• I am healing and feeling
• I am healing and feeling
• I am healing and feeling
• I am healing and feeling
• I am healing and feeling

I always knew there was something wrong with me; I just didn’t know what it was. I wore an invisible cloak of dis-ease. I reeked of incompetence and inferiority. Everywhere I went, a little rain cloud hovered over me like in a Sunday morning cartoon strip. I was powerless. I didn’t deserve to exist, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was saturated in the first step of recovery before I even knew it was necessary. My entire life had been spent whirling in the cyclone of powerlessness and unmanageability. I didn’t drink much. I didn’t smoke or do drugs. I was a good Christian, until I wasn’t. But I was able to fast and pray. I read my bible. I won “sword drills” and bible trivia games. My elder sisters were rebellious, but I was the good kid. I was pleasant and quiet. I sat with the adults at the big people table soaking in their conversations with my large, inquisitive, baby blue eyes. I couldn’t figure out went so horribly awry. I spent decades in survival mode, begging God to have mercy on me and just take me home already. Little did I know that I first had to endure the tests and somehow persevere through the moanies before the two could merge into a testimony through which others could also begin to heal.