The earliest emotion I recall is the cold, deep pain of not belonging. I didn’t feel this way
because I hadn’t been chosen during gym class or because I’d had a bad day. The feeling
was rooted in the knowledge that I was an unwanted child, so much so that my mother
tried several times to abort me.
But even before I knew that horrible truth, I’d felt like I didn’t belong.
Looking back, I can understand my mother’s desperation. My father had already moved on
to another relationship when she discovered she was pregnant with me. A fourth child
would only add grief to her already difficult life, so she looked to abortion to solve the
problem.
Obviously, I survived her attempts. But being raised by a woman who didn’t have the
emotional capacity to bond with me left a painful void where security should have been.
My mother named me Solé, a shortened version of Soledad, which means “solitude” or
“alone” in Spanish. My name was a constant reminder, a whisper of the loneliness that I,
and perhaps she, experienced daily.
An abusive stepfather entered my life when I was a toddler. For years, this controlling man
sought to break me by convincing everyone that something was wrong with me. Any time I
showed emotion or expressed childlike creativity, he crushed it by labeling me crazy.
I lived in a constant flow of abuse and rejection, and became convinced that my life had no
value. I felt dead inside. All I could think was, if the people closest to me didn’t want me,
why should I care about myself?

That feeling of being dead inside wasn’t just a mood; it was a heavy weight I carried daily.
And it wasn’t just sadness either. It was a profound numbness that led me to more than one
suicide attempt. I was desperate to end my inner pain and silence my mother’s haunting
screams, the result of violence in our home. Those screams played on repeat in my mind.
The desperation to end my life only worsened in my teenage years. I attempted suicide
again. When that failed, I coped by numbing the pain with drugs and alcohol. I dropped out
of high school at 16.
I lived without hope, totally convinced that life had no meaning. A future did not exist in my
mind.
I worked hard to destroy myself, unconsciously trying to finish what my mother had failed
at years before. I became lost in the chaos, certain that no genuine love—the kind that truly
heals—would ever find me. But I was wrong.
Significant life-changing moments don’t usually come with bright lights or grand
announcements, but through simple acts of courage and kindness from those who yield to
the Holy Spirit’s prompting. For me, that moment came through a stranger on a day I will
never forget.
I was working my shift as a hostess when a customer ordered a coffee to go, then told me
that Jesus loved me. I dismissed what he said. I didn’t want to hear about Jesus.
But God used that man’s voice to cut through the darkness threatening to destroy me. Later
that night, those simple yet penetrating words, “Jesus loves you,” awakened my soul.
Jesus loves me?
What a message of pure, unconditional grace from a man who didn’t see a dropout, a drug
user, or a broken life. Instead, he saw a soul that needed a Savior.
But could Jesus love me in my filth?

Yes, He could—in fact, He had already proven it years before on a cross. (See John 3:16–21
and Romans 5:8–10.)
That night, I accepted the love of Jesus and, for the first time, experienced something real,
powerful, and true. It was as if Jesus called me out of a cold, dark grave, just like He had
done for Lazarus (John 11:43).
Solé, come forth!
I answered His call, and in my bedroom on that Friday night, I fell to my knees in complete
repentance and surrendered every broken piece of my life to Jesus.
I found the love I had spent a lifetime searching for, a love that desired and accepted me
and wanted to heal my deepest wounds. And to think, God wanted nothing from me in
return, except to love Him.
As I grew in my faith and knowledge of Him, I slowly learned to love and trust Him
(Matthew 22:37–38; Hebrews 11:6).
When I accepted the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ, I was given what the Bible calls a new
birth. (See John 3:3; 2 Corinthians 5:17; 1 Peter 1:3–5, 23.) Now, I could live with hope.
I started reading the Bible to uncover God’s plans for me. He spoke to me through His Word
in powerful ways. When I came across Psalm 27:10, it was as if God were speaking directly
to me: “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me” (NIV).
Through this verse, God acknowledged my pain of being unwanted. He validated what I had
experienced and then gave me the certainty that I am accepted and welcomed. God’s
promise brought healing to my broken heart.
God’s acceptance changed how I saw myself. No longer was my identity rooted in the
rejection of my earthly parents, but in the acceptance of my heavenly Father. Suddenly, my
life, which I had thought was a mistake, was redefined.

But while I did experience that new birth when I put my faith in Jesus for salvation, I still
had wounds that needed healing. The healing and transformation of a person’s soul—their
mind, will, and emotions—isn’t a one-time event. It’s a slow and often painful process that
some aren’t willing to embark upon.
Many people say a prayer for salvation but refuse to allow the Holy Spirit access to their
wounds so His healing can take place. As a result, they stay stuck in their pain, thinking the
same old way, doing the same old things.
But the gracious love of God comes with a personal responsibility to engage in the daily
work to grow spiritually, so that we can be transformed into His image.
My childhood pain and struggles didn’t disappear overnight. The truth is, problems like
that rarely do. But I have been on this journey of healing and transformation with the Holy
Spirit for years now, and I know, He gives me freedom every day.
I had to choose to fill my life with God’s good things—to read my Bible, journal, pray, and
be in a community that encouraged my spiritual growth. I had to engage in the hard work
of counseling to learn how to release my old, negative thought patterns and replace them
with God’s way of thinking (Romans 12:2; 2 Corinthians 10:5).
But as I did these things, the love of God began to replace the shame and worthlessness that
had filled me for so long. It brought light and life into previously dark, dead places, filling
the void of my heart and silencing the tormenting voice of my abuser.
It took me decades to forgive my stepfather. Learning the true meaning of forgiveness
helped.
Forgiveness didn’t mean I had to maintain a relationship with my stepfather or excuse his
behavior. It didn’t mean I had to forget the offense either, which seemed an impossible task.
What it did mean is that I was to leave my stepfather in the hands of my heavenly Father.
It wasn’t easy, but forgiveness came when, with the help of the Holy Spirit, I realized that I
was also a sinner (Romans 3:23), and that the Bible tied my forgiveness from God to my

forgiveness of others (Matthew 6:14–16). I didn’t want not forgiving my offender to come
between me and God (Psalm 66:18; Mark 11:25–26).
So I chose to forgive my stepfather. Doing so was a daily struggle between wanting justice
and surrendering him to God’s hands (Philippians 2:13)—but it was worth it.
It led to freedom.
Today, the pain of my beginnings—the things said and done to me, and even the things I’ve
done—no longer define who I am. The chains of unforgiveness no longer bind me. I am free
and defined only by what my heavenly Father says of me—I am loved, victorious, forgiven,
and redeemed. These truths have given my life a new, eternal purpose.
Because of Jesus, I can now see that my past wasn’t just a series of painful experiences; it
was preparation for the future. Every scar, every mistake, every moment of feeling
unwanted now serves as a thread to connect with others who are suffering in a silence that
screams.
My life’s purpose is to share this light that now lives in me, to tell the next person who feels
overlooked and lost that the only voice that matters has already claimed them. Maybe that’s
you. If it is, I need you to know this: Jesus loves you.
If you struggle with the devastating sense of not belonging or with the thought that your
life is a mistake that should end, please know that if Jesus could meet me in my darkness
and call me out of the cave of addiction, shame, and despair, He can absolutely meet you
where you are.
Your circumstances—what has been done or said to you, or what you have done—do not
define you. God alone defines you, and He will fully receive you right now, just as you are.
He will give you a new life—a new birth. You can be born again.
All you have to do is repent, ask God for forgiveness, and commit to going in a new
direction with Him. God will forgive you for anything—just ask (1 John 1:9). Don’t live
without hope any longer (Ephesians 2:12–13).

In God’s hands, your life can be redefined, healed, and transformed. So turn to Him. Give
Him every broken piece. He will restore your life. Give Him every empty place. He will fill it.
Believe Him. Accept Him today and receive your new life.
​Consider: Have you believed the lie that you were unwanted, forgotten, or a mistake?
What shaped that belief in you? Do you truly believe that Jesus loves you—not a future
version of you, but you as you are right now?

SOLÉ WRIGHT is an author and life coach who guides women in overcoming personal
challenges. She understands the impact of unresolved trauma on personal and spiritual
growth. Her approach to health and wellness is to care for the whole person—body, mind,
and soul.