Lynne Berghorn’s journey begins not with a dramatic escape, but with quiet realizations. The kind that creep in during prayer, in the stillness of a Sunday school classroom, or while watching a child with cerebral palsy smile despite the odds. Her life—once filled with international flights and fashion shoots—becomes a canvas for healing.
She starts to notice the programming: the subtle ways society teaches children to accept abuse as affection. “He teases you because he likes you,” they say. But Lynne knows better now. That kind of love leaves scars.

“Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting. It meant freedom. It meant I could breathe again.”

The turning point isn’t loud—it’s luminous. She speaks out. She writes. She teaches. And in doing so, she reclaims her voice—not just for herself, but for every person who’s been told their pain was invisible.