#iwillstay

As a young girl trying to navigate middle school, I often found myself caught between two worlds. On one hand, I was striving to be the perfect Pastor’s Kid, constantly trying to meet the expectations placed upon me. On the other hand, I was searching for love and belonging wherever I could find it. Growing up with eight siblings kept me busy and, of course, kept my adoptive parents constantly on their toes. Living on a small ranch meant I spent most of my days outdoors, imagining and playing with my siblings. Despite the lively and rowdy environment, my relationships with my siblings always felt somewhat surface-level. I could never quite pinpoint why I couldn’t reach the same intimacy and vulnerability they seemed to share.

Being a Pastor’s Kid also came with the pressure of always appearing like I had everything together. The constant striving for perfection was overwhelming and often prevented me from grieving the loss of friendships or allowing myself to experience emotional changes without feeling shamed. This pressure made it difficult to embrace my true self—to lean into my strengths and passions, to process my limitations and sense of purpose, and to live out the qualities that set me apart from my siblings. I often tried to conform to these unrealistic expectations, only to feel like I had failed and disappointed myself.

What many forget is that all of us, including Pastor’s Kids, are born into sin. Yet, congregation members would sometimes use my flaws as a way to excuse their own children’s behavior, which only served to damage my character and sense of self-worth.

Brene Brown once said, “A deep sense of love and belonging is a fundamental need of all people. We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are unmet, we don’t function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick.” Her words capture the core of my experience—feeling disconnected from my true self and from those around me, all while trying to meet impossible standards. The unmet need for genuine love and belonging left me in constant inner conflict. I was trying to fit into a mold that wasn’t made for me, leading to feelings of brokenness, numbness, and deep aching.

It took me years to understand that the quest for belonging cannot come at the cost of losing myself. The love and acceptance I was searching for couldn’t be found in a facade of perfection but rather in embracing my authentic self, with all my flaws and strengths. Recognizing this need for authentic connection—with myself and others—has been crucial in healing from the wounds of those unmet needs and redefining what it means to belong.

In my search for love and belonging outside my family, I encountered a traumatic experience. My brother’s best friend, a Pastor’s Kid as well, sexually assaulted me. At the time, he was an adult, and I was still a minor. When my adoptive family found out what had happened, they chose not to press charges against him. Although my adoptive parents were deeply hurt and upset by the assault, they refused to believe that I had been taken advantage of and chose not to stand up for me. Their response left me feeling abandoned and unworthy as if I wasn’t worth defending.

For months after the incident, I was engulfed in a suffocating cloud of shame and blame. The whispers, the judgment, and the weight of feeling misunderstood and unsupported became an unbearable burden. I felt trapped in a cycle of self-doubt and emotional turmoil, constantly questioning my worth and whether I deserved to be heard and believed. Each day felt heavier than the last, and the isolation accompanying this relentless inner battle pushed me to a breaking point. Overwhelmed by these feelings and desperate for a way out, I made the heartbreaking decision to commit suicide by drug overdose, hoping it would provide an escape from the unending pain that seemed impossible to endure.

With tears streaming down my face, I finally broke the news to them, my heart heavy with the weight of it all. They rushed me to the emergency room, a thirty-minute drive that felt like an eternity. Somewhere along the way, I lost consciousness, and everything that followed remains a blur. Waking up in the hospital the next day felt like surfacing from a deep, dark abyss. It was excruciating—both physically and emotionally—as I was forced to confront my pain head-on and embrace the vulnerability needed to start the healing process and seek the help I so desperately needed.

Life can be complicated, but it can also be incredibly rich and fulfilling. Today, I am blessed with a wonderful husband who loves me unconditionally, never withholding affection—whether our days are messy or we aren’t on the same page. He believes in me, supports me, and encourages me to grow as a wife and mother. He never controls or manipulates me for his benefit, nor does he shame me when I fall short—which happens more often than I’d like to admit. His love is never conditional on meeting specific expectations; he loves me simply for who I am. This is what true love and belonging look like when they are genuine.

We have three beautiful children who bring abundant joy and light into our lives. They challenge me to be better, to see the world through fresh eyes, and to embrace each day with a sense of wonder. Being their mother has added meaning and purpose to my journey, reminding me daily of the resilience, love, and hope that anchor me. The laughter, the learning, and even the chaos all weave together into a tapestry of moments that make life incredibly rich. I am reminded that even amidst the messiness, there is so much beauty in nurturing and being nurtured, loving and being loved, and creating a home where every voice matters, and every heart is valued.

Years after my suicide attempt, I still face accusations from my siblings and adoptive parents, who dismiss my pain as just seeking attention—something they claim brought embarrassment to our family. They struggle to understand how my circumstances could drive me to such an extreme as if my suffering were somehow less valid because they couldn’t see it. But what they fail to grasp is that it’s not just about mental health; it’s about the deep, unhealed trauma that can weigh so heavily on someone’s heart and mind. Both depression and trauma can intertwine, becoming a powerful force that pushes someone to the edge, making life feel unbearably heavy. These struggles are real and affect people from all walks of life. Growing up in a church or a ‘Godly’ home does not make you immune to these battles, nor does it mean you are broken or lacking if you face them. Struggling with both the shadows of trauma and the weight of mental health challenges is not a sign of defective faith; it’s a sign of being human.

When someone is denied the opportunity to express their feelings, it sends a message that their perspective and pain don’t matter. But your thoughts matter. Your feelings matter. You matter. I am here today because I realized that ending my life would have meant missing out on so many beautiful moments and experiences. If I had succeeded in ending my life ten years ago, I would have never known the profound joy and love that were still waiting for me. So, hold on, even when it feels unbearable—because life, with all its messiness, still holds incredible beauty and promise.

Healing from something so profound is not a straight path; it’s a journey with twists, turns, setbacks, and small victories. But I’m here to tell you that reclaiming your story, voice, and life is possible. I’ve come to realize there is so much beauty in this world that I would have missed if I had chosen to end my life 16 years ago. This awakening to the beauty around us, even amid our pain, is a powerful force that can guide us through our darkest moments.

Remember, some people will see you, hear you, and love you for exactly who you are—unconditionally. Just as my husband has loved me, flaws and all, from the moment we met, some will stand by you without judgment simply because you are you. If you’re out there, silently fighting through the pain, please know this: you are not alone. Your voice is worthy of being heard. Your truth is worthy of being told. And most importantly, you are worth fighting for.

If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available 24/7. You don’t have to face this alone. Call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained crisis counselor who can help you through this moment.

The road to healing may be long and winding, but each step you take is a step toward reclaiming your life. Hold on, even when it feels unbearable—because life, with all its messiness and uncertainty, still holds incredible beauty, love, and promise waiting to unfold.