Name 3 words that define you 3..2..1..GO.
What did you come up with? Is it based on an ability you have? Something you’ve been told you’re good at? How easy is it to define ourselves by how the world sees us? Or by what we do, or the circumstances we’ve encountered?
If someone asked me a year ago what three words defined me, I would have told you something like victim, hurt, or shame. It’s safe to say my circumstances had defined who I was as a person.
A little over a year ago I was a shadow of the person I am today. I was sitting in a therapists office, shoulders hunched, sunken into her leather couch, hands sweating and heart pounding, while I listened to her tell me that at this point the decision was in my hands if I wanted to check myself in to a mental hospital, but she recommended it.
I was at this dangerous crossroads where I honestly didn’t care if I was alive or dead. My place on this earth seemed insignificant and my self worth was completely gone. I didn’t know how to ask for help and no one really knew how to help.
I kept asking myself “How did I get here?” and wondering if it was possible to even get better.
A sexual assault in high school, and a separate sexual assault in college built into this huge secret that ate away at me and destroyed me from the inside out.
The secret spoke lies over every truth of who I was until the lies became what I believed. I let what my attackers did to me define who I was and replace purpose with shame.
Every tactic I used to try and avoid problems didn’t work: I couldn’t scrub off my shame in the shower, I couldn’t drink away the pain, and the box I hid the memories of those two horrible nights kept popping open like a jack in the box.
So in an emotional fight or flight scenario, I ran as fast as I could.
But I wasn’t running towards something better, I was sprinting toward rock bottom. In fact, I ran so fast and for so long that when I finally hit rock bottom, everything hit at once.
I looked ahead and it all seemed too much to fight for. I was having multiple panic attacks a day. It was almost impossible to leave my room more than once a day. Honestly, I thought I was certifiably insane and that no one could possibly understand.
I opted to not check into a mental institution that day in the therapist’s office. As she began to talk to me more about my symptoms, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. A rush of relief flooded over me as I realized I wasn’t alone and this might not be all that life is.
In therapy and in trekking through the terror that ruled my life for so many years, I began to rebuild my relationship with God that I had attempted to run from, even when He’d never left my side. When He came into the picture my story and life began to have purpose once again, defining who I was and what He had designed me to do.
God didn’t just meet me at the bottom of my dark pit; He never left my side throughout the whole journey. When I didn’t know what direction to walk or I was too weak, He carried me and loved me. Never once was I truly alone or forgotten or too far gone.
So what 3 words define me now? Loved, joyful, and brave.
Who I am today is someone I never thought I could become and I can confidently tell you that “victim” is no longer part of my identity, nor will it ever be again. I can also confidently tell you this is a story I am so thankful God wrote for me. Through this journey, I am more of the woman that God made me to be than I could ever imagine. Through true brokenness God held me and painted a beautiful picture with my life.
I hope that when you read my story you see the undeniable proof that there is no depth of darkness that God will not go to for His children, and when you cannot walk, He will carry you.
Let “loved” always be a defining characteristic of your identity.
