A Body That Broke : A Soul Being Built

In 2012, when I went in to deliver my firstborn, I did not know I would also be handed diagnoses that would change the course of my life.

Motherhood arrived wrapped in both joy and trembling.

They discovered Graves’ disease, Crohn’s disease, neuropathy, and muscular dystrophy. Words that felt heavy in the sterile hospital air. Words that sounded like endings.

But God does not write in endings.

“I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten.” — Joel 2:25

What I thought was destruction became the soil of restoration.

When the Body Fights Itself

Autoimmune disease is a strange thing.

It is a body confused.

A body attacking itself.

And if I am honest, my spirit often mirrored that battle.

There were years — seven of them — filled with physical therapy, muscle weakness, pain that radiated through nerves like fire, and the quiet grief of realizing I could not always do what other mothers did with ease.

Yet in those same years, God was building endurance in me.

“We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

And patience, experience; and experience, hope.” — Romans 5:3–4

Hope became my oxygen.

Nathan stood beside me — not by sheer human strength, but by the will of God. We were refined in the furnace of trials. Our marriage was pressed, tested, stretched thin at times. But pressure reveals foundation.

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” — Ecclesiastes 4:12

God was the third strand. Always.

The Mind, the Labels, and the Battle Within

Alongside physical illness came diagnoses of bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder.

Those words felt even heavier.

There were seasons where I sought to destroy myself while unknowingly hurting others. I wrestled with manic waves, emotional instability, and behavioral patterns that felt stronger than my own will.

But I refused to let a diagnosis define my destiny.

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7

I sought counsel — pastors who were patient, who corrected me, who challenged me. I learned to allow correction, even when resistance rose up inside me. I learned that humility is not weakness; it is surrender.

There came a point when I no longer needed medication — not because the struggle magically disappeared, but because I had learned how to fall on my knees before the wave crashed.

When I begin to feel manic, I know the posture.

I kneel.

I pray.

I repent quickly.

I quiet myself before Him.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Stillness became my medicine.

A Childhood of Many Religions — A Journey Toward One Truth

I grew up in a home exposed to more than one religion. It was different than most families. My father would tell me:

Seek the truth. Derive your own truth. Find what is real.

That seed stayed with me.

As I grew, I realized something beautiful — that across cultures, across religions, there are fragments of truth. Echoes. Glimpses. Moral laws written on hearts.

“That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.” — John 1:9

But fragments are not the fullness.

There is one distilled Truth — not scattered, not partial, but whole. And it is found in God alone. In Christ alone.

Understanding that has allowed me to raise my children with both openness and discernment. I let them see cultures. I let them learn. I let them understand that truth can be recognized — but must be measured.

“Test all things; hold fast what is good.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:21

We are bridge builders — not compromisers. We honor what reflects God’s character while standing firm in the One who is Truth itself.

Marriage Refined by Fire

Trials exposed weaknesses in me — emotional volatility, fear, pride, insecurity.

But they also exposed grace.

Nathan did not walk away. He walked with me. Not perfectly — but faithfully. And I had to learn that submission to God meant allowing others to speak into my life.

Counseling. Correction. Community.

“Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.” — James 5:16

Healing did not happen in isolation.

It happened in surrender.

Pushing Forward Instead of Accepting Defeat

I refused to accept that sickness, diagnosis, or trauma would be my final identity.

I pushed forward with exercise when my muscles screamed.

I pushed forward with prayer when my mind raced.

I pushed forward with repentance when my pride resisted.

Because I believe:

“With God all things are possible.” — Matthew 19:26

God is the ultimate healer.

He heals marriages.

He heals relationships.

He heals minds.

He heals bodies — sometimes instantly, sometimes slowly, sometimes invisibly first in the soul before the flesh follows.

Even when symptoms remain, healing is happening.

From Self-Destruction to Testimony

There was a time I did not know how to live without harming myself or others emotionally.

Now my testimony is not about perfection — it is about surrender.

It is about intentionally choosing God when every part of me wants control.

It is about knowing that spiritual discipline is not performance; it is survival.

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

Weakness became the doorway to strength.

Gratitude in the Middle of It All

I thank God for every trial.

For the diseases that forced me to depend.

For the diagnoses that humbled me.

For the marriage that endured.

For the children who see resilience modeled.

For the friends and family who carried me when I could not walk alone.

Through God, all things can be healed — even the parts of ourselves we once thought were beyond repair.

I do not claim to be cured of everything.

But I am being made whole.

And that, perhaps, is the greater miracle.

“In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:18