About eight years ago, my life was in shambles. The church backstabbed me, I lost my faith, and everything fell apart. I was deeply involved in self injury, I was deeply depressed, I was trapped in an eating disorder I’m still trapped in eight years later. Eight years ago, I lost my faith, I lost my hope, I lost my friends, I lost everything.
It’s funny, in a way – I think often that children of abuse victims are orphans in a way. Not in the way the world typically views orphaned but in many ways, my father is already dead to me. I haven’t spoken to him in eight years and I have no desire to ever again. I have no desire to ever set foot in that church again after what they did to me. Heck, for years I had no desire to have anything to do with the church at all.
But eight years later, I’m rebuilding. I’m rebuilding hope, I’m rebuilding grace. Eight years later, I’m finding my own sense of family, my own sense of church. I’m even majoring in ministry though my current plan is to be a hospital chaplain and not a typical church minister. It’s crazy to see where the past eight years have brought me.
With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly