Heal Out Loud

A post on social media asked, "If you could go back and tell an 18-year-old you one piece of advice in 3 words, what would it be?" 

My husband laughed, "Invest in Bitcoin."

I gave an embarrassed shrug, "I would tell 18-year-old me, 'You will heal.'"

A friend joked that he agreed with my husband because what did telling myself I would heal change? I would heal either way. 

However, our friend did not understand that 18-year-old me did not realize I would or even could heal. 

I had just lost both of my parents, been disowned by the majority of my relatives, and was processing all sorts of other childhood trauma. I also grew up in a community of people stuck in their own traumas and poor life choices.

Healing? What did that even look like? No one had modeled it well for me. 

18-year-old me could have used the hope that healing was possible and that I would achieve it. I would be whole one day, no longer defined by the trauma I had experienced or the losses I had endured. 

When I was fourteen, I had the opportunity to do some peer education through a rape trauma program I was a part of. I visited four different high school classes alongside a therapist and got to share parts of my story while also teaching the material provided by the program.

My memory of exactly what I shared in each class is blurry now, but I know I shared a little of what I had walked through—just enough to let the class know that I had personal experience with the topics we were discussing, but not enough to tell them the details of my story. 

I had prepared for the classes, worried about how I would do it, what I would share, and if someone would judge me. All that prepping did not prepare me for what happened: after each class, a teen would approach me to talk. Sometimes, it was to say that they appreciated what we were teaching and needed to hear it. Sometimes, they told me how brave I was, that they had not expected someone their age to speak on this subject. Sometimes, sadly, they came to share that they had also been experiencing something similar. And it happened after nearly every class. 

That day, those teenagers learned that another teen, someone like them, had walked through something similar to them—or maybe our stories were completely different but equally heavy. 

I had not expected the response I got, but even more so, I had not expected how educating them would help me, too. 

That was the first time I got a glimpse of how sharing my story could help someone else. I saw how the light I shed on the dark spaces I had walked through could create the light at the end of the tunnel that another person needed to escape their own darkness. 

After my peer-educating experience and seeing how my story could help others, I knew that sharing what I had been through was something I felt called to do, but I had not yet done the work of healing enough to do so. 

I spent a few years stumbling through how to share in the right way. Sometimes sharing when it wasn’t appropriate, sharing too much of my story, or sharing it with the wrong people.

With the help of my husband, friends, pastors, therapists, and Jesus, I have spent years doing healing work.

I have worked hard to heal enough that I can share my story in a way that honors both me and others. Because, there are others. Other people who are a part of my story – other people who may not want their part in my story told or who may disagree with my perception of how it all played out. I have worked hard to get to a point where I can share my story in a way that benefits both myself and the listener.

I always knew I did not want to share my story for entertainment or as gossip. If I was going to share my story—the trauma, the healing, the effort I had put in, and the strength God gave me to do it—then I wanted it to be with purpose. 

I once read a post that said, "If you're going to talk about what broke me, invite me to the table so I can tell you what God did with the pieces." 

This post resonated with me primarily because of the ending: "What God did with the pieces." I do not share my story to talk about what broke me, to live in the past, to seek pity, or to play the victim. 

I share my story in hopes that no one else will have to look back and wish that their 18-year-old selves had known that they, too, could heal. I share my story as a light in the darkness that can become a light at the end of the tunnel for someone else. I share my story to show people what God did with the pieces. 

I know most of you may be used to my posts and newsletters being more devotional, and I will still do some of that. But I hope you will stick around as we explore this new territory together. As I walk out what I feel like I have always been called to do.

Share stories.

Shine light in darkness.

Show what God did with the pieces.

Heal - out loud.