I grew up with the church at the center of my life. I spent nearly every day attending Bible study, Sunday services, or praise dance practice. My friends were from church, my life was church. I didn’t go out much in high school, and the church was my safe haven. But by the time I reached college, I was exhausted. I had been living in such a sheltered world that I wanted to experience everything at once. So I partied hard, experimenting with drugs, alcohol, and embracing a freedom I had never known.
One night, in my own apartment on campus, after a night of extreme drinking, my life was shattered. I didn’t fully understand what had happened at the time. I didn’t know the weight of what was taking place. But slowly, as the days passed, I noticed the judgment in people's eyes and felt like an outsider. It wasn't until much later that I found out what really happened that night—a video leaked, and I realized that I had been gang-raped. The shame hit me like a wave. Suddenly, it all made sense—why people treated me differently, why I lost opportunities, why everything around me was falling apart.
That shame stayed with me, and every day I sank deeper into it. I became what everyone thought I already was—a lost cause, a "hoe." I drank more, I partied harder, and I let my body become a shell of who I once was. Even after college, when I should have been thriving in my career as the managing editor of a historic Black newspaper, I felt empty. My achievements felt hollow, and I battled with depression and suicidal thoughts. I felt useless, unworthy of life itself.
In my darkest moment, I reached out to someone I thought was a friend. I was desperate for guidance, for anything to ease the pain. Instead of support, he introduced me to something far worse. He offered me an escape—a “fast life” where I could use men for money, leave everything behind, and start fresh. It sounded glamorous at first, like a way out. Stripping in clubs, making money, a better life for my daughter—none of it seemed real. I didn’t see the danger until I was deep into it, nearly six months in.
But then, one night, something inside me snapped. I found myself in a fight with another stripper, and in that moment, I realized how far I had fallen from myself, from who I really was. This wasn't my life. This wasn't my path. I remembered who I was. More importantly, I remembered whose I was. I belonged to God.
I fled from that life, leaving my so-called “pimp” behind and vowing never to return. I turned back to God with everything I had. I begged for His help, for guidance, and for healing. And as I laid my brokenness at His feet, He began to rebuild me. He reminded me of my worth, my value, and His love. Little by little, He released me from my past and gave me a new future. A future of redemption, grace, and hope. I had wandered, but He never let me go.
