Uninvited, Unbothered, Unmoved: My Journey Through Rejection, Identity, and Power

I’ve always been someone who stood out—whether through my style, my voice, or my presence. That kind of visibility draws admiration, but it also draws projection. Over the years, I’ve encountered people who saw something in me they wanted to emulate, control, or silence. Some of them were gay men and women*. And while their identities weren’t the issue, their actions were.

Thought you will find a common denominator in the identities of the characters - this story isn’t about sexuality—it’s about power, rejection, and the way people respond when they feel unseen or unaccepted. I’ve been rebuked, dismissed, and even betrayed by people who once claimed to admire me. And often, that rejection came wrapped in spiritual language, professional hierarchy, or false friendship.

I’ve never been one to blend in. From the moment I stepped into high school, ministry, or any room with influence, I carried myself with clarity, style, and presence. That kind of energy doesn’t go unnoticed—and it doesn’t always go unchallenged.

*In this story the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

The Men Who Reflected, Rejected, and Rewrote Me

Jeffery was the first. I met Jeffery when I was about 15 or 16. Pretty, caramel-skinned, and scrappy. Confrontation didn’t scare him—it energized him. Our classmates assumed we were dating, but we weren’t. I had a different idea of what I wanted in a partner back then: someone rough around the edges, strong, commanding. He wasn’t the type I was drawn to romantically, but he was drawn to me—deeply. Not for love, but for identity.

Over time, Jeffery revealed more of himself. He came out to a few of us, and I began to understand that his interest in me wasn’t romantic—it was aspirational. He saw in me something he wanted to embody. He saw in me the woman he wanted to become. Eventually, he adopted my nickname as his own. That moment marked something: admiration that blurred into imitation.  It was both flattering and unsettling, a reminder of how deeply people can be shaped by those they admire.

Jeffery’s life unraveled in ways that felt tragic. His mother rejected his truth, and that rejection turned him volatile. He became more confrontational, more feminine, more erratic, more lost. Prison followed. I’ve always believed that lack of love and acceptance played a role in that outcome. It’s heartbreaking to think how different things might have been if he’d felt safe to be himself. And while I never condoned his choices, I comprehend the pain that fueled them.

Christopher was different—intelligent, masculine, politically minded. He had a way of seeing the world that was magnetic. But his own story was complicated, shaped by early experiences that blurred boundaries and left scars. Beneath the charm was a pattern of manipulation. Our friendship 20 years long, was deep. But he betrayed me, just like he betrayed others. His sexuality wasn’t the issue; his choices were. He used people, discarded them, and moved on. I didn’t see it coming, but I learned from it.

Mentally Confused

And finally, Pastor Marduk Saruzar. A man of the cloth, a man of faith, but also a man with wounds. His past was marked by trauma, and that pain echoed in his ministry. That pain seemed to echo in how he treated others—especially women. He rebuked women constantly; projecting his unresolved mother issues and hurt onto those he was meant to uplift. I watched him rebuke, diminish, and dismiss. I eventually was one of those women. And when I refused to shrink, he labeled me and made sure I was silenced.

It felt personal, but I’ve come to see it as a reflection of his own unresolved distortion.

From Jeffery, who mirrored my identity to find his own, to Christopher, whose charm masked manipulation, to Pastor Marduk, whose unresolved trauma spilled into his ministry—I’ve seen how pain can turn into projection. I’ve seen how people rebuke what they secretly desire or fear. And I’ve learned that when someone tries to diminish you, it’s often because they haven’t found peace within themselves.

This is my truth. Not a condemnation of others' identity, but a call for accountability. I don’t hate anyone for who they are. But I will name the harm they’ve caused. Because healing starts with honesty.

The Women Who Watched, Wanted, and Withdrew

In every space I’ve entered—whether ministry, friendship, or leadership—I’ve brought my full self. My style, my voice, my energy. That kind of presence doesn’t go unnoticed. And sometimes, it draws people in for reasons that aren’t always clear at first.

Parmelia was one of the first. Initially licensed by a lesbian Pastor. Placed in position by a closeted homosexual Pastor. Positioned as a gatekeeper in the ministry, she carried herself with authority and aligned herself with others who shared her values and identity. Danielle, a female police officer, and Latrice, a head doctor, were part of that circle. Then came Abigail—Pastor Marduk's wife—whose influence ran deep and whose intentions, I later realized, were layered.

Each of these women had power. And each, in their own way, made me feel like I was being watched, measured, mimicked and eventually rejected. It wasn’t just about personality clashes—it felt like something deeper. Like my refusal to conform, to be claimed, or to be categorized made me a threat.

Parmelia was the gatekeeper. Danielle, the enforcer. Latrice, the intellect. Abigail, the quiet power behind the pulpit. Each of these women held influence in the ministry. Each, in their own way, made me feel like I was being measured, mimicked, and eventually rejected.

It wasn’t just about personality clashes—it felt like something deeper. Like my refusal to conform made me a threat. Their admiration turned into exclusion. Their curiosity became competition. And when I didn’t play along, I was rebuked.

I’ve learned that rejection often comes when people can’t control you. When admiration turns into envy, and curiosity becomes competition. When they see something in you that they want—but can’t claim. I wasn’t trying to challenge anyone. I was just being me. But that was enough to unsettle the system.

She laughs

 What I Know Now

Granted all the people in this story have some type of homosexual distortion but this isn’t a story about sexuality. It’s a story about power, projection, and the cost of being unapologetically yourself. I’ve faced judgment, exclusion, and betrayal. But I’ve also found clarity, strength, and the freedom that comes from refusing to shrink.

Their actions—whether subtle or overt—led to my exclusion from spaces I once felt called to. And while that hurt, it also revealed something powerful: I don’t need anyone’s permission to walk in purpose. I don’t need validation from those who only accept what they can mold.

I’ve been hurt, yes. But I’ve also grown. I’ve found clarity in the chaos, and strength in the silence.

And though there is so much more story to share, I don’t hate anyone for who they are. But I will name the harm they’ve caused. Because healing starts with honesty. And I refuse to carry the weight of someone else’s rejection any longer.

I am uninvited.

I am unbothered.

I am unmoved.

Because frankly, there are some things you are rejected from that were your protection. No negotiation will suffice. And truly I say beloved, you don't want to be a part of the destruction that follows.

You’ve read my story—raw, unfiltered, and unshaken. Now it’s your turn. If you’ve ever been silenced, sidelined, or misunderstood, know this: your truth matters. Your voice is not too loud. Your presence is not too much. At Keyola Consultants, we don’t just help you find your voice—we amplify it. If you’ve ever been rejected for being too bold, too honest, or too different, you’re exactly who we’re here for.

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