Whenever I think of writing a devo or sharing about my life, I always think there could be someone else better. Someone who could share better and who has a better story than me. I think that my story isn’t “enough” or that my testimony doesn’t have enough compelling moments in it.

Suffice it to say, I struggle with thoughts of being “enough.”

Growing up, I stood in the shadows. I did everything I was told. I was dependable. I showed up for things.

But I never thought I was worth anything.

In Jr. High, I got a taste of public school in the church youth group. I was homeschooled so I wasn’t exposed to the drama that most kids went through. But I did get a taste of it.

Because I did what I was told and brought my Bible with me every week and knew the answers to all those Sunday school questions, I was placed in the “unpopular” crowd.

Because I didn’t have a boyfriend, because I wasn’t outwardly obsessed with guys or my looks, and was a little frumpy (who wasn’t back in the day trying to navigate the awkward stage?), I was an outcast.

I never fit in.

I remember one of the “popular” girls once came up to me and told me she wanted to be my friend because she was done with the “cool kids.” I was torn between feeling elated because I didn’t have many friends but then on the flip side wondering, “if I’m not a cool kid, then what title did that put me in? A loser?”

I had few close friends but they all fell through when they got an upgrade with someone better to hang out with.

I was never enough.

Correction, I didn’t feel like I was enough.

I would stew over thoughts of everything I was lacking. I would write down my dark thoughts in my journal. I would look into the mirror and hate myself. I hated who I was.

That’s what led to suicidal thoughts.

I would ruminate over thoughts of killing myself. I would picture doing the deed. Just ending it. Those thoughts would make me feel better. And I thought about it all of the time.

My darkness invaded my mind.

I didn’t realize people picked up on my past darkness until a little later my sister - whom I shared a room with at the time - told me she would be scared to go to sleep at night because she didn’t know if I would wake up the next day.

Like velcro, all of the words I spoke over myself stuck: “unloveable, ugly, failure, a mistake, NOT ENOUGH!”