By the time I was in middle school, I had six different types of pets: a hamster, a rat, a gecko, a bunny, a cat, and a dog. (I desperately wanted a turtle, but my mom said no.) Each time I considered a new species, I remember thinking to myself, This animal is going to complete me. And each time, I was wrong.
At the same time, when I gained access to the internet, I learned about different styles of dress and the identities associated with them. I fell in love with the “goth” and “emo” subcultures and the rebellion inherent in the black eyeliner and teased-out hair, so I started to identify with them. I dyed my hair bright pink, then blue, and wore knee-high black Converse and Doc Martens.
As with my animals, I believed that—this time—I’d found what I was looking for: something I could hold on to that would make me feel fully like myself.
Discovering Myself
While I eventually moved on from that style, I remained immersed in the internet. I found Tumblr, which filled my iPhone with photos of impossibly skinny girls; posts about how to starve yourself to become skinnier; and content promoting sex, drugs, and alcohol.
At the same time, I saw magazines in grocery-store checkout lines that told me my value was in my appearance. I watched shows like Skins and Gossip Girl that made drunken hook-ups and rebellion seem fun, glamorous, and necessary. This was what I needed to become, then, to find the good life: promiscuous, skinny, and drunk.
I believed that—this time—I’d found what I was looking for: something I could hold on to that would make me feel fully like myself.
So, by age 17, I’d already tried cocaine and even overdosed. I’d been drinking socially for a few years, smoked weed on and off, and threw myself into hook-up culture. I believed that this young, wild, and free life was not only empowering but also the best way to become who I was meant to be. At the same time, I had a gnawing sense that casual sex left me feeling lonelier.
I left my hometown for college in Madrid, believing a new place would teach me who I was. I soon became deeply lonely and afraid to make friends. I started drinking alone, and I convinced myself this was a cool and sexy thing to do, because the media I grew up consuming told me it could be.
In the beginning of my sophomore year, I was alone in my apartment and clicked on a YouTube video from a childhood beauty vlogger I loved. She was sharing the story of her struggle with anorexia, which I decided to watch because when you starve yourself, hearing others talking about their eating disorder is good motivation to starve yourself more. Instead, she shared that she cried out to Jesus and he saved her life.
I remember shutting my laptop and breaking into tears. I resolved to try church and started attending the next Sunday. For two months, I loved going. I believed I could find my new and perfect identity as a Christian. However, I had a boyfriend at the time who believed following Jesus was a bad idea, and people close to me thought Christianity was weird at best and deeply harmful at worst. More than that, I realized that becoming a Christian meant I’d need to give up so many things I’d built my life around, and I didn’t want to.
So I stopped going to church. But before I stopped, I attended one service where the pastor said to go home and pray, “God, show me how much I need you.” I did this and thought nothing of it.
End of Myself
A few years later, I decided that the reason my sexual relationships with men ultimately didn’t fulfill me must be because I was a lesbian. I dated women for a time and dove deep into what I thought a lesbian identity should look like: I cut off all my hair, wore baggy clothes, and covered myself in tattoos.
But after the initial excitement wore off, I was just as empty. My drinking had been steadily increasing over the years, and I felt miserable and out of control. After an especially long night of drinking and using cocaine, I found myself coming down the next day, feeling truly suicidal, and realized something desperately needed to change.
I started going to Alcoholics Anonymous and tried to find myself anew in the 12 Steps, but I couldn’t figure out the whole “higher power” thing. I tried yoga, crystals, and running. I saged my room and read my tarot cards and learned all I could about astrology. I thought I could smoke more weed and use mushrooms to figure out what was wrong in my life.
All these things made me feel better, but only for a time. I could be a yogi, but if I didn’t practice every day, I was full of anxiety. Weed calmed me down, but I suddenly couldn’t eat unless I was high. I could track full moons and read my horoscope, but when it seemed inaccurate, I was untethered. I started going to therapy and taking an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. I got a job I loved and kept trying to stop drinking.
I was still miserable.
Finding Myself in Jesus
It was time to consider Jesus again. I started reading books and listening to podcasts, because I knew that I needed to be absolutely certain that Christianity is true if I was going to pursue it this time.
After months of learning, I could no longer deny the reality that Jesus is the Son of God who took on humanity, lived a perfect life, and died a brutal death that I deserved to save me from it. I knew Jesus rose from the dead and reigns in heaven today. And I knew I had two options: ignore this and reject the God of all the universe, or find my new and final identity in Christ.
I knew I had two options: ignore the truth and reject the God of all the universe, or find my new and final identity in Christ.
I worried that people close to me would again find this newfound belief silly or offensive. I knew it would seem like I’d just entered another phase that I’d soon leave behind. I knew saying yes to Jesus meant saying no to the life I’d pursued for so long. But the offer of finally being made alive in Jesus was too good to pass up, and I was desperate for him like being desperate for air at the bottom of the ocean.
So, almost three years ago, I said yes to Jesus. By the power of the Holy Spirit, I’ve been sober now for nearly the same amount of time. And while I’ve certainly been challenged by people I love, I’ve also been deeply supported.
Soon into my journey of becoming a Christian, I recalled the pastor’s urging to ask God to show us our need for him. I looked back on the four years between that prayer and finally being hidden in Christ and realized that in his kindness, the Lord was showing me how desperately I needed him the whole time. I hadn’t chosen the wrong pet or hairstyle or gender to date. Instead, I was dead, trying to become alive apart from my Maker.
If your story is anything like mine, there’s hope greater than your wildest dreams. If your story is nothing like mine, the same is still true. My need for Jesus was tangible and obvious. Yours might not be.
Perhaps you’ve never even seen a recreational drug in real life and promiscuity never seemed interesting. Maybe you’ve never felt like you needed an identity to cling to. I’m grateful for that, and yet I’ll still urge you to accept that we both need Jesus. Let him save you from the domain of darkness and welcome you into his kingdom of light (Col. 1:13). It’s much better over here.
The Gospel Coalition