Healing in Imperfection: The Unfolding Truth as a Christian

rameriah
Feb 25
6 min read

When Innocence Fades (Part 2)

When I became a new Christian, I didn’t just invite faith into my life—I stepped into a journey of understanding, acceptance, and healing. And let me tell you, it has been anything but a straight path. Looking back on my teenage years, I see a version of myself who made choices that feel miles away from the person I am today. But instead of running from my past, I learned to embrace it, flaws and all, because that’s where true healing starts.

My teenage years were a whirlwind of excitement and pain, shaping the way I now understand God's grace. As I started piecing my story together, I recognized how crucial it was to heal from trauma, especially regarding my teenage sexual experiences. This journey has taught me that our pasts, despite their flaws, can lay the groundwork for personal growth and a deeper faith. Last week, I shared how childhood playdates blurred into something I didn’t fully understand, how moments with peers and adults made me question my self-worth, and how my first time wasn’t about love—it was about curiosity. That moment of realization hit hard. The guilt, the shame, the emotional weight of it all—it changed how I saw myself, my relationships, and intimacy altogether.

But this story doesn’t end there. If anything, that was just the beginning.

Understanding My Teenage Years:

As much as I want to continue sharing my story, I’ve come to realize that this particular chapter still holds weight I haven’t fully unpacked. Healing is a process, and right now, I need to give myself the space to work through it before putting it into words. When the time is right—when I’ve done the inner work and made peace with these pieces of my past—I’ll share. But for now, I’m choosing to honor where I am in this journey. Thank you for your patience, your understanding, and for walking alongside me in faith and healing.

From Girlhood to Adulthood: The Weight of Unwanted Attention

My young adult years weren’t just filled with fun and laughter—they were also laced with confusion, regret, and a longing for self-acceptance. I was searching for myself, trying to love myself, and struggling to understand my own worth. I wish I could say those experiences toughened me, but instead, they left me numb. The way men and boys responded to me dictated how I saw myself. I stopped believing in commitment—not because I sought validation through multiple partners, but because I no longer saw my worth in it. I had made a decision long ago, and somehow, the world seemed to know. In that journey, I made choices that left me feeling lost and unfulfilled.

There were moments when I found myself in relationships not because of love or connection, but simply because of how our sexual encounters happened. And somehow, despite being a "willing" participant, I carried a deep sense of guilt. It lingered, as if I had done something truly wrong.

But the truth is, I wasn’t wrong. I was unprepared. No one had taught me how to advocate for myself—for my body, my rights, my voice.

Yet, this isn’t a plea for sympathy. We all carry our histories, but what matters is how we move forward.

As I grew into adulthood, I realized something unsettling:

The behavior of boys didn’t change. It just carried more weight.

Because now…

They weren’t just making inappropriate comments in passing.
The wrong words said to the wrong boy could lead to something dangerous.
Ignoring them didn’t make them go away—it only made them try harder to force me to acknowledge them.

And more than once, I found myself in situations that ended in something truly traumatic.

So, I changed again.

I became comfortable in isolation. It felt safer.

I became fearful—not just of men, but of all my desires.

The desire to trust people.
The desire to be close to someone.
The desire to love freely and be loved in return.

Because time and time again, every single person I had trusted—male or female—showed me that they did not care for me the way I had cared for them.

And when trust is broken that many times, it becomes nearly impossible to believe it can ever be rebuilt.

The Pain That Lingers

People like to think that apologies fix everything. That you can just talk it out and suddenly the pain disappears. But what happens when the pain is so deep that it lingers in every encounter? Every conversation? Every moment of dating, of intimacy, of even thinking about being vulnerable again?

It doesn’t just go away. It sits with you. It moves with you. It reminds you.

And that’s the part people don’t understand.

The Role of Faith in My Healing

The moment I accepted Christ into my life—for what felt like the twentieth time—I expected an overwhelming wave of hope to wash over me. And while I did feel a sense of peace, if I’m being honest, I also felt like I didn’t truly belong in an intimate relationship with God.

That kind of relationship would require a level of vulnerability and trust that I wasn’t even willing to give the people I could see—so how could I possibly place that much faith in someone whose presence I could only experience?

Even now, there are moments when I struggle with the feeling that I am unworthy of God’s grace. But I know that isn’t me talking—those are the lies that doubt whispers. Deep down, I know this is exactly where I need to be.

With my newfound faith came the promise of redemption—an assurance that my past does not define my future. And yet, my heart still wrestles with feelings of inadequacy. It’s a continuous prayer I bring before God, asking Him to free me from the weight of unworthiness, because I know those thoughts are not from Him. Romans 8:1 reminds me, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Healing takes effort and awareness. For so long, I wrestled with the idea of perfection, especially as I grew deeper in my faith. There is an unspoken expectation that once we commit to God, we must have it all together.

But that is far from the truth. God never asked for perfection—He asks for surrender.

He asks for a willing heart.

The more I accepted my imperfections, the more I realized how they connected me to others. When I opened up about my struggles, others felt safe to do the same. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” My wounds, instead of isolating me, became a bridge for deeper relationships and healing.

I began exploring the Bible, and I discovered stories of redemption that resonated with me deeply. For instance, in the story of the Prodigal Son, I found hope in the father's unconditional love—a reminder that my imperfections are accepted, not judged. I learned that God's love extends to me in my brokenness; I didn't have to be perfect before turning to Him. I hold on to one truth: God’s grace is greater than my past. The guilt I once carried has been replaced with an understanding that I am redeemed—not because I am perfect, but because He is. Matthew 11:28-30 reminds us: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I no longer strive for an unrealistic version of myself, nor do I allow my mindset to spiral into a whirlwind of self-doubt and perfectionism. Instead, I lean into God’s grace, knowing that my story—though messy—is a testimony of His love, restoration, and unwavering presence. Healing isn’t about erasing scars; it’s about learning to live fully despite them. My past has shaped me, but I am actively working towards no longer allowing it to control me. Instead, it serves as a reminder that I am walking proof of God’s ability to turn brokenness into beauty.

Grace in the Gaps: Picking Up Where I Left Off

This journey of faith has meant confronting my emotions and acknowledging the pain of my past. And let me tell you, sometimes it’s uncomfortable—actually, a lot of the time, it still is. But allowing God's truth to speak into my life has been both liberating and terrifying. This past month, I haven’t been as consistent in reading my Word or doing my devotions, but that doesn’t mean my faith has left my heart. I still pray—sometimes in passing, sometimes in deep thought—whenever I can hold a moment without getting distracted or sidetracked.

Y'all, I am exhausted. Between balancing work, life, and what feels like an endless cycle of family and friends' birthdays, my routine has been completely thrown off. February didn’t go as planned, but my goal for March is to be steadfast—to pick up where I had intended to be and move forward with purpose.

Healing isn’t linear, and it sure isn’t simple. It’s a messy, beautiful, and sometimes frustrating journey. As a new Christian, embracing my imperfections—especially those tied to unhealthy teenage experiences—has been crucial for my growth. But here’s what I know now: I am not defined by my past mistakes. I am defined by how I move forward—with faith, with grace, and with an open heart.

Each day is a chance to grow and heal, and I encourage you to embrace your journey too. Let’s support each other, share our stories, and find the beauty in healing through grace—one step at a time. Let’s strive together to find healing in our imperfections and flourish in the grace offered to us every day.