My name is Rachel & Northern
Ireland is my home. I’m almost 21 years old, rarely settled, and dreaming of
life in the Empire State. I’ve struggled with writing this for weeks. I guess I
just want to be honest from the start. I try my hardest to live honestly; and I
am always talking about the importance of owning your past and sharing your
story. However, sharing mine has caused my palms to glisten and shake.
My mind is cluttered and
messy. A tangled web of unfinished sentences and words I ache to tell the
world, but am too frightened to let slip past my lips. I’ve written on the back
of receipts and in the framework unsent messages for weeks, but now we’re here.
It feels uneasy, but it feels right. So this is my story & this is my heart.
Raw as ever, and messy as could be.
Life could have been a
lot different for me. Although it isn’t something I often talk about, it is not
something that I am ashamed of either. When I was 15 weeks old my mother and
father adopted me, and took me home as theirs. Four years after the adoption of
my older brother. My brother and I have been showered with love and selflessness
from the very day the adoption papers were signed and sealed. My dad is my hero;
he works hard, and is the one who still leaves the hall light on for me at
night. My mum is the woman who cries for
me when I can’t cry any longer. She’s both small and fierce. To this very day I’ve
never had to fight any of my battles alone and I know I wont ever need to.
I grew up in a home that
loved God and loved each other. I had an incredibly happy childhood. For the
most part I just went through the motions. When it came to school I always
ended up getting on the wrong side of someone. I spent a lot of time getting
bullied when I was very young. Some of it was vicious, however, in hindsight it
was mostly just relentless. If my face wasn’t getting rubbed in dirt, my skirt
was getting pulled up and 9-year-old girls were yelling their newly learnt cuss
words in my face. Even as a kid I just
wanted to please people, so I took it and then offered to be their friend in
the end. I still struggle with that.
Then high school
happened. My first 3 years of high school were a strange combination of ordinary
and horrible. The girl who made school really tough moved and I found a group
of people who I thought glittered. They were older and I was naïve. Everything
in my young heart was captivated by the lives they lived. I allowed myself to get so sucked into the way
they did things that I forgot how to live for myself. I spent two years overcome
by alcohol, parties and lies. Too young to understand, yet old enough to choose
to continue. I lied a lot, mostly to my parents. I drank and flirted with addiction
to silence the shame and guilt. Toxic relationships made me question everything
I once thought to be real and true. I spent time with people who wrecked me,
and I hurt them right back. Anxiety reigned and I fought so hard against the
good that God has promised. I started to accept the lies I told myself. I
believed that people would sooner walk away and leave, than fight for me. I
bought the lie that told me I was alone, that I was unworthy, damaged and unlovable.
Secrets can make you
sick and mine caused my skin to bruise & bleed. My mind became weary and my
heart was weak. I fought for a way out and just when I was ready to let go a
miracle happened. People fought, and I was able to stand with arms outstretched
and heart abandoned in the glory of the one who accepts me just as I am. Show
Him the wounds of your soul, that He may heal them.
Words evoke emotion &
they have the ability to create hope; real, honest and raw. Words can shake us
to our very core while at the same time bring our entire world to a halt. I’ve
known death in the heart of a young girl who has felt the pang of cruel taunts
and even the sharpness of her own tongue. But I believe in people and I believe
in hope. The words of others give me strength and they make me brave. Words can
breath new life and your story can heal the wounded soul of a stranger.
For so long I didn’t
really know who I was, and I guess sometimes I still remain unsure. I still
fight affection despite how my heart & flesh long for it. But I know no one
is meant to do life alone. I will continue to battle against the hold that
depression and anxiety has over me, but I am no longer drowning. Seasons come, but
seasons change. It may be tearing you apart, but this is a storm that you were
built and rooted to weather. If we believe that for each other, we must own it
for ourselves.
So this is where I stand. Floating uncomfortably between calm and storm. My heart is both broken and beating strong. I don’t know where you are, but take refuge in the knowledge that the light will eventually find you, as it found me. This is the truth I cling to daily, and I pray you trust it enough to grip it in both your hands and never it let go.
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