When I hear of peoples' stories that include torture or growing up in drug homes or other horrific circumstances, I start to doubt that my story is worth sharing because I grew up in a good home. I have been asked by some to share my wounds, pain and experiences so that others can benefit from what I learned about me through those times.
I've never really felt like I was someone special so I never really felt like someone could love me for me, the real me. I spent decades trying to be the one who stood out as unique, but ended up blending in with the "normal" people. I think I always wanted to be good enough to be looked up to, but bad enough to be admired.
But then…one pivotal night, at 36 years old, my world turned upside down. I experienced the white light of death that I'd only ever heard about in fairy tales. That light melded everything together for me; the good, the bad and the extreme uncertainty.
I pray my story can give you what I found, Hope.
