There are seasons in life when we encounter people who approach us with a smile but carry intentions we can feel long before we can explain. In one chapter of my life, I crossed paths with someone I now refer to as the Sinister Minister — not because of her job title, but because of the strange, unsettling energy that accompanied her presence.
She first appeared as a parent of a former student. Later, she became a teacher at the school where I worked. When she attempted to befriend me, I felt no natural pull toward her. Something in me remained guarded, so I kept our interactions light and gray-rocked my way through every surface-level exchange.
Still, circumstances brought us into a closer orbit, and slowly the appearance of friendship formed — but the uneasiness never left. I started noticing things. Behavior that didn’t match her words. Energy that didn’t match her actions. A kind of subtle observing, mirroring, and studying that set my spirit on alert.
She wasn’t mimicking me on the surface, but she was mimicking something deeper:
my personality, my presence, the way I connected with students.
Over time, the imitation became so pronounced that even students began pointing it out. They’d say things like,
“Why is she trying to act like you?”
“Why is she teaching like she’s trying to be you?”
Students noticed what I had been sensing quietly.
And eventually, I discovered she had been speaking negatively about me behind my back — the classic combination of covert imitation and covert sabotage.
At this same time, I was in the early stages of planning a move. I had mentioned it casually, not as a serious discussion, and certainly not as a request for involvement. But out of nowhere, she introduced a plan for me to “sell” my home to someone she knew — at a price far below its actual value — as if she were orchestrating my life behind the scenes.
A notary was involved.
A banker.
Paperwork.
All without me ever saying I wanted to sell my home.
That was the moment when intuition shifted from a whisper to a full alarm.
The situation escalated when one of my neighbors told me she had shown up trying to “learn more” about my comings and goings. My neighbor, who knew me as a private and peaceful person, felt uncomfortable enough to warn me outright:
“Something is off about that woman.”
Meanwhile, students began confronting her behavior themselves. They noticed the pattern — the imitation, the odd attempts to insert herself into my identity, and the subtle undermining. Some even threatened a walkout in support of me.
It was then that I realized the friendship had been a façade, one with unsettling levels of intrusion, boundary-crossing, and spiritual interference. She wasn’t the only one in that environment whose intentions felt misaligned that year — she was simply the most visible.
And so, I made the decision to leave that workplace entirely.
I walked away from the confusion, the imitation, the covert hostility, and the spiritual heaviness that seemed to hover in that space.
Leaving was not an escape.
It was protection.
It was clarity.
It was the moment I chose peace over chaos and authenticity over distortion.
Every experience teaches something.
This one taught me that some people don’t want to be around you — they want to be you, or they want to control your narrative.
And when someone is fascinated by your identity but resentful of your light, the result is always a dangerous, distorted mix.
The Sinister Minister taught me to trust my first intuition.
To honor my boundaries.
To pay attention when the spirit warns me early.
And to walk away without guilt when someone’s energy moves from curious… to envious… to intrusive.
I closed that chapter for good.
I left the entire environment — the whole “workspace coven,” as I jokingly call it now — and reclaimed my peace.
Sometimes, leaving is the most powerful act of spiritual self-defense.
My Voice Unchained 