Every Time I Tell My Story

This weekend, I had the opportunity to sit on a panel and share a piece of my testimony. I’ve shared my story more times than I can count—on stages, in classrooms, at conferences, in churches, and sometimes across a table with just one person. Yet every single time, something happens.

I am reminded.

Reminded of where I came from.

Reminded of all that God has carried me through.

Reminded that what once felt like it would destroy me became the very thing He would use for His glory.

There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine speaking openly about the pain. The trauma. The loss. The disappointment. The questions that kept me awake at night. There were seasons when survival was the goal, not public speaking. Healing felt impossible, and purpose felt far away.

But God.

Two simple words that changed everything.

As I listened to the other women share their stories and reflected on my own, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude. Not because my journey was easy, but because God was faithful through every part of it. Through the chaos. Through the heartbreak. Through the waiting. Through the moments when I wondered if He saw me at all.

Looking back now, I can see His fingerprints everywhere.

I can see Him in the people He placed in my path.

I can see Him in the doors He opened.

I can see Him in the strength He provided when I had none left of my own.

And I can see Him in the lives that have been impacted because I chose not to stay silent.

That’s the thing about testimony—it isn’t really about us.

It’s about Him.

It’s about pointing people to the God who still heals, still restores, still redeems, and still makes beauty from ashes.

Every time I share my story, someone comes up afterward and says, “I thought I was the only one.” Or, “I needed to hear that today.” Or, “Your story gave me hope.”

The truth is, those moments aren’t about me being strong enough to share. They’re about God being good enough to use a broken story to bring hope to someone else.

What the enemy meant for destruction, God has used for purpose.

Today, I have the privilege of helping others find their way out of the fires I once walked through. Through advocacy, teaching, training, speaking, and simply showing up for people who are hurting, I get to extend the same hope that was extended to me.

Not because I have all the answers.

Not because I’ve figured everything out.

But because I’ve experienced firsthand what it feels like to be carried by God’s grace.

Revelation 12:11 tells us, “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.”

There is power in testimony.

There is power in telling the truth about what God has done.

There is power in reminding people that their current chapter is not the end of their story.

This weekend reminded me once again that sharing our testimony isn’t about reliving our pain—it’s about celebrating God’s faithfulness. It’s about giving Him the glory He deserves. It’s about shining a light into places that still feel dark for someone else.

And every time I tell my story, I leave grateful.

Grateful that God didn’t waste my pain.

Grateful that He continues to use my story.

Grateful that He trusted me with a testimony worth telling.

Most of all, grateful that the story was never really about me.

It’s always been about Him.

Because if my life proves anything, it’s this: God still pulls people through the fire. And when He does, He often uses them to help pull someone else out too. For His glory, and His glory alone. ❤️