Faithful in the Fray

I started this blog post back in August, but never finished it. I don’t think I was ready to process all that I felt while I was back in Virginia last summer, and now as I sit by my Christmas tree in the middle of the Holiday season, I’m allowing myself to reflect.

I wrote an extremely vulnerable and personal blog post about four years ago called “12 years of silence.”

I wrote about how I was sexually abused as a child by a kid in the neighborhood I grew up in and I how I didn’t tell anyone until I was 17 years old, during my senior year of High School.

Since I hit the publish button many moons ago, I have been able to share the story that God has given me with more people than I would’ve ever imagined.

To be honest, when I originally shared the post and people wrote me sharing their own stories, I wanted to be sick.

If you only knew the amount of young girls sexual abuse happens to, you too, would feel the same way.

I’ve been determined since the day I told my parents that I would do everything in my power to let others know that they are not alone, and that they have a Father in Heaven that offers complete healing.

So anyways, back to July.

Jeremy, Maizie and I took a drive up to the Philly area of Pennsylvania back in the summer for my best friend’s wedding. When we left PA, we made the trip down to Virginia in order to help break up our drive with a 15 month old, as well as show Jeremy where I grew up for the first 14ish years of my life.

I was so excited to show him my old stomping grounds, but in the back of my mind, I knew that this trip was going to be hard.

I had prayed for months leading up to the trip asking myself if I was going to show him the house and the neighborhood that held so much pain, or if I was going to skip it altogether and only show him the good parts of my childhood. Jeremy was extremely gracious and told me he was there to support whichever choice I made, and wouldn’t think twice about it.

After having dinner with friends our second night in town, we made the drive to the neighborhood and passed the house.

I could feel the oxygen start building up in my lungs turning into the development and I was sure I hadn’t been breathing for days, but a moment later I took a deep breath and felt nothing but peace.

I pointed out the basketball court where I learned how to play horse,

I showed him the spot in our front yard where a tree once was that held hours of me pretending to be a monkey,

I noted the path that led to the playground up the hill,

and then we turned around and drove away.

Initially, I didn’t feel any different. Yet as I began to allow the emotions to overtake me, I couldn’t help but cry.

Here I was, seven years after breaking my silence, having spent countless hours in therapy, months overseas, a few years married, which in itself was healing, and now with a baby in my backseat, I had come to the conclusion that:

I didn’t let him win.

Breaking my silence gave Jesus the victory over my story.

I have been determined to change and allow my life to reflect Jesus as much as possible through my healing over the last several years and I’m so glad that I made that choice. It hasn’t been easy, and I fail daily, but God is in the business of redeeming people’s lives for His Glory.

Our pastor spoke today about Jesus being the perfect gift, and how we can praise Him in a multitude of ways. Today I’m praising God with my voice because He wasn’t and still isn’t finished with me.

My story isn’t over, and the levels of my healing will only continue to deepen as time goes on.

It’s taken me a long time to sit down and write this post—but I felt like it needed to be done.

If any of this story resonates with you, whether you have experienced this first hand and never said anything, or you have been on your own healing journey, I would love to talk with you.

We’re in this together, sisters.

Break the silence.

Allow His healing to breakthrough those dark places of your heart.