u/Dry_Act7157

TW: childhood abuse/neglect, sexual abuse, domestic violence

I think I have the orphan spirit and spirit of fear rooted in deep childhood neglect and abuse starting before age one.
My sister was born three days before my first birthday, so I assume the worst of my mom's neglect began around then — she almost certainly had postpartum depression with all four of us. My dad started hitting me around 18 months. He also intentionally terrorized us.
Once, he called me over in an angry voice. I approached in absolute terror — he raised his hand over me and I flinched, squeezed my eyes shut, and waited for the blow. When I opened my eyes, he was scratching his head and grinning. I was maybe 3 or 4. That one was so horrible because I realized him seeing me so afraid was fun for him. I realized he hated me and liked to see me suffer. But there were so many actual physically abusive instances and most are blocked out.
Another time, he called my 5-year-old sister downstairs before school and beat her so badly she was running in circles on the floor — for no reason. He sent her out late and she missed the bus, sobbing in terror outside. Thankfully a neighbor saw her and drove her to school.
We had untreated fleas and lice throughout all of elementary school (I didn’t know humans could get fleas but we definitely had them in our hair). The thermostat was kept at 55°F in a two-story house — much colder in most rooms. The house was so damp with mold that I didn't realize what that smell was until I was an adult and a friend told me. I was always painfully cold.
Our parents regularly left us home Friday night to Sunday morning with our oldest sister supervising — she was 10 or 11, watching siblings ages 4, 3, and 2 — with barely any food. We ate out of garbage cans at school and stole food from neighbors and stores. My older sisters were social enough to stay at friends' houses, and I was jealous they had access to normal snacks — Gushers, fruit roll-ups, chips, juice. at home, we'd eat dry psyllium husk powder and chug water to feel full, or plain butter mixed with sugar, or peanut butter mixed with sugar. There was never food in the cupboards or fridge. Maybe eggs and top ramen. My mom usually brought us fast food and we’d wait eagerly at the front window for her to come home from work. But sometimes she never came or she came very late and there was no dinners on those nights and we didn’t ask.
We didn't have properly fitting clothes. In 4th grade my only clean pants were too small, so I tied the button closed. I couldn't get them untied in time and wet myself at school — and had to sit in those clothes the rest of the day because my mom wouldn't bring me a change.
My dad despised my timid, fearful temperament. He called me "Chicken Little," "stupid," and "Miss Pee Body" because I wet the bed until age 8 — which he also beat me for. We learned to isolate ourselves in the playroom and stay invisible. We were so afraid to go downstairs to use the bathroom that as little kids we peed in a laundry pile. We got beaten for that too.
My mom talked like she cared but never acted to protect us or improve our situation.
The emotional neglect was profound. My parents had no interest in my thoughts, feelings, hobbies, or schooling. My personality became whatever attracted the least attention, because their attention was unpredictable and often dangerous.
There was a brief mercy in books. By age 8 I could read adult novels easily. I'd steal books from community centers, go into my closet, slide the door nearly shut until just a crack of light fell on the page, and read for hours.
I was exposed to pornography before age 10 because my parents didn't hide their magazines. At 11, I was molested by a 16-year-old neighbor.
On the Jezebel accusation specifically:
I have never tried to control or manipulate people. If anything, I over-performed in relationships — doing everything, giving everything — hoping only for basic kindness and love in return. I never received it. I didn't react with vengeance. I imploded inward. I blamed myself for everything, including choosing people I believed would change if I could just make them happy enough.
My nervous system was completely primed for exploitation before I even understood what that meant.
At 14, I started dating a boy who was 17. Within months he went to prison for robbery and assault, tried as an adult. My mom drove me to visit him in prison. His romantic letters from inside made me feel, for the first time, like I was loved. I lost my virginity to him at 14 and was pregnant a month later. I was genuinely happy — I thought I'd finally have a loving family of my own.
My mom immediately arranged an abortion. I didn't want one, but I couldn't speak up — I had what I later realized was selective mutism until around age 25. I'd researched that doctors are legally required to speak with a minor alone before the procedure to confirm consent. That didn't happen. The doctor handed me a pill while my mom watched, and I took it without saying a word.
After that, my boyfriend stopped calling me by my name. For the next five months, he only called me "Baby Killer" or "BK" as he spiraled into meth addiction.
That was the beginning of roughly 20 years of abusive romantic relationships. I've paid all the bills for one man. I've housed three different men, covering everything while raising my two kids alone. I've probably lost tens of thousands of dollars. I've been hit, strangled, stalked, cheated on, and raped by multiple partners. I've neglected my own health entirely.
I'm likely autistic (my son is diagnosed autistic and ADHD, and looking back, I clearly am too). I had extreme difficulty speaking under emotional stress — a feeling of a locked throat, needing to cut out my tongue. I heavily dissociated throughout childhood. I have a memory of standing at the top of the stairs watching my dad grab my sister's leg as she tried to escape a beating — she kicked him in the face, and he laughed and let her go. When she told me the story years later, she said I wasn't at the top of the stairs. I was standing beside my little sister at the bottom, watching. That's the kind of dissociation I'm talking about.
Because of fawning and freezing so deeply conditioned into me, I've experienced a great deal of sex I didn't want and didn't seek. My brain shuts down. I feel locked, screaming internally, but I don't speak. Because I never said "no" — even when I never said yes — I blamed myself completely. I raped me, in my mind. Those men didn't. That belief lived in me for a long time.
I've been to therapy. I understand healthy vs. unhealthy dynamics, nervous system responses, boundaries, trauma patterns. What's been more transformative lately is combining that knowledge with my faith. When I started genuinely praying and listening, God started giving me specific tools that work for me — breathing techniques, grounding activities, somatic practices I later looked up and confirmed are real, evidence-based methods. With therapy I was cycling through thousands of techniques hoping something would stick. With God I'm just... being told what actually works for me.
So here's my actual question:
My friend — who means well — insists I have the Jezebel spirit, plus incubus/succubus, and needs to perform deliverance on me. She tried. I felt nothing. And honestly, the label upsets me deeply.
When I read about the Jezebel spirit, I see: manipulation, vengeance, pride, control, power hunger, deception, using sex and sexuality as weapons. Those are things my abusers actually did to me — and then projected onto me to justify it. Abusers told me my pain was manipulation. They said my boundaries were heartlessness. They called me unloving when I finally walked away — the worst thing I've ever done to anyone.
I am brand new in my walk with Jesus. Not raised religious. I've been seriously circling Christianity for about five years, read the whole Bible, researched other religions. It resonates with my soul. But moments like this — someone more "practiced" confidently labeling me with something that feels profoundly wrong and harmful — are exactly what has slowed my walk.
I'm someone who has spent 34 years blaming myself for everything. I try obsessively to do right by people. I isolate because I know that being noticed has historically meant being hurt or used. I don't post on social media. I don't use my looks or my situation to extract things from people — if anything, I give too much and then withdraw to protect what little I have left.
The worst thing I've ever done to someone is leave.
Based on everything I've shared — does it seem like I have the Jezebel spirit? Or does this feel like a painful misapplication of a spiritual label onto someone who has spent their entire life as the target of the very behaviors that label describes?