No mas

I realized that I don't need a 'Huge God' to fix my life from a distance. I need a Father who is willing to get His hands dirty in the mess of my recovery. He is powerful enough to move mountains, but He is Father enough to hold my hand while I climb them. When I look in the mirror now, I don't see a 'broken patient' or a 'victim of trauma.' I see a daughter who is deeply, fiercely loved by the One who created the stars—and yet, He knows my name

A Warning!

My diagnosis of PTSD became my caretaker’s greatest shield, used to dismiss my reports of pain as mere "flashbacks" while I performed as a "perfect" Honor Roll student to survive. From a 2007 report of a large bruise on my side to a 2013 hospital meeting where a suicide attempt was met with only "10 minutes" of a caretaker’s time, these records document a pattern of abuse and clinical indifference.

At fourteen, I was a gifted student, a flute player, and—according to my Tennessee records—a thief. For years, I let that label define my cracks. But I’m learning that God doesn't use clear glue to fix us; He uses gold. Discover how the ancient art of Kintsugi and the truth of Psalm 139 are rewriting my story from 'broken' to 'beloved.