I was born into a family of ten children. I am the seventh daughter and the eighth child. My parents occasionally told my birth story in which my father drove my mother and seven siblings to the hospital. When my birth was announced my brother and sisters reportedly groaned “another girl!” My family thought it was hilarious but I didn’t. 

As a young child I was happy – a tomboy who liked to climb trees. Once I started school, however, the happy times ended. I was crammed into a classroom with 70 others
Order was king. My first grade nun was strict but fair; my second grade teacher was sadistic. She had a rule concerning non-scheduled bathroom visits. If the need arose the kids were required to walk to a particular area in the front of the classroom and the nun would nod yes or no to give or deny permission. For unknown reasons, I often got a “no” and consequently wet my pants. Once I got a denial and I had to do more than urinate. The teacher ignored the snickering of the other kids but she must have noticed the smell. 
Nevertheless, she called me to the blackboard to do some arithmetic problems. As I stood there, flies started buzzing around me and the boy next to me at the blackboard called me stinky. Mercifully, the day ended and I walked home and told my mother. Her reply: “Tell Sister that your mother says she has to let you go to the bathroom”. That’s when I knew I was on my own. My own mother wouldn’t come to my aid. That same second grade teacher also used to announce the names of the kids whose parents’ were behind in the book bill payment. I was among those shamed. I begged my parents to take me out of that school but they would not. They were adamant about catholic school.

That same year an elderly neighbor became very friendly. Even though I sensed something wasn’t right, my sister and I went into his house because we had always been taught to obey adults. There he molested both of us. We tried to avoid his house in the future but the abuse recurred because we felt we had to obey. I never told my parents about it but I learned as an adult that my sister did tell but nothing was done. That same year, at age seven, I attempted suicide. The means were ineffective, but the intent was real.
This atmosphere persisted throughout all twelve years of school but second grade was the worse. Because of the abuse I tried very hard to please to avoid any wrath. I often retreated into fantasy.
At home, things were chaotic. The usual methods of discipline were yelling and shaming. I guess my mother was overwhelmed. My father was more affectionate. Fortunately, we always had a dog and/or cat – a great source of unconditional love. I was taught to never stick up for myself but to ignore it when I was being picked on. I wasn’t allowed to be in the Girl Scouts because “I wouldn’t like it”. I learned to be helpless and to doubt myself.

Once in a high school religion class, sex was being discussed. I let my guard down and asked what a French kiss was. The teacher sarcastically replied, “I find it hard to believe you don’t know the answer to that question”. I burned with shame and vowed I would get some experience.
Later that year, I swallowed approximately 150 aspirin tablets while in school. I became nauseated and clammy and spit up some blood. I was sent home. By the time I got home I felt worse and was scared that I would die and go to hell so I made myself vomit. My mother took me to the doctor the next day who diagnosed me with an upper respiratory infection. 

After high school, I made good on my promise to get experience. I remained chronically depressed and thought it was normal to think of suicide. At 19, I took a twelve month practical nursing course and did well. But I found the hospital work environment was much harder than school. I took it very hard when I made errors. In my mind an error was catastrophic because it upset people.  

Fortunately, the nurse manager paired me up with a mentor and I gained skills and confidence. I decided to go back to school to become an RN. I did well scholastically but didn’t fit in socially. I did have a boyfriend during this time who wanted to marry me but I declined because I thought marriage was a trap and demeaning to women even though Joe treated me well. My world view was skewed by the feminist belief system.

As an RN I had greater responsibility and the work load was brutal. My insecurity caused me to doubt myself and I was miserable. I met the guy in the apartment below me and fell head over heels in love. I felt I had to give him sex so he would like me and I soon became pregnant. 

Charles said he wasn’t ready to become a father and he would not have a shotgun wedding. He offered to pay half the cost of an abortion. I berated myself for being so stupid. Shortly after, my father visited and asked what was wrong. His tone was so kind that I broke down and told him. He stayed calm and asked me to come home so he and Mom could help me. Since Charles was out of the picture, I took my Dad up on his offer. When I told my mother the news, she said she loved me and that she would support me. It was weird. I didn’t remember her ever saying that before.

Being pregnant caused me to re-think the feminist dogma. The “logical” solution was abortion, but I just couldn’t do that. The pregnancy was a mixed bag. I was excited and honored to be carrying a baby, but I also felt shame because I was irresponsible and my child would be fatherless because of it. I prayed a lot during that time and listened. I had decision to make – adoption or single parenting – and each choice involved a loss.

One day my former boyfriend, Joe, called out of the blue. I whispered that I was pregnant and he asked “how far along”? When I answered “six months”, he laughed and said “why are you whispering it must be obvious by now”. That made me laugh, some levity that I sorely needed. Joe and I reconnected and he took me out occasionally. When others congratulated us on the new baby he smiled and said “thanks”. He was very kind to me and did not get upset when I cried over the need to make the right decision. Although after the birth Joe became jealous of the baby and we broke up, I considered that time we had together to be a gift from the Lord and Joe was His vessel. The fact that I looked at it that way was amazing. The Lord was wooing me.
Thirteen days past my due date, I received a letter from Charles stating that he was sorry and that he wanted to be with me and “our” baby. I didn’t know what to do. I was at peace with having the baby alone and his letter caused me to lose that peace. I didn’t contact him until after the birth.
Timothy made his entrance fifteen days late. Although a little water logged, he was a vigorous baby with a lusty cry. When I first held him to my breast, he latched on like a snapping turtle. My precious baby boy had arrived and I was flying high.

Back on the maternity unit, I called Charles and gave him the news. He said he couldn’t come that day because he had to buy a pair of sneakers. My heart dropped. When he arrived two days later, it was clear he had had a change of heart. As the oldest of six, Charles held Tim adeptly but he held him like he was someone else’s baby. 

After I was discharged, Charles came to the house to tell me it would be too confusing for him to be in the baby’s life. He refused any pictures and asked me not to apply to welfare because they would go after him for support. He said he would hate me if I ever applied for child support, then he left quickly. Because of Charles request, I didn’t apply for child support for two years such was my fear of man. But I got over it. Tim was almost three years old when I started to receive a modest child support.

Early on I made the decision not to indulge in hating Charles because I knew it would hurt me and my son. I didn’t entirely refrain but I believe that decision mitigated the frequency and I saw it as God’s gracious gift of wisdom to me.

When I was 27, my friend Joyce, (who had been my labor coach) got religion and encouraged me to come to a local church with her. I was initially skeptical, but pleasantly surprised when I arrived. The people were real and eager to learn from the Bible. Although Joyce stopped attending there, I stayed and made a commitment to Jesus. Now I finally knew who had been wooing me.
 
I grew a lot the first year and a half after my conversion. I regularly read and memorized scripture and attended Bible studies. The Lord gave me a hope and a future. A year later I attended a Christian single parents’ conference in which the speaker made quite an impression on me. He stated that parental (re)marriage works best if the child is under six years old. He recommended waiting until children are eighteen if a couple does not marry before their children are six. That idea stuck in my mind and my hope became very specific. I placed my order for a husband and father to arrive before Tim was six years old. As the deadline passed my hope turned to bitterness and self-pity. I went to church regularly but I was no longer depending on the Lord.

My depression which had lifted for a few years was back. When Tim was fifteen I made a definite suicide plan which would be successful if carried out. As much as I wanted to die I knew it would be wrong to leave Tim an orphan, so I pleaded with God for help. It had been a long time since I really prayed. That same day I heard an ad for a Christian treatment center. I made arrangements for admission during the week my son would be attending a trip with the high school youth group. I was in the psych hospital for 2 1/2 weeks and my mood improved greatly and remained good for over a year. I started exercising regularly and felt good mentally and physically. But although I was feeling good, I still hadn’t learned to change my pattern of trying to please everyone.

About a year later I was fired for a ridiculous incident involving an oversight on my part and union vengeance. I had worked there over ten years. I plunged into deep depression and managed to hang on by sheer will power.
Three years later my son graduated high school and moved away to college. I was no longer a single parent but a single person. I had always felt proud and blessed to be a mother. Tim’s moving away was hard. My limited social life had revolved around being a parent and now I was very lonely. Since my son was eighteen I felt I was free to marry but I had no prospects. 

I continued to have problems at work due to my fears and insecurities. I would sometimes misread social situations and people would complain or my fear of making mistakes would cause me to make them. Work had always been a difficult part of my life and my off work hours were spent alone. Holidays were particularly painful so I usually worked them.

In 2005 I bought a computer. I learned to google any thought that came into my mind. It killed time and was brain numbing. One day I googled suicide and found the peace plus program website (Victory Tips). I wasn’t planning suicide but I wouldn’t mind if I had a terminal disease. I sent an e-mail not expecting a response. I received a prompt e-mail reply and a telephone call the following day. They were caring, optimistic and non-judgmental. They introduced me to the program which pointed my mind in a positive direction. The weekday phone calls kept me on track and gave me hope. I have learned so much in how to speak against the fear that dogs me. Not only is it okay to fight back but I must fight back. As I get stronger by feeding my mind the powerful truths of scripture the fears grow weaker. Victory Tips have amazing insight and are gentle even when they are saying “that smells like self-pity to me”. You can’t be angry with someone who tells you the truth in love because they want your life to be better. I felt a lot of shame as a Christian going to a suicide prevention web site but they never judged me for that. I am learning to be kind and non-judgmental to people including myself. I am starting to face my fears and take risks leaving the results to God. My social circle is gradually enlarging. I am becoming thankful for the good things in my life and for the growth that occurred as a result of the not-so-good things. Even writing this testimony has been one of those events. It was hard going over all the junk and shame. But by doing so I also got the opportunity to remember the good things in my life and the growth that has taken place. Plus I get to be a blessing to others who can relate to my story and draw strength from it.