That We Might Have Joy: Anonymous Story

As a child, I was a victim of abuse and neglect. My own mother raped me when I was seven and again when I was in sixth grade. She would physically abuse me – hitting, slapping, kicking, choking, beating me all over my body with belts (sometimes metal embellished), throwing me around and into furniture. I’ve been made to sleep in dog feces. I’ve been stripped down naked for the sole purpose of her making fun of my physical flaws. I’ve been forbidden to see a doctor, even when I was very ill. I’ve been kept awake for three days without being allowed any rest. She did a number of other cruel things that were a bit less traumatic. My mom was also an extreme hoarder, and I had to deal with what that meant in my life.

When I was fifteen years old, the abuse was escalating, and I knew that if I stayed, I would likely either end up killed or be forced to kill in self-defense. I knew I needed to escape. I knew of the potential for abuse if I entered the foster care system and that I may not have the option I had in that moment to leave. I decided to keep my autonomy instead, and I ran away a few weeks before my sixteenth birthday. I lived with six families in two years. Some of them I knew would be temporary until I found something else. Some of them made me feel like part of their family until they changed their mind and kicked me to the curb.

Saying that this affected my mental health would be a gross understatement. Throughout the following years, I have suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and severe episodes of Depression. At one time, when my child was only a few months old, I spent a week in-patient, because I just couldn’t endure my unceasing suicidal urges any longer. I spent years trying out different cocktails of antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and mood stabilizers while working through my trauma in therapy, until I got to a point where I was functional despite still having some lingering emotional issues.

I began to plan for a future and eventually found myself where I am now, a senior in college studying psychology and also working part time in a psychology research laboratory. Through this lab, I discovered the research being done on Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) and their impact on so many of the issues that plague our society. And I discovered Trauma Informed Care, the response to all of the research on ACEs. Learning about the impact of trauma in this context and the efforts being done to treat it was music to my ears. I was so glad to hear that this work was being done, but I didn’t quite understand it yet.

About a month ago, after years of unbelief, I gained a testimony of God and His power and sovereignty in my life – even through the hard things. I came to understand that this is what it means to live in a truly broken and sinful world, that we’re all broken, and that our brokenness just presents itself in different ways. I learned that the only people who hurt other people are the people who are truly hurting, and that for my mom to do what she did, she must have been through some truly horrific experiences without the opportunities for help and healing that I have been so blessed with in my life. I’ve come to understand, in some small measure, what Jesus Christ must have taken upon himself when He suffered for our sins and afflictions in order to forgive us. I’ve learned that just as He can now empathize with and comfort us in our struggles, I can also reach out and help others find healing, because I know what that kind of despair feels like. I know that I can hurt with them and walk them through it. And being able to help people on that level is the most rewarding experience and is absolutely worth anything and everything I’ve ever had to endure to get me to this point.