Shame Saved My Life

I could feel the sting of rejection every time I had to announce another pregnancy. By the age of twenty, I was already the mother of three. Promiscuity had taken root in the abyss of my vulnerability, and I’d become a slave to shame. It showed up not just in my emotions, but in my surroundings.

Yes, the roaches found their way into the apartment my children and I shared after evacuating another unit. But truthfully, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t give them plenty of reasons to stay. Depression had me so bound that even small victories felt like they came under false pretenses. The filth I felt on the inside eroded any shred of common sense I wanted to believe I had. I was hopeless—completely bound by shame.

The Sunday after it happened—my abortion—I made my way to church and ended up at the altar, where I lay and wept. I heard someone praying for me, and based on the words they were speaking, I could tell they assumed my tears were about the on-and-off toxic relationship I’d been in. It was a relationship many people in the church had witnessed firsthand, since both he and I had attended at different times, though not always together.

He was actually the reason I started attending that church in the first place, because he knew the pastors before I did.

But the sadness I felt that day had nothing to do with him. It had everything to do with the choice I’d made just days before—the choice I believed I had no choice but to make—the choice to abort my child.

Even more than the guilt of the abortion itself, I was terrified that God could never forgive me for what I’d done. After all, I was already labeled the “promiscuous girl,” the single, unwed mother of three. My low self-esteem wasn’t necessarily because I had children—because, to be honest, my children have always been some of the best parts of me. But the life I was living was far from ideal.

During that time in my life, I was addicted to pornography and regularly gave my body away, sometimes to complete strangers. That’s my truth.

So it wasn’t just the abortion I believed was unforgivable—it was everything. And still, the pain wasn’t enough to change me or my ways. A short time later, I found myself in bed with another man, hoping he’d love the hell out of me, only to find my self-worth sinking even deeper into the trenches of loss.

And yet, here I am today, fully embracing the fact that every part of my story is part of my journey—and it all played a role in making me who I am now. Today, I can finally say, “I love me some me, unapologetically!” And nothing I ever did caused God to turn His back on me.

So when you see me, know this: I am blood-bought, saved by grace, forgiven and redeemed, and unconditionally loved by the only One who can love us perfectly—God alone. I am His daughter, chosen to wave the banner of hope for those who, like I once did, feel too used up and unworthy of His forgiveness.

Also, please know that my wounds ran deep, and I’m still on the mend. I have scars I never want erased. I am healing. I am mending. I am learning that it’s okay to be loved, believed in—and even rejected.

Believe me when I say, I don’t look like what I’ve been through, nor do I act like it.

Life gave me the choice to grow bitter or better, and I chose better. I learned that once I took my power back from shame, God could make something beautiful out of even me. And for that, I am so incredibly grateful.

If my story resonates with you, or if you’re struggling with shame, guilt, or feeling unworthy, I’d love to hear from you. Share your thoughts in the comments, or reach out privately if you’d rather talk one-on-one. Remember—you are not alone, and there is hope beyond your shame. Let’s keep healing and growing together.