There are moments I catch myself raising my voice, laying down consequences, or holding the line — and I see it in his eyes: I’m the bad guy.

And it stings.

Because I didn’t sign up for this to be the villain. I signed up to help. To heal. To be safe.

But trauma doesn’t always recognize love as love. It sees rules as control. Calm voices as manipulation. Even kindness as a trick.

And that’s hard to carry.

But I remember — Jesus was misunderstood too. His love was rejected. His motives questioned. And He stayed anyway.

So I’ll stay too. Even when I’m not seen clearly. Even when I feel like the enemy. Because love isn’t how I’m perceived — it’s how I persist.