And I write for my younger self, the girl who stayed silent when she should have spoken up. This is for her, too.

Yet for all the pain you caused, I’m thankful for you. Yes, thankful because your dishonesty forced me out of my naivety. You taught me that what I prayed for wasn’t someone who could quote verses or sing worship songs perfectly, but someone who desired to live more like Jesus. You taught me to look for someone who doesn’t hide their mistakes but shares them and learns from them. And how beautiful that I found Him. He didn’t grow up in church. He didn’t know all the worship songs by heart. But after going through highs and lows, I can honestly say, he treats me in the way I always prayed to be treated—with kindness, honesty, and respect.

So to the one who had a girlfriend in Birmingham, thank you for showing me exactly what I don’t want. I realise now that as hard as it was being the naive girl who did not know about the girlfriend in Birmingham, what is worse is being the girlfriend – pardon me, wife in Birmingham who did not know about the girl(s) in London.