A Leap of Faith
This post talks about my personal story with suicide. It is not intended to be a comprehensive approach to healing, nor a generalization of what others encounter when contemplating self-harm. It is, however, my story. If you are in need of help, please call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.
Decades ago, on my twenty-fifth birthday, I was gifted a skydiving venture. Now a bona fide adult, I was dually ecstatic and apprehensive. Excited to mark this milestone with an opportunity to boldly stare down fear and overpower it. To soar heights unimaginable. To freefall and recover. But soon the excitement wore thin. Thoughts inundated my mind with every negative circumstance imaginable. What if the plane crashes? What if the parachute fails to launch? What if I wind up in water instead of land? What if I break my legs once I hit the ground? What if.. what if.. what if… Yet despite these legitimate possibilities, I decided life’s view from a greater perspective outweighed my fears. The risk was worth it. So, I listened and adhered to my instructor’s directives, then suited up. Prior to takeoff I practiced with my teacher, ensuring our movements were synchronized for the tandem jump. Then I set my sights on greater heights. Literally.
September marks Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. It’s a sensitive subject and deeply personal for me. It warrants attention. With a strong tugging at my heart to address this matter, as with my skydiving adventure, I have conflicting emotions. Humbled and hesitant, I am grateful to God for using my pain for greater purposes. But sharing such a deeply personal experience is more frightening than jumping out of a perfectly good airplane at thirteen thousand feet. People can be cruel and awfully judgmental. Some seek opportunities to prey and pounce. Some misconstrue words to fit neatly within the confines of their perception. Yet, pushing past my reservations and sharing my story is no different than taking the leap of faith out of that airplane at thirteen thousand feet. Pulling my parachute after an initial freefall, I found the view from a greater altitude offered clarity and perspective. If my story lends hope that stepping out on faith in Jesus does the same for them in life, the risk is well worth it.
Traumatic Freefall
At the age of six, a world void of sanctuary crashed upon me. Threatening my existence, seizing my innocence. Primary years are supposed to be innocent. Safe. But that changed with his first touch. Being molested is damaging and perplexing. What is happening to me? Why is this happening? Why can’t I tell? Why the secrecy? Shame showers. Remnants pool and settle like dirty residue inside a bathtub. As a child, incapable of addressing the filth, the stain remains, building upon itself with each repeated encounter. Soiled by trauma, my tender soul fails to grasp the degree of damage. I land on feelings of which my limited vocabulary can find no words.
I suffered silently for years until my cry manifested in an attempted suicide. He told me, don’t tell. And I didn’t. Wanting desperately to eradicate myself from the stench his torment left, a month shy of my twentieth birthday on the night of June 8, 1990... I. was. done. I was taking his shame and my suffering to the grave, even if it meant killing me in the process.
My attempt at suicide is an isolated event. But the thoughts which drove that decision remain. Sometimes the memories haunt, and occasionally, spiraling ensues. This is hard. It hurts. People offer their support, but then don’t listen. A vomiting of useless words smell of manure leaving a vile aftertaste. I didn’t know it was that bad. As if there is some level of molestation that isn’t that bad. All we can do is pray. As if prayer is a last resort instead of the first option. They don’t understand. The pain is unrelenting. A never-ending battle that breeds desperation and understanding. Why am I this way? Will I ever get over this? Am I destined to a life of suffering? The damage is immeasurable. A tender brain permanently altered, stripped of its ability to develop naturally, is forced to function with disability. Trust destroyed. It views the world through tarnished lenses. Everyone and everything is now suspect and the self-erected barrier of protection forms. Life is consumed by mental and emotional distress. And it feels awfully jacked up.
Pull the Parachute
Be it child molestation or whatever the ordeal, trauma is real, and its effects are ravaging. Navigating life amid its aftermath is difficult, and at times just living is the challenge. The pain weighing so heavily that thoughts of suicide flirt with my better judgment. A trigger sparks hostile memories and emotions swell. We don’t get over it any more than we get over losing a loved one. And like grief, trauma’s pain subsides but it fails to dissipate. It is exhausting. Coupled with an unsympathetic world, the pain is enough to propel one to tap out.
When the world says, “give up,” hope whispers, “try it one more time.” - Unknown
As with skydiving, I find life’s freefall doesn’t have to be fatal if we learn to pull the parachute. I sometimes jokingly share I’d be in a straitjacket be it not for Jesus. It’s not a lie. My laundry list of trials baffles: repeatedly molested as a child; held hostage; sexually assaulted as an adult; a prior marriage riddled with domestic violence; divorce; miscarriages; health concerns; the terminal illnesses of my parents and two older brothers leading to their successive deaths within just 40 months. How am I still standing?
At the young age of eight I heard The Sweetest Voice and felt a gentle nudging within. During a revival service, The Lord whispered, Come to Me. That evening, I pulled my parachute by stepping out of the pew I was sitting on alongside Dad. Walking down the right-side aisle of our church’s sanctuary, I gave my life to Jesus. Instantly I knew I was going to be ok.
God takes care of His children. The support system that He has encamped around me is small and powerful. And though my most trusted confidants now occupy a greater realm, I am learning to liberate my silence by speaking out. Out against child molestation. Out against trauma and its stigma and shame.
As a counselor degreed in Clinical Counseling, I believe in what I do. Over the years I have sought mental health professionals to aid in my healing. There is safety in unpacking baggage with a professional trained to listen, sort, and guide toward healing and recovery. It takes time. It requires work. But gliding toward wholeness is worth it.
Speak your mind even if your voice shakes. – Maggie Kuhn
Landing
Healing is in reach for all of us. I have no magic formula. No gimmick to propose. I have learned to plant my feet on The Word of God. When I keep my mind focused on Him, I have peace (Isaiah 26:3). I choose to trust God. I choose to take Him at His Word. I choose to believe everything He says about me. My faith destroys doubt at its core. It wasn’t always this way. Sometimes the ground beneath me shakes, sending disparaging thoughts. But a review of all that God has brought me through is proof that He is real and that centers me.
I offer my life as a testament to His goodness. Who else dares speak life into broken pieces and make them whole. Who would cradle an anguished abused girl, healing her broken heart and binding up her wounds (Psalm 147:3). Who, but God, would whisper to a tormented soul; I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, to give you a future and a hope (Jeremiah 29:11). Who but Jesus could counter the question of unfairness with reality and hope: In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world (John 16:33). Who but a loving God could stand in the gap when exhaustion declares, I can’t make it another day. The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still (Exodus 14:14). When I am scared and weak God reminds me: So, do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10). But Father, I have been through so much, my life a mosaic of misery and mistakes. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).
Lord, sometimes I just want out. I don’t know that I have anything left to give, but then I hear His voice, sometimes as a whisper, sometimes as a roar, reminding me... I so loved you that I gave My only Son, believe in Him and you will not die but have eternal life (John 3:16). Since God gave His all, His only son Jesus, who died for me and you, the very least I will do is press on and live for Him. If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me (Luke 9:23). I will not take my life, but I give it freely to God through Jesus to use as He pleases. He has never quit on me, and I refuse to quit on Him.
Help is Available – There is Always Hope
According to the Federal Communications Commission, one person dies by suicide every 11 minutes in the United States. People are hurting and need help. If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide or is experiencing a mental health crisis, call or text 988 to connect with mental health professionals with the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (formerly known as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline).
Please, don’t give up. There is nothing in this world that we have been through or done that God won’t forgive and use for our good and His Glory. Take the leap of faith and trust God.
Stay. Tomorrow needs you.
