If you had told me when I was 16 that at 23 I’d be sitting on the mountain of Machu Picchu resting in the Lord of writing to home from Cote D’Ivoire, Africa… I’d cry laughing. I would’ve assumed you were crazy.
Why?
Because I didn’t know God then. I’d heard about Him and I claimed I was saved but I had no relationship with Jesus whatsoever. I had no interest in Him because I had more interest in the emotionally/mentally abusive relationship I was in.
I was dependent on this guy to be my “saving grace” doing whatever I could to please him. To prove to him that I was worth loving. I had given myself to him and thought that’d be enough to make him stay. To make him love me.
It wasn’t.
He’d cheat, he’d lie, he’d disappear, he’d put me down, he’d do everything he could to make me feel little.
And I let him.
I let him because I believed that was the best I’d get. When it was good, it was pretty alright. I didn’t know any better. I knew it wasn’t like the fairytale love I’d dreamed of but that only happened in movies & books anyways, right?
I had never really witnessed or known what real love was supposed to be like. So I just assumed this was what it was. No matter what, I was there to stay. I had an odd sense of the word loyalty back then and truly believed if I stayed and loved him he would see just how much I cared for him and he would change. I remember lonely nights and tear-soaked pillows. I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. “Why am I not enough?” I thought to myself endlessly.
Our relationship was toxic and completely drug-induced. If we weren’t high or drunk we were fighting. There was no sense of trust and our relationship was based on physical attraction. So the result was yelling matches and cries out with questions that never received the appropriate answer. It was a cycle I was addicted to. It was all I had known.. we started dating when I was 14. Between him and parties, I don’t know which one I was more dependent on.
All my friends partied, it made life more fun we thought. Pop a pill here, smoke some weed there, drink until you couldn’t stand.. everyone’s doing it. It’s high school, right??
It had become a lifestyle and I didn’t know how to change it so I took it with me to college. Why not? I’d done good so far.
I got a DUI my freshman year of college and it didn’t really phase me. I did cut back on drinking and driving but I didn’t cut back on drinking. Shortly thereafter I ended my 5 year “relationship” and got completely lost in this world of partying. I was numb. To everything. I didn’t want to feel the pain so I buried it. I didn’t want to talk about anything other than how screwed up this guy made me. I blamed all of my pain and life’s problems on him. Never admitting that I was a part of the problem and was just as much to blame. I pushed everything to the side. I just wanted to live my life anyway I saw fit, because nobody cared anyhow.
I vowed to never tell another man that I loved him because they didn’t mean it when they said it and I’d never be hurt like that again. I’d never give myself completely like that again. I put on this shell. I still needed affirmation though and I sought it in complete unhealthy ways. I looked to men, desperately searching for someone/anyone to see me for me and to love me though I didn’t even know who I was. I love the idea of love and I’d do anything to have it.
I gave myself to men thinking that was the for sure way to make them stay. I’d wake up with regret and remorse but as long as they thought I didn’t care then I could make myself believe that too. I had to prove to him (my ex) that I was doing just fine without him.
I’ve realized now how poorly I thought this out… its embarrassing to admit how I thought that affected him when in reality the only person it ever effected was me.
It’s me that had to suffer silently and had to forgive myself when it’s been the hardest thing to do. It’s me that had to carry that shame when it was suffocating me. It’s me that had to choose to love myself when for years I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror. It’s me that wanted to keep my friends so I kept doing what they were doing though it was killing me. It’s me that has a hard time remembering everything I’ve done because I was so high or drunk that it’s really a blur. It’s me that had a moment in my life when I didn’t know who it was looking back.
It’s me that is having a hard time writing this because I’m afraid of what you may think of me. It’s me that could never believe someone when they said the word beautiful to me.
It’s also me that knows that my past is who I’ve been. Not who I am. I, Cristen Nicole Page, no longer have to hide in the corner because I have a Father that has guided me to the light. I have handed over every account to Him and have received forgiveness for it.
Regardless of what the world thinks of me, my Father says I’m worthy. My Father says I’m beautiful. My Father says I was fearfully and wonderfully made. My Father is intimately in love with me. My Father dances with me in front of everyone. My Father took my shame and handed me grace. My Father welcomed me home with open arms. My Father knows my story and He smiles. I have received redemption and my life is different because of it.
If you would’ve told me at 16 that my story mattered, I would’ve never believed you.
At 23, I’ve shared my story for the first time and so many times now that I’m finally proud of it. Scars, battle-wounds and all because It’s beautifully mine.
I write all of this to challenge you to share your story with others.
Who you are matters.
Your story matters.
“Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story—”
–Psalm 107:2
