DAY 30

*Trigger warning: This post includes adult themes such as eating disorders, assault, drugs, etc.

Anonymous | Re:Hope Church

From the Pit to the Promise: How Jesus Saved Me

I was just eleven when bulimia first wrapped its claws around me — the beginning of a long war against myself. By fourteen, my innocence was stolen. I found alcohol not long after and clung to it like a lifeline. The drinking grew heavier, drugs soon followed, and by nineteen, I was pregnant.

At twenty-one, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. The father of my child cheated and left. I broke down completely and handed my son over to him, believing he deserved the stability I couldn’t give.

But even then, I clung to being his mum from Thursday to Saturday, hiding behind bottles and bags the rest of the week. I cheated on my partner over and over. When he left, I shattered.

In 2022, I moved to Glasgow to study, thinking a new city could save me. Instead, I drowned deeper — daily cocaine, joints for breakfast, drinks until blackout. I sold my body to feed the chaos. Eventually, I was evicted. I ended up in hospital detox, then in a homeless hostel.

I relapsed fast and hard. More alcohol. More cocaine. Back to sex work. Then I fell in love — or so I thought. I left sex work and moved in with him. What followed was a using relationship full of abuse and addiction. He controlled me, bullied me, broke me. I began smoking crack cocaine. I was pregnant, psychotic, traumatised. One night I acted in self-defence and was charged with assault — while he walked free, despite years of abuse.

I had an abortion. I wept in hospital, hollow and haunted.

And still, somehow, by the mercy of God, I didn’t die.

In March 2025, I put the pipe down. A miracle. I was given a structured deferred sentence and a social worker through the women’s court. And slowly, I started to rise. I began engaging with her. I left the abusive flat. I stepped into my first NA meeting — scared, ashamed, and desperate.

And there, Jesus met me.

Not with wrath. Not with shame.

But with love.

I felt Him. I heard Him. I saw His people. I returned to church — the first time since I was a little girl. I wept in the pews. I felt His arms wrap around my shattered soul. I leaned into Him, and He held me.

I tried to carry the message to my abuser, hoping to save him too. But I paid in bruises. He beat me worse than ever. Still, I stayed clean — even when no one knew I was still in contact with him. But Jesus knew. And He stayed.

Eventually, by God’s grace, I told that man to leave me alone — forever. I chose Jesus. I chose life. I chose recovery.

Now I wake each day clean, free, and full of purpose.

I have a sponsor. I’m getting baptised. I’m rebuilding my relationship with my son and family. I attend a meeting every day. I hit the gym every morning. I do advocacy work for women in addiction, homelessness, and mental illness. And I thank the Lord Almighty for it all.

Because I didn’t save myself — Jesus did.

His grace reached into the deepest pit and pulled me into the light. He is restoring what was stolen. He is healing what was broken. He is redeeming every part of my story for His glory.

I am no longer ashamed. I am His. And I will spend my life helping others know they are never too far gone.

David Ireland | Re:Hope Southside

At church, every time I go up for prayer, something extraordinary happens. My leg shakes. And sometimes my whole body. 

Every time this happens, in the moment, it feels like God is working on me. And then a few days later I think “Nah, that wasn’t God. I made that happen.”  

Recently, it happened again. Two members of the prayer team laid their hands on me. And once again, my legs started shaking. 

“I’m doing this”, I thought. “This is not God”. 

And then I thought: “If you’re doing it, then stop yourself.” (Was that my thought? It didn’t sound like my inner voice.) 

In any case, I couldn’t stop shaking. The more I tried to stop it, the more I shook. 

So I went with it. I just surrendered. I accepted it was God. So why? Why does this happen? 

The week before, someone asked me how I could be certain of Jesus’s divinity? Why did I have such faith? 

I don’t like the word faith. I think it was Mark Twain who said “Faith is believing what you know ain’t so”. I don’t like to believe. I like to know. 

The person’s question got me thinking. How could I be certain any of this was real? 

So I prayed – for certainty, for confirmation. And I prayed “Spirit, come”. 

And perhaps that’s why my leg was shaking. God was making His presence known. He was reassuring me of His reality and His faithfulness. 

These words from Joshua 1:5 come to mind:

As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you. 

That’s what I believe. 

No, I don’t believe. 

I know. 

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Stand in this sort of ‘knowing’ faith today, and apply it to your most urgent prayer for breakthrough.