The Past Unfolded

The Beginning of My Journey I am J Philibert. Recently, I discovered someone attempting to discredit my family name. I'm not here to cause anger or upset anyone—I simply want to share my truth, my perspective on events that have shaped my life in profound ways. It all started when I found a blog from Watchmen on the Wall Ministry, which is run by my mother. The blog contained deeply personal information about traumatic experiences from my childhood—events that happened between the ages of 6 and 10. As a grown man now, I never wanted these private matters exposed on the internet for anyone to see. Before diving deeper into this story, I should tell you a bit about myself and how I eventually discovered the truth. Growing up, I believed everything my mother and stepfather told me about my father and stepmother. Like most children, I trusted my parents implicitly and accepted their version of reality without question. Finding My Way Through Darkness I've been writing about my past since I was 13 years old. Until that age, I knew nothing about Christ or faith. My childhood and teenage years were turbulent—I left my mother's house at 16, working two jobs to pay rent for a small, rundown place I called home. Those years were filled with partying and substance abuse. I experimented with marijuana, acid, and mushrooms, drifting through life with a deep-seated resentment toward authority figures. School felt pointless—I convinced myself I knew everything already and dropped out, certain there was nothing teachers could offer me.

My relationship history is equally complicated. I've been married four times, each relationship teaching me difficult lessons about love, commitment, and myself. Though I attended church with my mother and stepfather during my youth—even working in the sound booth and playing drums—I ultimately left the church at 17, searching for something else, though I wasn't sure what. The Stories We're Told For most of my life, I carried a specific narrative about my childhood. I believed that when I was four years old, my father had beaten my maternal grandmother, kidnapped my sister and me, and taken us to Minnesota. This story, along with tales of abuse at the hands of both my father and stepmother, became the foundation of my understanding of my early years. The most disturbing part of this narrative was being told that my father had sexually molested me. These stories shaped my perception of my father, my stepmother, and ultimately, myself. They influenced how I viewed relationships, authority, and trust. They became the lens through which I interpreted my experiences and made decisions. Uncovering Different Truths As I grew older, I began having conversations with extended family members—uncles, cousins—as well as my father and stepmother. What I discovered surprised me: their recollections and accounts differed significantly from what I had been told by my mother and stepfather.

I came to understand something profound about family breakups: each person carries their own version of the truth, colored by their experiences, emotions, and perspective. There's rarely a single, objective truth in these situations—rather, multiple truths existing simultaneously, sometimes in conflict with one another. From these conversations, I learned that my mother had been a frequent partygoer during my early childhood. The separation between my parents apparently stemmed from my father working two jobs while my mother was left alone with us children. According to these accounts, my mother's partying led her to leave us with my grandmother for extended periods. The turning point came when my grandmother, who was battling leukemia at the time, called my father to inform him that our mother had left us with her for several weeks with only $10 for food. My grandmother, ill and unable to work, couldn't support herself, let alone two young children. In response, my father contacted his brother in Minnesota, who offered to help. We stayed with my uncle for a while, and during this time, there was a court hearing in Minnesota regarding child support. Since we were in Minnesota, the court granted my father temporary custody of us children, which ultimately led to the permanent separation of my parents. The Impact of Contradicting Narratives Discovering these contradicting narratives was disorienting. The story I had built my identity around—that of a victim of a violent, abusive father—was being challenged by accounts that painted a very different picture. It forced me to question not just what had happened in my past, but how those events had shaped my understanding of myself and others. This is not to say that one version is entirely true and the other entirely false. Human memory is fallible, and emotional experiences can be interpreted differently by different participants. What's important is that I now had access to multiple perspectives, allowing me to form a more nuanced understanding of my childhood.

The Process of Reconciliation Reconciling these different narratives has been a long, ongoing process. It's not simply about choosing which version to believe, but about understanding that truth is complex and multifaceted. It's about acknowledging that people can have genuinely different recollections of the same events, and that doesn't necessarily make anyone a liar. This process has also involved reconciling my feelings toward my parents. It's easy to fall into the trap of vilifying one parent and idealizing the other, especially when caught in the crossfire of a contentious separation. The reality, as I've come to understand, is that both my parents are human—flawed, complex, and doing their best with the tools and understanding they had at the time. Healing Through Understanding Understanding the complexity of my past has been crucial to my healing journey. By acknowledging that there are multiple perspectives on what happened, I've been able to let go of some of the anger and resentment I carried for years. I've been able to see my parents as whole people, not just as the characters in the story I was told. This doesn't mean forgetting or minimizing any harm that was done. Rather, it's about contextualizing that harm within a broader understanding of the circumstances and limitations that surrounded it. It's about finding a way to move forward without being defined by past traumas. Why Share This Story? You might wonder why I'm sharing such personal details of my life on this blog. The answer is simple: I believe in the power of truth and transparency. When my past was shared without my consent on my mother's blog, I felt violated and misrepresented. By telling my own story, in my own words, I reclaim ownership of my narrative. Additionally, I hope that sharing my experience might help others who are navigating similar situations. If you're struggling to reconcile conflicting family narratives, know that you're not alone. It's okay to question the stories you've been told, to seek out different perspectives, and to form your own understanding of your past. Moving Forward Today, I continue to work through the complexities of my past, but I do so with a greater sense of agency and understanding. I've learned that healing isn't a linear process—it involves setbacks, revelations, and continuous growth. I've also learned that forgiveness—of others and of myself—is essential to that process. I don't claim to have all the answers or to have achieved perfect peace with my past. What I do have is a commitment to honesty, both with myself and with others. By sharing my story, I hope to contribute to a culture of openness and authenticity, where difficult truths can be acknowledged and worked through rather than hidden away. In the end, our past shapes us, but it doesn't define us. We have the power to interpret our experiences, to learn from them, and to choose how they influence our present and future. That's the most important lesson I've learned on this journey—and it's one I continue to carry with me every day.