Writing My Story of Hope



I’ve relived my tragic story for years. I can tell you the setting, the main characters, and the course of events that lead to the climax of my father walking out the door and never looking back. During these years, the main characters remained the same, but their impact on my life changed. Where once they held me captive to feelings of shame and despair, they soon held a place of complacency and defeat. Those years taught me to hide behind my fat rather than face the truth of my hopelessness.


I began to take authorship of my own choices, my own past, and my own future. I began to recognize how I had choices to live in blame or accept my circumstances. I decided to author my journey here on this blog. I really thought I was writing for others to find hope. I knew there had to be other people out there who had lost their hope and faith. I knew there were people who needed to see it was ok to share struggles and victory. I’ve begun to see the real person who needed to read this story was me.


“Never let anyone shame you for the things you did to survive.” Nicole Sciacca


These words from a guided meditation were a turning point for me. I spent years shaming myself for what I did to survive. I began to identify and understand I had opportunities to take these survival moments and turn them around to living in the present. I could find ways of establishing peace in my life that were not circumstantial. I could develop habits that would help me rise again every day, moment by moment. I could help myself and also help others. I could change the way my story was told. I didn’t have to write a new story, I could turn the page and start a new chapter.


Recently I was doing a mindfulness exercise and reflected on my journey of hope. I drew a blank in knowing how to retell it. It was hard to let go of the story I knew so well. I thought in order to move forward I had to let go of who I was and be a whole new person. That’s not what hope is about. Hope is believing I can start again today regardless of the person I was yesterday. It’s believing my worth is greater than my comparison to others. My worth is determined by the Author and Finisher of my faith.


Faith, the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Faith that can move the mountains of rejection, fear, anger, rage, depression, despair. Faith that all things work together for good.


My story continues to be written believing by faith that hope rises again.


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