I was born into a military family, which meant I moved seven times before sixth grade. I spent most of my early childhood overseas, including time in Greece and Macedonia. I was also born into a Christian home, and I knew about God, but even at a young age, I knew I didn’t actually have a relationship with him.
Looking back, I can see that I just didn’t understand my need for a Savior. God felt like everyone else’s God, not mine.
We moved to Austin when I was in sixth grade, and everything felt unfamiliar. It was my first real culture shock. Everyone around me had lived in the same place their whole life, and I didn’t fit in. I started getting bullied. I was vulnerable and just wanted friends, and that was used against me. I felt insecure, rejected, and deeply ashamed.
At home, I didn’t feel like I could talk about what I was experiencing, because I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t stand up for myself. That season affected me more than I realized.
Later, in middle school, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I felt forgotten by God. I wanted to know him, but I didn’t believe he saw me.
In high school, things got darker. I wrestled with suicidal thoughts and self-harm, but kept it hidden for a long time. I was angry at God. I remember sitting on my bed, crying out, and asking God to make himself known to me. I saw other people who loved him and still had joy, even in suffering, and I wanted that. When I felt like nothing had changed, I decided I would just keep going my own way.
That led to toxic relationships, sexual sin, and a desire for validation from others. I wanted to feel wanted. When one relationship ended in betrayal, any sense of self-worth I had disappeared. My life spiraled. Drinking, disordered eating, deeper isolation. I made plans to take my life, but every single time, God intervened in ways I can only describe as miraculous. I didn’t fully recognize it at the time, but I can see it now.
I went to college hoping a change of scenery would fix me. It didn’t. My freshman year was marked by numbing, alcohol, and more brokenness. Then, I transferred schools, thinking that would make things different, but it was the same life in a new place. New bars. New boys. New toxic friendships.
I was exhausted and discouraged. I knew something had to change, even though I didn’t know how.
Around this time, I started having recurring nightmares about hell. I knew if I died, I knew where I was going—and it wasn’t with God. It really scared me.
Then, one night, I met a girl at a party who felt different than most friends I’d had. Even though I was drunk, I remember feeling like she saw me. She told me about a girl we both knew whose life was drastically changed by the gospel, and how her own life was changed when she understood that Christ saved her from sin through his death, burial, and resurrection. She continued to pursue a friendship with me when she had no reason to.
When we finally sat down for coffee, she shared the gospel with me clearly and patiently. She asked me if I were to die that day, on a scale from one to ten, how sure I was that I’d go to heaven. I told her I was a “six.” We talked for four hours. I had questions. I had objections. I had anger. At the end, she asked me if I wanted to turn and trust in Jesus. For the first time, I was honest. I said I wanted to, but I couldn’t make myself.
That was my moment of surrender.
It was a very physical experience for me. Everything went quiet, and it felt like it was just me and God in that moment. I felt my heart of stone soften. The weight of depression and anxiety I had carried since middle school lifted. I didn’t hear a voice, but belief became real. The first thing I said out loud was that I didn’t have to hate myself anymore. And I meant it.
I walked in one way and walked out completely different. I had tried everything else, and nothing satisfied. Jesus did.
Since then, my life hasn’t been perfect or easy. Sanctification came quickly in some areas and slowly in others. God used discipleship, suffering, and seasons of dryness to shape me. Mental health challenges have resurfaced, but they no longer mean I’m alone. They remind me to cling to him.
Now I truly believe in hard circumstances that I will willingly sit and suffer and be the one on the outside if it means that I can see more of God’s face. A lot of my story includes suffering and loneliness, but I have to cling to God and be dependent on him. He radically changed my life.
Today, I work on Watermark’s Local Outreach team, caring for vulnerable people across our city. I also serve with Reclaimed, going out monthly to meet women who are being trafficked and offering them dignity, presence, and hope in Christ. I get to look people in the eyes who feel trapped and forgotten and remind them they are seen.
I used to believe God forgot about me. Now I can look back and see he was there the whole time. He was waiting. Not because he was distant, but because his timing was perfect.
My story doesn’t end with a bow. But it does end with hope. And I know now that God doesn’t waste pain. He redeems it.