Sarah's Testimony

Hi, I'm a faithful believer in Christ who's found victory over betrayal and is currently overcoming codependency, insecurity, and anxiety. And my name is Sarah. When I first gave my testimony in 2012, the enemy kept whispering that my story didn't matter, that I didn't even have a story. It's amazing how the enemy works so hard to silence us right before God wants to use us. But when we open our mouths and testify, Revelation 12, 11 says, we overcome by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of our testimony. I've learned that our stories are the very thing the enemy fears most because they give others hope. So, I do have a story, one of God's faithfulness, redemption, and grace. In the mid-70s, my mom went from a pot-smoking hippie to attending a revival one night where she gave her heart to Christ. She was saved, filled with the Holy Spirit, and baptized on the same night. She was raised in an alcoholic, abusive home where all three of her brothers were later diagnosed with schizophrenia. One of them died by suicide in his early 20s. Addiction, mental illness, poverty, and abuse of every kind were rampant in her family. I'm so thankful that nearly 50 years ago, my mom made the decision to set herself apart and live for God. Because of her obedience, I was raised knowing who Christ was. I was dedicated in church as an infant and filled with the Holy Spirit as a child. Looking back, I can see how her yes to God became the turning point for my family line. Her obedience broke generational patterns I didn't even understand until adulthood. It reminds me that one surrendered life can change an entire legacy. This didn't change the fact that I noticed something that did set me apart, and that was that my father wasn't in it with us. I longed for my dad to come to church with us. Even as a young girl, I could feel the wedge that it was creating between him and my mom. He provided for us financially, but emotionally and spiritually, there was a huge void.

I remember one night when I was little, my mom woke my brother and me in the middle of the night, loaded us in our wood-paneled station wagon in our pajamas, and drove to bail my dad out of jail for a DUI. That became one of our family secrets. Growing up, I compared my dad to the other fathers who came to church with their families. My dad only came twice, both times for my daughter's baby dedications. Each time, the little girl inside me hoped that this would be the time that he'd say yes to Jesus. There's something sacred about the prayers of a daughter for her father. Even when I couldn't see change, I wanted to believe that he would make it to heaven. My mom had modeled such grace, continuing to pray for him and love him right where he is. He's still running with the world, but I believe that God is still pursuing him. It's taken me time to replace judgment with compassion. Anger and resentment come easily, but I know that they won't help him find the Jesus that I so desperately want him to know. Growing up, I never had a strong sense of self. I lacked confidence and wrestled with insecurity. I had a major overbite, long hair with no product, and wore long jean skirts every single day. I looked, well, just say, quite homely. When our pastor resigned and a new pastor came on board, I learned that God cared more about our hearts than our outward appearance. I can remember when I first got bangs and wore my first pair of pants. That was a really, really big deal. My brothers and his friends often teased me. He was the cool one. I was not. While I was the compliant family hero, he was the scapegoat. Running away, stealing cars, getting into fights. I didn't realize at the time that both of us were coping with the same pain.

We just expressed it differently. I sought control through perfection. He sought freedom through rebellion. The cries were just different. I got my sense of worth from doing all the right things, good grades, a tidy room, perfect church attendance. Church was my escape. It was my safe place. Deep down, though, I was insecure, and I was desperate to feel special. I had zero talents, no sports, no instruments, just youth group and church plays. My brother's effortless success made my insecurities run deeper. What was not real well known in the 80s is that we were also seeing untreated ADHD. What my parents saw as rebellion in him was impulsivity and lack of focus. Our home was tense. Alcoholism, lack of unity, mental illness, and a pray-it-away mentality shaped our family life and planted anxiety and codependency in me from a really early age. When children grow up around instability, they often learn to manage emotions that aren't theirs. That's how people pleasing in control can quietly take root. They become survival tools. When there's chaos, they leave childhood behind too soon, and they go into the survival mode. I'm hypervigilant, always scanning. for the next threat. That's what I did. I learned to ignore my feelings because I felt powerless to change my circumstances. Instead, I tried to control others to feel safe and loved. That's where my control issues began. By high school, I had a good group of friends,

but things started to shift in the ninth grade. After our dance, I had my first drink, Mad Dog and Boons. I don't remember the first time of getting drunk, but I remember the guilt that I felt. It's amazing how quickly sin can numb, one compromise at a time. At first, it was about fitting in, but beneath that was a hunger to fill the emptiness that only God could satisfy. I was supposed to be this Christian example, but I was drinking and partying on the weekends. I despised my dad's alcoholism, yet I was repeating it. At 17, I drank at my prom, crossed boundaries I didn't want to cross, and showed up at Easter service hungover and full of shame. I had committed to saving myself for marriage, but rationalized everything but. I didn't realize how those choices would later affect intimacy with my husband. Each time I compromised, guilt and shame followed. I appeared close to God, hands raised in worship, faithful church attendance, but I was far from him. I was hiding behind religion and performance. I wish I told someone that I was struggling, but pride and fear kept me quiet. I was masked up. In my late teens and early 20s, I stayed in a four-year relationship where I was cheated on, devalued, and emotionally manipulated. I believe that some love was better than none

because I didn't see my worth. I needed to take you back to my elementary school for a minute. There was this kind, compassionate school counselor named Mrs. Thomas. I never went to see her, though I probably should have. I admired her warmth. I knew I wanted to be like her someday, to become a counselor. I felt safe to help others. It felt safe to help others without exposing myself. During my master's program, I was diagnosing myself weekly. I also began to understand my dad's drinking as a coping mechanism for the deep trauma that he experienced. He experienced abuse and neglect, and even discovered his mother's suicide as a teenager. Understanding his pain helped me extend grace where I once held bitterness. Let's fast forward to married life. Roger and I met, dated, and married in 2002. He was an architecture student, and I worked as a counselor. One night, I felt the Lord wake me up and tell me to go check on him. I walked into our office and caught him in the middle of his pornography addiction. I was devastated. I felt deceived, betrayed, and physically sick. It wrecked my confidence as a woman. I thought, I waited to be intimate until marriage,

and I'm still not enough for him. I confided in his sister that very first time, but after that, we kept it secret for years and years. You see, the three main men in my life, my dad, my brother, and now my husband, had all failed to protect my heart. That's what betrayal does. It shatters trust and safety. For years, I lived in shame and isolation. We were away from community, pretending everything was fine because good Christian couples don't have these problems. When we moved back to Washington and rejoined our home church, things slowly began to shift. A few years later, we were asked to join the Celebrate Recovery launch team. When they needed a co-host for the men's sexual integrity group, I immediately volunteered my husband. He wasn't thrilled. He said he had basketball on Tuesdays, but God had other plans for him. We fell in love with CR. Few years in, Roger got frustrated with me, and he said, you're helping everyone else but not yourself. And he was right. I was hiding again, this time within ministry. CR's principle four says, openly examine and confess my faults to myself,

to God, and to someone I trust. That was terrifying for me as a counselor who used to be on the other side of the couch. But when I finally started being honest, real healing began, both for me and for our marriage. CR has helped me come out of hiding. It's taught me that vulnerability is strength and authenticity is freedom. When I walked on stage to get my one-day coin after three years of attending, my self-talk was brutal. That short walk felt like miles because for the first time in 34 years, I finally took the mask off. I've learned that sometimes God allows our masks to crack, not to shame us, but to set us free. And freedom begins when we stop pretending. Later, I confessed to Roger that I'd occasionally pop on to my ex-boyfriend's Facebook page. I thought he'd thank me for being honest. Nope. Instead, he suggested counseling the next day. It was humbling to sit on that side of the counselor chair, but it helped us immensely. Step 3 says, we made a decision to turn our lives and our wills over to the care of God. I had served God, but not fully surrendered my will to His. I was still trying to control everything, even Roger's recovery. Learning to trust God fully was freeing. Today, my husband has been pornography free since 2009. He's a different man, trustworthy and surrendered.

I trust him now because he's become trustworthy. There's been prayer, humility, and hard work, and God has restored what the enemy tried to destroy. When I look back now, I see how God didn't just heal our marriage. He was healing me. He was teaching me that my worth wasn't found in being needed or being the strong one, but in simply being His daughter. My recovery journey has been just as much about learning to receive love as it has been about extending it. I've also learned that my recovery cannot depend on Roger's. My fulfillment has to come from Christ alone. There's still lonely moments. I still wrestle with believing that anyone can truly be there 100% for me, but that's a lie from the enemy, and I know God is. The truth is I can choose to trust, and I get to trust. For anyone struggling today, here are some truths that anchor me. You were created in God's image, Genesis 1.27. You're chosen, royal, and set apart, 1 Peter 2.9. You are God's masterpiece, Ephesians 2.10. He will fulfill His purpose for you, Psalms 138.8. You are chosen. There's your chosen again. Holy and blameless before Him, Ephesians 1.4. I'm learning to truly believe those truths, to live like I'm chosen. Sierra has been a safe place for me to normalize my hurts, my habits, and my hang-ups. It's where I've learned to let others see me and to experience real connection both with people and with God. A few years ago, I had this powerful encounter with Jesus during communion at a conference. The pastor invited us to sit or stand, but to envision ourselves at the table with Jesus. My feet were killing me because I was wearing ridiculous shoes that day, so I chose to sit down. And as I closed my eyes, I saw Jesus across the table. He was so vivid and real.

His eyes overflowed with love. And He reached for my hand, and I began to weep quietly in my seat. He didn't speak, He just was, creating a space for me to rest, to be seen, and to feel free. In that moment, I knew that Jesus chooses me. That moment still anchors me when doubt creeps in. Every time I think I'm unseen or forgotten, I picture that table, I picture His eyes, His hand reaching for mine. And I remember that grace has already made room for me. So if you're listening to me tonight or today, and feeling like your story is too messy, too broken, or too far gone, I want you to know that God specializes in redemption. The same God who met me in my shame, my fear, my betrayal, wants to meet you right where you are. Nothing you've done can disqualify you from His love. Jesus is sitting right across the table from you too. He's extending His hand. Look up. Meet His eyes. Take His hand. It's just you and Him. And I can't think of a better teammate. Thanks for letting me share.