(A Testimony of Survival, Forgiveness, and Restoration)
My name is Megan, and for many years I believed God had abandoned me.
Today I am 37 years old, and I speak openly about what happened to me because I want others to know that no matter how deep the pain, the love of God can still reach you.
But my story did not begin with hope.
It began with fear, anger and pain so deep I felt I was existing outside my body.
Childhood Stolen
I was only seven years old when the abuse started.
At that age I didn’t fully understand what was happening to me. I only knew that something about it felt deeply wrong, and I felt powerless to stop it.
My father would come into my room at night.
Nighttime became the thing I feared most.
While other children slept peacefully, I would lie awake, terrified of hearing footsteps in the hallway. My heart would race whenever I heard the floor creak outside my door.
Sometimes I would try to stay awake all night, hoping exhaustion would keep me alert enough to avoid what I feared.
But I was only a child.
Eventually sleep would come, and the cycle would repeat.
This went on for years.
My Mother Knew
The hardest part for me to understand growing up was that my mother knew.
One night when I was about eleven years old, she tried to confront him. I remember hearing the shouting from another room. Then the sounds changed.
He beat her so badly that night I thought he might kill her.
After that, she never spoke about it again.
She never protected me.
And something inside me broke.
As a child I felt completely alone.
Living in Silence
The abuse continued until I was fifteen.
For eight years I lived in a house that was supposed to protect me but instead became the place where my fear lived.
I learned to hide my emotions.
I learned to survive.
But inside, my soul felt shattered.
I didn’t trust anyone.
I didn’t believe anyone would help me.
When I finally turned fifteen, I ran away.
I left home and never looked back.
Years of Bitterness
I cut off contact with both of my parents.
I refused to speak to them.
I never visited.
I never tried to reconcile.
When my father died when I was 31, I did not attend the funeral.
I felt nothing but anger.
I was bitter toward him for what he did to me.
But I was also bitter toward my mother for not protecting me.
Even worse, I was bitter toward God.
For many years I hated Him.
I couldn’t understand how a loving God could allow a child to suffer like I did. I believed that if God truly existed, He must not care about me.
So I shut the door on faith.
A Fractured Soul
As the years passed, I tried to move forward with my life, but the pain never really left. Sometimes it even seem to get worse as I struggled to survive, jumping from one relationship to another trying to find acceptance and love. It never came.
I struggled with anger, trust, and relationships.
Even when things seemed fine on the outside, something inside me felt broken.
Looking back now with better understanding, I realize my soul was fractured.
The trauma had split my heart into pieces that I didn’t know how to put back together. I wouldn’t know where to even start.
The Post That Changed Everything
One day, completely by chance, I came across a post about soul wounds and fractured souls on this site.
The article spoke about how trauma can damage the soul and how the love of God can bring healing even after deep pain.
At first I was skeptical.
But something about it caught my attention.
For the first time in years, I began asking questions about God again.
Could it really be possible that God still loved me?
Wrestling With God
I began reading the Bible slowly.
I spoke with people who explained God’s love to me in ways I had never understood before.
They didn’t dismiss my pain.
They didn’t pretend what happened to me wasn’t evil.
Instead, they showed me that God never approved of what was done to me.
What happened to me was sin. It was abuse. It was wrong.
But they also helped me understand something powerful:
God had never stopped loving me, even in the middle of my suffering.
Learning to Forgive
Forgiveness was the hardest part.
For years I said I could never forgive my parents.
But someone said something to me that changed how I looked at it:
“Not forgiving keeps you tied to the person who hurt you.”
That hit me deeply.
My father had already died, but the anger still controlled me.
I realized that my bitterness was keeping me trapped in the past.
Forgiveness didn’t mean what they did was acceptable.
Forgiveness meant I was choosing freedom.
Little by little, I began releasing the anger.
It wasn’t instant.
But healing started to happen. I wasn’t so angry. I was so bitter. And I wasn’t hating them as much.
Discovering God’s Love
As I continued seeking God, something inside me began to change.
The same God I once blamed began to heal the parts of my soul that had been broken for decades.
Through prayer, counseling, and Scripture, I began to experience something I never thought possible:
Peace.
Not because my past changed, but because God began restoring what had been shattered.
My Message to Others
Today I speak openly about my story because I know there are others who carry similar pain.
If you are someone who has been abused, abandoned, or betrayed, I want you to know something:
What happened to you was not your fault.
And it does not define your future.
God’s love is not limited by your pain.
Healing is possible.
And forgiveness—though incredibly difficult—can break the chains that keep you tied to your
Freedom After the Pain
Today I no longer live in the shadow of my childhood.
The fear that once controlled me no longer has power over my life.
God has been restoring my soul piece by piece.
I am still on a journey, but I am no longer walking it in anger.
I walk it with hope.
And I now tell others what I once refused to believe:
Nothing should keep you away from the love of God.
Not your past.
Not your pain.
Not even the deepest wounds of your childhood.
Because God specializes in healing fractured souls.
And if He could heal mine, He can heal yours too.
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