The Childhood That Built My Demons: AND THE JESUS WHO NEVER LEFT HER
Psalms 91:4
“He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler”.
Before the Sinful Woman, There Was a Wounded Child
Now that I’ve shared how Jesus saved me, and how I still struggle. I feel Him pulling me backward for a moment. Not backward into shame. Backward into understanding.
Because before I can tell you more about the woman I became. I need to tell you about the little girl I was.
The little girl who learned to lie. The little girl who learned to manipulate. The little girl who learned to hide. The little girl who learned that love was something you earned, not something you received.
And the wildest part?
Jesus was there the whole time. I just didn’t know it yet.
The First Lie I Ever Heard
I have a biological father. But the man I call “Dad”, the ranch, the land, the legacy. That’s my stepdad. I want to make that clear before I take you into this next part.
Because this part took me five days to build the courage to write. Even now, my hands are sweating. Childhood wounds don’t disappear just because you’ve faced them. They just stop owning you.
I remember the first lie my biological father ever told me.
We were driving down the S‑curves in Nemo, SD. I was maybe six or seven. It was sunny. My window was down. The breeze was in my hair. And I was staring at him with the biggest smile because I thought he walked on water.
I adored him. He was my whole world. He was the best horseman I had ever seen, gifted in a way that didn’t make sense.
He had a can in his right hand, resting across his chest, hanging out the window. I asked, “Daddy, can I have a drink of that?”
That’s when I watched him drop it out the window. Smooth. Quick. Like it never existed.
Then he said, “I don’t have anything to drink, punkin.” That was his nickname for me.
I remember sitting there confused. Why would my daddy lie to me?
It took me 28 years to realize I wasn’t crazy. I saw what I saw.
And now, looking back, I can see something else too:
Jesus was in that truck. My father was drinking and driving, but Jesus kept His hand on our safety. He got us home. He protected me before I even knew His name.
The Day I Learned to Lie and Cheat
My dad was living with my stepmom, but still seeing my mom. He told me not to say anything.
I of course didn’t.
Because I loved him. Because I wanted him to love me back. Because I wanted a whole family.
I didn’t know he was teaching me two habits that would nearly destroy my life later:
Lying. Cheating.
We bounced between houses like it was normal. My mom had no idea. And I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
I was learning that secrets kept people happy. That lies kept people close. That truth caused pain.
Jesus? He was there too. Watching a little girl learn the wrong things from the wrong person, but was already planning how He would rewrite her story.
The Beer Cans, the Broken Promises, the Disappearing Dad
The lies got bigger.
We’d get in his car and hear the crunch of beer cans under the seat. When my mom got the house in the divorce, we found walls full of empty cans.
He would promise to pick my brother and I up, but never showed. Sometimes weeks. Sometimes months.
But I still loved him. Kids always do.
My mom never spoke badly about him, which now I see was incredibly noble. She was hurting. She was scared. He drained us dry.
But she protected us from the truth as long as she could.
The Day He Called Me a Liar
One day, driving up to Nemo, he stopped at a house down the hill. He grabbed a garbage bag full of something. I didn’t know what, but something in my spirit (now I know it was Jesus) whispered:
“He doesn’t want his wife to know about that.”
I didn’t ask him. But I told my stepbrother. He told his mom.
Then we watched them fight from the window.
Beer cans. Of course.
Then came the words that shattered me:
“She’s lying.”“She made it up.”“She must have been seeing things.”
My dad called me a liar.
The man I adored. The man I trusted. The man I defended.
He called me a liar to protect himself.
That’s when something inside me broke.
Because if he could lie and get away with it. Why couldn’t I?
If he could twist the truth. Why couldn’t I?
If he could avoid consequences. Why couldn’t I?
This is where it started.
This is where I learned to lie. This is where I learned to manipulate. This is where I learned to cheat. This is where I learned to survive.
Jesus? He was there too. Watching me become someone I wasn’t meant to be, but already planning how He would rescue me years later.
The Triggers That Still Haunt Me
Sometimes my childhood still creeps back in.
A can of Busch Light, not a bottle. The smell of Copenhagen. Cowboy hats. Wranglers. Cowboys in general.
Triggers.
Little reminders of the girl who learned to lie to survive. The girl who learned to hide. The girl who learned to protect herself the only way she knew how.
But every time those triggers rise up, every time the old me tries to claw her way back. Jesus comes in like a tidal wave and pulls me back into my new life.
Because He was there then. He is here now. He never once let go.
Reflection for the Woman Reading This
Before you click away. Before you shove your own childhood back into the dark. Before you tell yourself “mine wasn’t that bad” or “I should be over this by now”.
I want you to sit with this:
You didn’t become who you are by accident. You were shaped. You were taught. You were trained in survival, not safety.
If you learned to lie, it’s because someone lied to you first.
If you learned to hide, it’s because someone taught you that truth wasn’t safe.
If you learned to manipulate, it’s because you watched the adults around you twist reality to protect themselves.
If you learned to cheat, it’s because you saw love modeled as something unstable, conditional, and easily replaced.
None of that was your fault.
Read that again.
None of that was your fault.
But here’s the part you need to breathe in:
Jesus was there. Even then. Even when you didn’t know Him. Even when you thought you were alone. Even when you were being shaped by pain instead of love.
He saw the little girl who didn’t understand why her father lied. He saw the little girl who kept secrets to keep the peace. He saw the little girl who thought love meant silence. He saw the little girl who learned to protect herself in all the wrong ways.
He never once turned His face away.
So now I want you to ask yourself. Gently, honestly:
What lies did you learn to survive?
What habits did you pick up because you didn’t know any better?
What parts of your childhood still haunt you today?
What triggers still make your chest tighten or your stomach drop?
What version of yourself are you still punishing, even though she was just a child trying to make sense of chaos?
Then ask yourself this:
What if Jesus was there the whole time, not judging you, not condemning you, but protecting you, preserving you, and waiting for the day you’d finally see Him?
Because He was.
He still is.
You are not broken beyond repair. You are not too messed up to be loved. You are not too sinful to be redeemed. You are not too late to be rewritten.
Your childhood may have shaped you, but Jesus is the One who gets to finish your story.
And girl, He’s not done with you yet.
Closing Prayer. For the Woman Still Carrying Her Childhood
Jesus,
I lift up the woman reading this who is still carrying the weight of the little girl she used to be. The one who learned survival instead of safety. The one who learned lies instead of truth. The one who learned to hide because honesty never felt safe. The one who still feels the sting of a childhood she didn’t choose.
Wrap Your arms around her the way no one ever did. Show her that You saw every moment she thought she faced alone. Every lie spoken over her. Every wound she absorbed. Every secret she kept to protect the people who were supposed to protect her.
Remind her that none of it was her fault. Not the chaos. Not the confusion. Not the habits she picked up just to make it through another day.
Heal the little girl inside her, the one who still flinches, still hides, still wonders if she’s too broken to be loved. Speak to her the way You spoke to Mary: “Fear not. I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine.”
Jesus, take the triggers. Take the memories. Take the shame. Take the lies she believed about herself. Replace them with truth, with peace, with the kind of love she never received as a child.
Thank You for being the God who was there even when she didn’t know You. Thank You for being the God who stayed when everyone else left. Thank You for rewriting stories that were never fair to begin with.
Hold her heart gently, Lord. She’s been through enough.
In Your Holy Name,
Amen
