The Faith and Mental Health Connection

Standing at the base of a mountain or at the bottom of a very tall staircase, it seems as though making it to the top will never happen. The fear, the anxiety, the worry that infiltrates our entire being can influence our ability to take the first step forward. Even when we get the courage to take the first step, we can encounter difficult terrain, harsh natural elements, dead ends, and steep cliffs.

Navigating my mountain begins with my childhood. The earliest memories I have from my childhood are vague. I’ve learned over the years of healing from childhood trauma that our brains tend to block out negative situations or trauma we experienced. I remember when I was in kindergarten waking up on a school bus after it had arrived to school and being escorted into the school after school had started because the driver didn’t realize I had fallen asleep. I remember bits and pieces of the time we lived in Maine, the cold, frozen pipes, waking up from sleepwalking but not letting my mom realize it because I wanted to remember the care she gave to me when she carried me back up the stairs and placed me onto my bed. But the memories I have from my childhood, the positive memories, are fleeting.

The only sister I knew that was six years older than I was started getting into a lot of trouble around her puberty years. Running away with her friends, being sexually active, and doing drugs created an environment in which my mother had to constantly spend her time and energy ensuring she was safe. To make matters worse, my stepfather was abusive towards my mother and evil truly was in his heart. Because of everything happening, I had to grow up at a very young age, to be self-sufficient in ensuring that I went to school, kept up with my homework, and got good grades. I didn’t want to add to the strife my own mother was enduring, so the best way I knew how to do that was to keep my head down, my nose in my books, and to not create a stir.

I bore the brunt of my sister’s angst and vitriol. During times when my mother was at work and I was left in my sister’s care, if she wasn’t picking fights with me, she was having sex with men in my mother’s bed. Friends that I had from school…my sister turned them against me. I clearly remember walking home alone from my friend’s home at a young age, across a major highway, because my sister was at that same house making fun of me and my friends that were there joined in.

Everything that I endured during the most critical part of my childhood ingrained in my head that I was not someone that could be loved, that I was not someone that needed anyone because I was fine on my own. Those experiences shaped the introverted persona that I carried with me for the next 30 years. They shaped my self-esteem, my self- worth, and my need for attention and love…in all of the wrong places.