It takes a village to heal a child

My nana was my favourite person in the world. From as young as three, Mum would drop me off at church, help me put my backpack on and I’d waddle in to meet Nana. During worship, we’d cuddle through the songs. She was an amazing singer; I was tone-deaf. She’d whisper to me, “You have an amazing voice . . . you’re not quite hitting it . . . we can get you there.” This is what my Saturday looked like every week until I moved away for university at 18. I always felt so loved by her—but she was the exception.

growing up

My family and I lived on a farm in a small country town in Australia. When I was a toddler, my parents and grandpa left the church, after being quite involved. When Mum left, she entered a long period of rebellion—as if secretly she always wanted to live another life. I grew up hearing her say things like her biggest regret in life was that she was a virgin bride. 

I always felt what I’d describe as an ‘ick’ at that farmhouse. It didn’t feel warm—not like home is supposed to.

Most nights she’d be out drinking. Dad used to take me to the pub in my pyjamas to try to convince her to come home. There were a few nights we slept in the car because she’d locked the house behind her for a night out. We’d wake at five in the morning to her coming up the driveway in a taxi—only to react to our grumpy faces by saying, “I’m not dealing with this.” I always felt what I’d describe as an “ick” at that farmhouse. It didn’t feel warm—not like home is supposed to. 

a shift in the family

When I turned 12, I found out Dad wasn’t my real dad. He could never have kids, though he also didn’t particularly want them. So Mum went and got a donor, even though he told her not to. To make matters worse, my parents only told me because they were getting a divorce and thought this would be a good time to spill the beans. Dad figured since I wasn’t technically his, it made sense for me to go live with Mum in town.

For a while, I’d see him every second weekend. But some days he’d call and say, “You can’t come.” Which eventually turned into, “You can’t come anymore.” Occasionally, we’d still go out for dinner, which would sometimes result in us arguing and a few times him saying, “You’re not even my kid.” I think he regrets saying that now. 

the church across the street

Our house was across the road from a Seventh-day Adventist church, meaning I was able to walk myself over each Saturday. Looking back, church was a safe place for me. It was only a small church with about 50 people, but I loved it. No-one was yelling or doing anything crazy and people there looked out for me. 

Although church was good for me, home had a different influence on my life, which came out at school. I talked a lot of cheek to my teachers and I’d do anything to gain people’s approval, racking up several suspensions. I had lots of friends, but always felt empty, lonely and insecure. My hair was wildly frizzy, and I wasn’t pretty or skinny like the other girls. 

unliked and unloved 

During this period, my relationship with Mum hit an all-time low. Still drinking a lot, she also got on the drug ice, which made her angry, emotionally unstable and physically abusive. One night my brother had to pull her off me and hold her down. I went into my room, only to hear her bawling her eyes out to her friend on the phone saying, “I’ve taken all these pills . . . I don’t want to live anymore.” 

She ended up in hospital that night. The next morning she arrived home as I was walking out to catch the school bus. We stood at the door and she stared at me blankly. She still had a red stain around her lips from the wine she’d drunk the night before. Without saying a word, I walked past her and got on the bus. All day I remember thinking, My mum hates me. I’d always felt she didn’t like me, but that day I was sure of it. Another night she said, point blank, “I hate you . . . I wish I never had you.” I was young, so never thought that this could be coming from a place of mental health struggles or drug use. I just thought I must be really unlovable.  

in two different worlds

In my teenage years, I started smoking and drinking. I’d throw parties for my friends because Mum would encourage it. One Saturday, I left church early to host a party. I was trying not to drink at the time, but had 150 underaged kids in the house drinking, all doing shots with my mum. The police came and shut that party down. When they walked in Mum was passed out. One of the cops looked at me and said, “Man, what are you doing?” I was living a double life and wasn’t a great representation of a Christian. But I was doing my best. 

My friends liked Mum because she’d buy them drinks, teach them to roll joints and open her doors when they’d skip school. To others, she was the life of the party, but when it was just us at home, the emptiness and rage would come out. So, when she sat me down in my senior year of school and told me she’d been offered a job three hours away, I insisted she go. We arranged for me to live with my aunty and uncle, which I was excited about since I was close with my cousins and would see them at church. My cousin and I shared a tiny room, and it was an absolute mess. But it was the best. Their family was a great influence on me.  

My mum hates me. I’d always felt she didn’t like me, but that day I was sure of it.

I never lived with Mum again. Although I insisted she go, part of me wanted her to fight to stay. As a result of not having loving parents growing up, I was constantly seeking validation from people and was obsessed with other people’s parents liking me. That’s why I was always so drawn to church—because of the idea that somebody loved me. Not just somebody, the God of the universe loved me. 

small acts, big impact 

I never spoke about home life at school; I tried not to let my emotions show. But on the morning of my high school graduation, I couldn’t help but cry because neither of my parents had come. Driving home, I got a call from one of my teachers asking me to meet her at a café. She knew my life was hard and would often check on me. That day she bought me lunch and gave me a small present and a card I still have today. I remember feeling so uncomfortable, yet at the same time so loved. 

After school, I got accepted at university. Mum promised to give me money for my dorm but didn’t follow through. I freaked out. How would I afford it? Days later, a man from church knocked on my door. He handed me a plastic diary, the kind you get for free in the newspaper, and said, “My wife and I got this for you. We thought you could use it for university.” I went to my room and opened it, and all this cash fell out—the exact amount I needed for first semester. I screamed with excitement, then felt so awkward that I drove to their house and tried to give it back. They said, “If you give that back to us, we’re putting it straight in the bin. Either you take it and use it or it’s going to waste.” Of course, I took it. 

I was living a double life and wasn’t a great representation of a Christian

University was a transformational time for me. I made a lot of great friends and started to realise that what happened to me growing up wasn’t normal. I saw a counsellor and went on a journey of unpacking things and healing. The hardest thing I ever had to do was pray for Mum. I’d pray God would help me forgive her, that He would give me the strength to let go of things and that I’d feel genuine love towards her. When I told her I forgave her, it improved things for a while. But then we’d have massive fights because Mum was still Mum. Forgiveness, I’ve learned, is a continual thing. 

loved by many

Growing up, I was always envious of other people’s families. But when I look back, I feel so thankful for all the people God put in my life to care for me—neighbours, great-grandparents, friends at college, teachers, aunties and uncles, and most of all my nana. 

When my nana was older, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. One day I visited her and with teary eyes she said to me, “I just want to say, Jesus brought you into my life because you were the reason I stayed in church.” I couldn’t believe it. “What do you mean? You’re the one that kept me in church,” I replied. She told me she was embarrassed to show up as the pastor’s wife without the pastor after he left the church, so would take me. At times things were difficult and she was tempted to stop going, but she stayed because she saw how much I enjoyed it. The two of us cried together that day. We hadn’t realised how much we had both meant to each other in such difficult periods of our lives. She showed me unconditional love and I learnt a lot about God from her. 

a lifelong journey

I’ve come a long way and I’m proud of where I am today. But I still struggle with doubts and the insecurities I adopted as a child creep up on me here and there. Yes, I’m more confident, but there’s moments I feel awkward, alone, and at times, unloved . . . just like I did as a young girl. But I remind myself to keep moving forward. And most importantly, that I’m a child of God, a daughter of the King. And if I believe He is amazing, then wouldn’t the things He owns and creates be amazing as well?

* Names have been left out of this story with respect to those who are still alive. Interview and edit by Zanita Fletcher, assistant editor for the Australia/New Zealand edition of Signs of the Times.