N8tivegirl

By Valrelyn 2017 revised 2025

Finding healing in the places we were told to hide.

Preface

For years I’ve listened to the stories others were too afraid to tell — stories of pain, survival, and the long journey back to faith. Each one has taught me that healing is not about forgetting; it’s about finding peace in the presence of God, even when the past still echoes. This piece, Secrets, was written to give voice to one such story — a reminder that every confession, every cry, can become the beginning of redemption.

Content Note

This story includes references to childhood sexual abuse, assault, and spiritual trauma.

If you are in crisis or need help now, please reach out to RAINN (1-800-656-HOPE) or text/call 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

You are not alone. 💛

The Secrets We Don’t Say Out Loud

“Secrets don’t stay buried. They seep through the cracks of silence, waiting to be named.”

You say you want to know my story — do you really?

You wonder why I am the way I am, but you don’t know my history.

You weren’t there when the ones who claimed to love me crossed every line and told me to hush.

How do you trust when the enemy sleeps in your house?

How do you talk about love when love was the weapon used against you?

I remember the things I was never supposed to remember.

Being touched.

Crying out.

Told to stop lying.

Silence became the family’s safest language.

I was the sacrifice — the one who carried the cross for everyone else.

So now you want to tell me about Jesus?

Where was He when Uncle Bubba was inside me?

Where was He when you were passed out and the men you brought home came for me?

You ask for my respect, but respect is earned.

I was passed around like a thing.

You say you don’t remember — maybe it’s easier not to.

You say you’ve changed. You’ve found God.

But where was He when I needed Him most? Why didn’t He stop the breaking?

They tell me to forgive. They tell me to forget.

But forgiveness without truth isn’t healing — it’s hiding.

When Home Isn’t Safe

People talk about unconditional love as if it’s simple.

As if it isn’t complicated when the same hands that tucked you in also tore you apart —

when your innocence became the price of someone else’s comfort.

You can’t begin to understand my pain, Mama.

I cried myself to sleep for years, praying not to wake up.

Church told me to pray harder. Family told me to hush.

And God — well, He was quiet, too.

But I’m still here.

Still searching for a kind of love that doesn’t hurt.

Still wanting to believe there’s something holy left inside me.

Mother’s Reply

“Baby girl, I always loved you. Maybe not in the way you needed — but I did.”

At the time I had you, I was still a child myself, trying to survive.

I didn’t know Jesus. I didn’t even know love.

The things I did, the pain I caused — I can’t erase it. But I’ve changed.

I met grace in a hospital bed when I thought my life was over, and it changed me.

It didn’t make me perfect, but it made me real.

It taught me that forgiveness isn’t denial — it’s surrender.

I know what judgment feels like. I know what shame can do.

But God doesn’t care about where we’ve been — only that we come home.

Baby, I failed you. But He never did.

Please, don’t let your anger at me keep you from the love that still waits for you.

You’re worthy of it. You always were.

Imagine someone loving you so much that they would give their life for you.

That’s what Jesus did — even for the ones who broke us both.

Author’s Note (2025 Update)

This story is drawn from the lived pain of others — the words of many hearts woven into one voice. I am not the “I” within the story; I am the pen that carries their truth.

I write to give voice to silence, to hold space for those still waiting to be believed.

Each story shared through Healing in Broken Places is a reminder that even the most hidden wounds can become places where light breaks through.

A Prayer for the Wounded

God who sees,

for the child who was silenced and the adult still learning to speak,

hold every shattered memory with tenderness.

Separate Your heart from the hands that harmed.

Untangle shame from truth.

Teach forgiveness that never erases boundaries.

Send safety, peace, and light to all who still tremble in the dark.

Remind us that we are not what happened to us —

we are Yours.

Amen.

Journal Prompts

🕊️ For reflection or journaling:

What’s one sentence you wish someone had said to you (or to the person in this story) back then? Where do you still confuse God with people who used His name to cause harm? What boundary would honor the younger you today? What does healing look like for you right now — not in perfection, but in progress? If forgiveness feels impossible, what small act of release could you begin with?

Resources and Next Steps

If this story stirred something in you, please don’t walk through it alone.

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) | rainn.org 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988 for free, confidential support. Look for trauma-informed, abuse-aware, and faith-safe counselors or ministries. For readers outside the U.S., visit findahelpline.com for international hotlines.

You are not alone.

You are seen.

You are loved. 💛