I grew up in Peru in a very strict, religious family. My parents loved my siblings and I and wanted us to know right from wrong, though the perspective that I gained was that if I messed up, there would be eternal consequences. I saw God like a school principal who was waiting for me to do something wrong so He could write my name down in the book of naughty children and close the doors of heaven on me.
We went to church every weekend and my family was very involved. I learned all these good, beautiful things about God, but at the same time, I experienced abuse in every aspect of the word—physical, sexual, emotional—and that confused me deeply. As I grew older, I became rebellious against God and the Bible. In my eyes, God was a hypocrite and He copped the blame for all the ways people had hurt me.
Because of the abuse I experienced, my identity and self-worth were under attack from as young as I can remember. Right through my girlhood I felt dirty, ugly and ashamed. I didn’t know my place in the world and was always waiting for the next bad thing to happen to me. It was like I had a secret sign on my back that certain people could see that said, “Abuse her”. Since I wasn’t aware of anyone else my age experiencing what I was, I assumed something must have been wrong with me.
pregnant at 17
My teenage years unfolded against the backdrop of a recession in Peru. Jobs were scarce and many families, including mine, struggled to get by. So, when a man approached my parents offering me work and the promise of a better future, it seemed like an opportunity we couldn’t afford to refuse. But that man abused me and, at 17, I found myself pregnant.
I was so afraid of telling anybody because again, I thought it was all my fault. What will my parents say? Will they disown me? Will they believe me?
By the grace of God, my aunty and uncle just so happened to visit from Australia. When they heard what had happened, they offered to take me back with them. They would pay for my visa, help me learn English and enrol me in study.
Of course, my pregnancy progressed. I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t counting the weeks or celebrating when I felt the baby kick. I was in denial, living as if this was not my reality. As the bump became more noticeable, I cloaked myself in baggy clothes because I didn’t want to talk about it. When the university discovered I was pregnant, they expelled me. When reality hit, I panicked and thought, What am I going to do when this baby is born? I didn’t have money, didn’t have a job and couldn’t speak the language of the country I was now living in. My biggest fear was that I would end up back in Peru, living in poverty with a baby on my back.
In the end, I decided to give my son up for adoption. Unfortunately, that story is a tragedy of its own. Fourteen years later, I found him again in Peru. By then, his adoptive parents had both passed away and he was caught in drugs and battling with his mental health. Somehow, I was able to bring him back to Australia, even without official proof I was his mother. But I was not in a stable place to care for him. Psychologically, spiritually, mentally, I was a mess.
Not long later, I met a man and we married. We had three children together, but the marriage fell apart and I found myself raising them alone.
my breaking point
I was completely overwhelmed and eventually I crashed. I remember screaming, “I am sick of everything that has happened to me . . . I will never let a man touch me again for free.”
That was when I entered the sex work industry. To numb the shame and the pain, I turned to drugs and quickly became addicted. Strangely enough, I never had to buy them. They were always handed to me on a platter. I was not proud of the mother I was becoming but at the time, it felt like the only way I knew to feed my children and keep a roof over their heads. I had no qualifications and no career to fall back on. I was angry and resentful, trapped in a victim mentality. I would scream at God, “You’ve done this to me!” In my mind, He was distant and harsh, the kind of God who said, “All right, I’ll give you one more chance and let’s see how you behave.” I bargained with Him constantly. But deep down, I was afraid of Him—and afraid of how He might punish me for my choices.
Then one night I was at a man’s house and he put me in a very dark room. I was so scared that, for the first time in a long while, I cried out to God. “If You are real, show me a different way.” I pleaded, “If You get me home safely, I’ll go to church.” I was in that room for seven days, high and going in and out of hysteria, panic attack after panic attack, with no food and only a little water. Yet in those moments, God gave me clarity and I felt His presence with me. I was safe and eventually, I got home.
my end of the bargain
I was too embarrassed to walk into a traditional church, so I found one that met in a community hall. I walked in with tacky hair extensions, scrappy clothes and probably looked terrible after having been sick on drugs all week. I was so surprised that nobody looked down on me but welcomed me in with warmth.
There was a beautiful group of women at that church who embraced me completely. They would come to my house, pray with me and told me to message the group if I was ever stuck, weak or afraid. There were times when as soon as my message would go out, they would all pray and my situation would instantly change.
Most importantly, these women guided me through the process of forgiving those who had hurt me. I made a list of everyone who had caused me pain—from the kids who pushed me on the playground to those who abused me. One by one, I handed each memory over to God saying, “I choose to forgive this person for what they did to me.” I asked Him to take away my anger, resentment and pain, and to fill those spaces with love, joy, peace, kindness and faithfulness. For the first time since I was a child, I felt comfort in knowing that He is a God of justice.
It felt like layers of an onion being peeled away. I realised forgiveness isn’t saying what happened was okay. It’s choosing not to drag those people through the rest of your life. It’s a choice—one that doesn’t come naturally—and one that must be done again and again. For the first time, I felt God validate my pain. I remembered the verse that says He “collects all our tears in a bottle” (Psalm 56:8).I could feel the truth of who I—and who He—really was, being poured into me, drip by drip. For the first time, I saw the things I had believed about myself were lies, and certainly not what God thought of me.
choosing to stay
Even after all of this, I continued to struggle. The drugs still had a grip on me and I kept going back to work because I needed the money. My kids barely had clothes. We were living off noodles. I was behind in my rent and had lost my licence because I couldn’t afford to pay my registration. I kept crying out to God, “I can’t do this anymore”—but I didn’t know how to stop. One night while working I said to Him, “I just can’t seem to stop, God. I’m giving You permission to stop me.”
Not long after, in the middle of a job, I suddenly stopped what I was doing and sprinted home. The strange thing was, I hadn’t even thought about leaving in that moment—I truly don’t believe it was me running; it was like God was pulling me out of there. The next week, I didn’t go back. I stayed home and tried to make changes. I went through horrific withdrawals—migraines so intense I could barely move.
With the little money I had left ($30 to be exact) I went for ear candling, hoping it would relieve the pressure in my head. The practitioner told me to lie down while he left the room to get everything. Suddenly, this strong but gentle voice said, “I heard you.” I sat up and looked around—no-one was there. In that moment, my migraine lifted and I felt an overwhelming sense of warmth, like I was a baby wrapped securely in a swaddle. My whole body, my organs, my brain—everything—knew this was God speaking. For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
From that moment, my withdrawal symptoms disappeared. I remember thinking, This must be how heaven will feel.
a new chapter
My circumstances certainly didn’t change overnight, but something inside me had. I was still poor. Still a single mother. Still broken in many ways. But each morning and night, I started praying to God, “Here I am. Heal me. Use me.”
I printed out nearly a thousand resumes and walked them around. For a long time, I received nothing but silence. One afternoon, I noticed a sign for a nursing home near my house. I walked 30 minutes up the hill and approached the receptionist in my tracksuit pants and my sweaty t-shirt. When I handed her my resume, she pointed to the elevator. “They are interviewing right now on level three if you want to join.”
I ducked into the bathroom to freshen up and walked into a room full of beautifully dressed women, all clearly prepared for the interview. I didn’t think I stood a chance. When the interviewers came to me, they asked, “Can you start straight away?” I said yes. “Can you work weekends?” I said yes. “Can you work night shifts?” I hesitated—night shifts had been where I made all my money. “Yes.”
Well, I got the job. I truly believe it was God’s doing. Not only did it get me out of sex work, but it opened my eyes to the needs of others—the elderly, the disabled, the community at large. I got to pray for people who were taking their last breaths and share God’s love with people in great pain. For the first time, I felt I had a purpose and that my children might grow up seeing a different version of their mother.
A few years later, I began studying, because I wanted to do more. Though I was no longer working in the sex industry, many of my behaviours took time to change. My relationships with men didn’t transform overnight. I would let any man into my life if they gave me attention or made me feel wanted and I allowed them to do whatever they wished. I fell into another abusive relationship and became a single mother of four. Again, I was tempted to abort this child and even made an appointment—but I pulled out. “This child is Yours,” I said to God. “Show me what to do. Again, I’m sorry, but here I am.”
I’m so thankful I didn’t go ahead with that abortion. God gave my family what we needed. And gradually, over time, He has taught me new ways. He has been so gentle and compassionate towards me.
a different legacy
Today, I run my own community service business, providing care for the elderly and housing for vulnerable people. I also started a charity supporting people coming out of prison, helping them reintegrate so they don’t reoffend. I know what it’s like to need help when life falls apart and I wanted to use what God gave me to help others. Thankfully there were so many good people in my life—people who saw my potential even when I couldn’t see it myself. I want to be that for others.
There have still been hard times but now I live in freedom, without fear. I trust God like a little child and I’m grateful that He’s with me even when I’m not fully with Him.
My children have seen the worst of me and the work of God’s healing. I hope and pray that what they carry forward isn’t my trauma or my shame, but a deep, unshakable trust that their lives, like mine and yours, are safe in God’s hands.
