Nowhere but Up (23 page)

As I sought healing from my sexual abuse, my counselors guided me down a winding road of challenges. It started with a decision. I had to first admit my victimization and second refuse to be a victim. Yes, I was abused; no, I’m not going to live the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself. Healing would never fully find its way into my heart without me giving up a victim mentality. This didn’t mean, however, I didn’t mourn my pain. I had to love myself enough to grieve what I needed to grieve. I had to value myself enough to sift through the emotional wounds but not stay there.

I also would never be emotionally whole without learning to forgive others and, most importantly, myself. When I recently read the diary I had written during my teen years, I cringed. Drinking and smoking this much on that night. Getting wasted at a family get-together. Calling my mom every name in the book. A myriad of emotions surfaced.

I shook my head in disbelief. I was ashamed and embarrassed of the person I once was, someone so different from who I am today. I dropped the book on the floor, not wanting to ever pick it back up. I was even tempted to burn it. To remove it from existence.

Suddenly, I remembered the words,
Those who are hardest to love need it the most
.

I love that statement. I say it all the time to remind myself to handle certain people with care. I say it to my parents. I say it to my friends. I say it to Justin. Now I couldn’t get the saying out of my mind. Then the thought came to me,
You apply this statement to everyone in your life, so why can’t you accept it for yourself? Why can’t you love you?
The truth was shocking. It wasn’t the adult Pattie I didn’t love. It was the teenage Pattie. I couldn’t stand the hardened, rebellious, defiant teenager I used to be.

Days later, I revisited my thoughts with a counselor. I was finally able to sift through the discomfort. Faced head-on with the question and working through it with someone I trusted, I had an awakening. I started releasing the hatred I had for myself as a teenager, for the terrible decisions I had made, for the stupid things I had said and done.

I started to remember how my previous therapists had tried to get me to look in a mirror and say, “I love you.” It was almost impossible. I tried it once or twice, but I hated it. It made me feel weird, strange. Even like an imposter. But if I don’t love myself, how can I love others? And if I can’t receive love, how can I give love? All the commandments can be summed up into two: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind,” and “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” (see Matt. 22:36–40). I can’t love others if I don’t love myself, so I’m learning how to love myself.

I wasn’t the only person I needed to forgive. There were a lot of people in my life to whom I needed to extend the same grace—my dad, my mom, my abusers, Jeremy. Sometimes it felt never-ending. As I continued the healing process, I started realizing that forgiveness is not a one-shot deal. Simply saying “I forgive you” doesn’t take away the pain, the hurt, or the injustice that was done. I had to continually live from a place of forgiving. Sometimes daily, sometimes even hourly.

There were times it seemed impossible. During my moments of struggle, I had to ask God for help. I figured if He was willing to send His only Son to die on a cross so I could be forgiven, surely He would be willing to help me forgive others. Though it didn’t always happen instantaneously, I’ve found myself able to forgive through His grace alone. (I’ve also prayed for help when I needed to love others or be patient but didn’t have the tools to do so.)

I love the saying, “Unforgiveness is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” The fact was, if I didn’t reach out and forgive, I’d be the one ultimately hurt. I would be held hostage by bitterness. My unforgiveness could even extend outward; it could affect me not just emotionally but in many areas such as my relationships or even physical health. Several medical studies have linked unforgiveness with sickness, disease, and depression.

One definition of forgiving is letting go of your right to get even. It doesn’t mean the injustice was okay. While I didn’t have a choice in how I was hurt or broken, I had a choice to forgive. I had a choice to let the pain define me or to heal from its wounds. I made the choice to heal. I made the choice to move on without those wounds crippling my journey. I made the choice to live. To
really
live. It has not been easy, but it has been worth it.

As I continue to focus on becoming emotionally whole, I’m excited to see what’s in store. This certainly isn’t the end of my story. It’s only the beginning.

There’s more to me than just being the mother of Justin Bieber. For the last eighteen years, I have dedicated my heart and soul to raising my son the best way I know how. Writing this book not only has been healing but is the first step into a new chapter of my life. I’m launching into my own destiny. A part of that means defining myself apart from my son as he transitions to adulthood (I’m sure any mom can relate). It also means further defining and expanding my purpose and my mission in life.

The amazing platform God has given my son has also opened doors for me to share my story, just like I did with the women at the Dream Center. I recently had the opportunity to visit the Bethesda Centre and talk to the girls there.

Though much of the building had been renovated and the rooms were rearranged, I felt a rush of memories. I could imagine myself as a scared teenager, trying to sort through a million questions and tame a flurry of overpowering emotions. Though I was the mom of an almost (at the time) eighteen-year-old son, I felt the anxiety of being pregnant as if it were yesterday. I felt the worry. The wonder. The pain.

As some of the staff showed me around the facility, we made a pit stop at a classroom where six girls who were either pregnant or new teen moms sat around a table. I smiled at their sweet faces. They looked so young and some of them so tired. I knew exactly what they must have been feeling in that moment—whether they were scared of the impending pain of giving birth, exhausted from lack of sleep from taking care of a newborn, or wondering what would happen to them after their time at Bethesda was over and they had to create a new life on their own.

The girls talked loudly and giggled nonstop, bombarding me with all kinds of questions about (who else?) Justin, like if he still had a girlfriend and what it’s like being the mom of a famous pop star. It wasn’t long, however, before their cute probing became more serious. The silly questions turned into honest statements that unmasked emotions and exposed insecurities.

I noticed one of the especially feisty girls had grown unusually quiet. Then she lowered her head and timidly lifted up her hand. I nodded toward her and she began to speak, tears cascading down her face.

“I feel like I have nothing to offer my baby,” she sobbed. My heart broke as she continued to cry. I walked over to her and gave her a hug, holding her close for a few minutes. The other girls at the table nodded knowingly, brushing away compassionate tears from their own eyes. I imagine very few teen moms don’t feel like they fall short.

I encouraged this precious girl with a heart of empathy. “I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer either,” I admitted. “I was young when I had Justin, and I had been through a lot of sexual abuse and hard stuff. It’s part of the reason I’m here. I know how tough it is. I know exactly how you feel.”

I looked her in the eye and continued. “What do you have to offer? Love. Love is so powerful. And you have yourself to offer. It’s more than enough. If you take care of yourself, your life, and your heart, you can offer so much! Look at the kids who are born in third world countries. Their parents don’t have much to give them except themselves and their hearts. And those children are some of the happiest in the world! Trust me, you have plenty to offer your baby.”

I felt humbled by this girl’s honesty and honored that I could share with her my experiences, my insecurities, and my doubts and show her through my life that she could be a good mother to her baby, no matter how old she was.

I will always have a special place in my heart for teen mothers. But it’s not just teen moms who struggle or need to find hope. Whether you’re a single mom, an addict, or a victim of abuse . . . whether you’re on the verge of bankruptcy or the brink of divorce . . . whether you’re in a dysfunctional family or the product of a broken home . . . whether you battle depression or struggle with anxiety . . . whether you live in fear or hide in shame . . . whether you’ve been abandoned, rejected, or ignored—there is hope.

It doesn’t matter where you find yourself today—how broken, hurting, wounded, or ashamed you are. If God can help me find my way up, I promise, He can do the same for you.