Broken to Brave

  The term “Blessed” is used so much these days. Almost to the point where its meaning does not hold the same weight. That being said, I will say that one of my biggest blessings is that I was born to parents who made it a priority to go church each week, participate in church activities and spend time in the word and prayer. Though I did not know it back then, that became the foundation of my faith which has evolved over the years. Week after week I spent time in Sunday school and Wednesday night activities. The stories and lessons we were taught were exciting and interesting. At the time they were just stories to me, but one thing I did know at the young age of five, was that hell was bad and I did not want to go there. I vaguely remember a conversation I had with my mom after we had come home from church. We must have been talking about heaven and hell at church, so as I sat on the toilet in the bathroom, I told my mom that I did not want to go to hell I wanted to go to heaven. ...

  At the young age of four, the babysitters son took advantage of me. I do not remember many details from that time, but what has stuck with me for decades is the feelings of inadequacy. That experience fed lies into my brain. I had to be the ugliest, worst child there. Something had to be wrong with me. It was not until years later when these lies kept coming up over and over that I had to look back and figure out where they started. Clearly, they began somewhere.  As time passed and I began to process my emotions and what was going on in my head, I really began to resent the person who did this to me. I do not know his name. I do not even know how old he was at the time. All I know is that I was a scared, innocent little girl that was forever tainted by his actions. Could he now be living a good life with a family and children of his own, all while I am grappling with my identity thirty years later? But that does not matter anymore. There had to come a day when I put my foot...

It’s been a long time coming. For years, people, at various points in my life have encouraged me to start a blog, write a book, put my thoughts on paper. I never felt like I was ready to share my inner thoughts and experiences with the world, but here I am. In my mind I had to have it together to be able to give back, tell my story or even allow God to work through me. My mindset really held me back from taking risks and doing things that were uncomfortable for me. Nona, a nurse at one of the hospitals I have frequented over the years was always adamant that I start journaling my thoughts. She would tell me that I had so much wisdom to give and I needed to share my experiences with the world, so that through me, others could find hope. At the time I didn’t see how I could help anyone with their struggles when I was six-foot-deep in mine. But I have always had the ability to step outside of my own junk and be able to encourage other people. Even though I struggled to personalize my ...