CONFESSION: What Happened The Night I Entered My Pastor’s Office Alone

CONFESSION: What Happened The Night I Entered My Pastor’s Office Alone

I don’t even know where to start mehn… this thing has been eating me up since that night. Like sometimes I wonder if I’m exaggerating it in my head, or if it really happened the way I felt it. But every time I remember, my chest just tightens, like a knot.

So that night, service had closed. Everybody don dey go home, cleaners were packing chairs, ushers outside laughing. Pastor just called me, “Sister, wait behind, I want to see you in my office.” My heart skipped but I said okay. He’s pastor now, who am I to argue?

When I got there, the office was quiet, just the smell of anointing oil and old books. He locked the door. That sound… kai, it still rings in my ear. I sat down. He smiled small, asked about school, family, how I was coping. Normal gist, I relaxed small. But then the questions started changing. “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Have you ever been touched before?” I forced a laugh, like it was just harmless talk. But deep inside, my whole body froze.

At some point he stood up from behind the desk and came to sit beside me. Too close abeg. I could feel the heat from his body. He said, “You’re very beautiful, do you know that? God has blessed you.” Then his hand brushed mine. Just small touch but my whole spirit screamed. I quickly shifted. He smiled again, like it was joke, but me I knew it wasn’t joke.

I tried to stand up, said I needed to go. He leaned back and said, “Don’t misinterpret me o, I just care about you.” But the way his eyes scanned me… it wasn’t care. It was something else. I felt dirty even though nothing really happened.

That night, as I walked out of his office, my legs were shaking. I couldn’t even look at him in the eye. I got home, entered my room, locked the door and cried. Not because he touched me too much, but because the trust broke. The same man that shouts “holiness” on the pulpit almost crossed a line with me behind closed doors.

But wait… is it just me? Am I overthinking? Why do I keep replaying it in my head? Why do I even feel guilty like I caused it? I wasn’t dressed bad, I wasn’t even smiling too much that night. So why do I feel like it’s my fault?

I love God, but I hate myself sometimes… crazy right? I go to church, I lift my hands, but inside I’m wondering if I’m faking it. Like, how do you worship behind a pastor that made you feel unsafe? Sometimes I even avoid eye contact in service, just so I won’t remember that office moment.

I noticed it only comes back strong when I’m stressed, when I’m alone, when I start doubting God. Maybe I’m just lying to myself but the truth is… that night changed how I see men of God. Changed how I see myself sef.

I don’t even know why I typed all this but maybe someone will understand… or maybe God just wanted me to let it out. Because honestly, I’ve been carrying it like secret luggage. And writing it now feels like exhaling after holding my breath too long.

At least now, I feel like I can breathe small. Even if I don’t have answers yet.