Fear is a very real thing in everyone’s life, and in the words of my beloved youth pastor’s wife, “If you say you’ve never experienced fear, you’re a liar.” It’s so true, whether it’s that moment of fear of topping a hill and seeing a cop car sitting there while you’re going way over the speed limit, or the fear of death looking you in the eye.
Truthfully, I’ve experienced both, although the cop scenario may be a frequent occurrence…But today, I’m going to touch on a different kind of fear. The fear of not being enough, of being alone, and the fear that God will give up on you. I teach the middle school students at my church, and I hear these types of fears from them all the time. I repeatedly tell them how untrue that is, and that I’m really a good example of God’s love and forgiveness. People who are close to me know my story, but I’m going to share it here with friends, family, and potentially strangers. Buckle up, cause it gets a little crazy!
I grew up in a good, Christian household with parents who sacrificed their lives to ensure my brother and I were taken care of the best way possible. My mom was a stay at home mom who devoted her life to homeschooling my brother and I. I would say he was a pretty easy kid; he’s smart, respectful, and overall everything a big brother is “supposed” to be. Me on the other hand…Well, let’s just say my dad had a semi-full head of hair prior to me being born and now? Well…he’s bald now, with white in his beard. I was a problem child from day one; they now joke that they had their first warning at 2 weeks old when I rolled over on my own.
When I first started school, I didn’t care about it because I didn’t want to be there (at my kitchen table.) When I was about 11 we started going to a co-op at an old catholic school building with a bunch of other homeschooled kids. The organization was basically like a very small, private school. The best way for me to describe it is that it was like a college preparatory school. We’d meet once a week and go to our classes, then spend the rest of the week at home doing our homework. We had sports teams, homecoming, prom, graduation-normal stuff like that. It was so small in fact that my graduating class was the 2nd largest class with 29 students. (The following class beat us with 32 students)
Everything was great the first year I was there, I’d never really encountered bullies before so nothing really phased me at that point. It was the second year that things started to take a toll on me. I took a few more classes and would be at school from 8am to about 6pm every Tuesday. Being at school for 10 hours in a given day, surrounded by people who’s goal was to make me miserable-at 12 years old my life came crashing down around me.
I was called mean things like fat, ugly, stupid-little mean things that can really hurt a person. It eventually escalated to being called a tramp; being told to kill myself, and was offered help climbing out of a third story window; and it continued to being physical when one time I was yanked backwards and down to the ground by my ponytail, and even shoved down some stairs. I didn’t want to cause a problem, so I just tried to avoid them-eventually cutting about 6 inches of my hair off so they wouldn’t have anything to grab hold of.
I remember the first time I cut myself. I was actually watching twilight and Bella picked up a rock and cut herself with it to distract some vampires, but that was the moment I realized I didn’t exactly need a razor to harm myself. I’d thought about it before, and for whatever reason that was what I decided to do. I found a broken nail file and my life was forever changed.
I was able to hide it from my parents for about 6 months, but when they found out and I promised to stop-I just found a more concealable place to do it. I cut myself from the time I was 12 until I was 20. I continued to suffer through junior high and high school at the same place with the same people, and ultimately decided to graduate a year early. My choices pushed me away from my family and people who actually loved and cared about me, ultimately making me think my parents were the enemies.
I graduated at 17, and since I was out of high school I didn’t think my parents had a say in anything I would do. Having always being told how worthless and ugly I was, I fell hard for a guy when I was 17 based solely on the fact that he said I was pretty. No, I’m not lying; he said I was pretty and that’s all that mattered to me at the time. Eventually there was a big fight, and I left my parents house. I packed a bag and left, and I had no intention of talking to them again.
I stayed true to that stupid promise for about 7 months. I moved in with my boyfriend (by that I mean we lived in his parent’s basement) and that’s when my life truly took a turn for the worst. I don’t know about you, but being told how stupid and miserable you make someone who claims to love you takes a different kind of toll on you. I was threatened if I got pregnant he’d just push me down the stairs because, after all, “a simple shove is cheaper than an abortion, Brandi.”
He was a drunk, he was hateful, he was stronger than me, and his main redeeming quality to me was the fact that he hated my parents. I was repeatedly burned by his cigarette ashes, his lighter, and he even held the end of a blunt on my leg once. I hated myself, and I told myself if I acted differently he’d love me more. I blamed myself for his actions, because why else would he do that if I didn’t deserve it?
Almost 2 years into that relationship I finally left him. All it took was him screaming at me, pushed to my knees on the floor and calling me a cheating whore. I finally left him, and I wish I could say I never looked back. I repeatedly tried to get back with him because, like he would say to me over and over again, “You’re ruined; no one else will want you and you’re lucky I still do.”
Thankfully for me, he was cheating on me and would rather be with the other girl than me. Sometimes his words still ring in my ears while the enemy reminds me that I haven’t been in a relationship since him. I was scared no one would want me, not even my family. Thankfully my parents wanted me back, much like in the story of the prodigal son they came running to me when I returned.
My anxiety likes to remind me frequently of what he used to say to me, especially when the really cute couple in front of me at church hold hands during prayer. My mind tells me that I will never have a good husband because I am ruined-I’m stained and dirty and unlovable.
Since applying for the world race, I’ve come to realize that there IS a reason I haven’t been in a relationship, but it’s not because of the reasons listed above. It’s because God has way bigger plans for me at this chapter in my life than being a wife! Sure, I could still go on this trip if I had a boyfriend, but I believe my mind would’ve been elsewhere. It wouldn’t be on the missions and I wouldn’t be focused on the role God has for me.
In my life, I’ve tried killing myself once, and another time I had plan. Praise God the first time didn’t work and the second time I realized i didn’t want to die. I got the help I needed, I’ve been in and out of therapy, and I currently visit a counselor regularly. The last time I ever harmed myself or considered suicide was March 9th, 2017. It’s been a year and a half, and while I wouldn’t want to experience that kind of pain again-I’m thankful for it. It’s made me who I am today, and it’s made me closer to God.
I love being able to share my story with my students. While most of them feel unlovable and oftentimes worthless, I’m able to use my experience to show them otherwise. To show them love from not only me, but from our amazing Jesus. I long to show the world how loved they are by such an amazing God, and I’m proof that he doesn’t give up on people.
Thank you for taking the time to read this lengthier blog post, and I encourage you to share it if you’ve ever dealt with similar feelings or know someone who has/does currently.
