"Hello, my name is Joanna Hope Beresford."
Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee. I want to tell you a story.
It's my story.
But, it really isn't mine. It belongs to a the hero who saved my life. That's who I'd like to dedicate it to, anyways. After all, every good story is dedicated to someone, right?
Let's begin.
I was a very good girl.
If you asked me who I was, I would have rattled off some titles and identifying factors:
Preacher's daughter; homeschooled; sold-out Christian; theater enthusiast; writer; singer; speaker; horse-crazy country girl; the loyal best friend to many; my mother's sweet girl, my daddy's straight-A student; full of potential; full of joy.
I may have been many things, but above all, I was a very good girl.
Cool story, Jo.
...
My knees hit the cold cement. I looked up and the stars mocked me. The awe and wonder of their beauty no longer stirred me. My mind swarmed with thoughts darker than the January night. I was numb, but it wasn't the winter air.
...
The story that my performance told was a lie. The truth? I was not a good girl. And it plagued me.
There were deep wounds inside my heart from childhood trauma that I had buried.
Real emotions that I had drowned in the name of godliness.
Passionate self hatred and shame.
I'm not sure when, but at some point I went into hiding. I hid the real Joanna behind the Joanna that I wished I was.
This is my story:
The lies and pretending go back into early childhood.
The sexual addiction was confined to junior high.
The eating disorder took control in high school.
Anorexia appealed to me. Bulimia disgusted me.
First one and then the other, I became a slave to both.
Self harm became my release. The temporary escape.
The lies continued. False fronts. Intentional deception.
The darkness was my friend.
Finally, obsessed with death, I sought my own.
3 years ago my life spiraled out of control and into a nightmare I never dreamt possible.
I applied for a 6 month women's residential treatment program as a result of an ultimatum from those who loved me most. Something had to change.
I was accepted into the program and became a resident of Mercy Multiplied in Lincoln, CA on June 25th, 2014. In my pride, I thought I would be in and out in 5 months. In my hopelessness I was convinced it would fail me and upon returning home, I would commit suicide.
I was wrong on both accounts.
For one thing, this "6 month program" turned into 14 months as I fought to maintain my control.
I walked through the doors of Mercy with a fantastic attitude. I was unmotivated, unwilling, unfeeling, and silently furious. I fought the help extended to me. I refused to change. I broke the rules just because I wanted to. Much of my time there was caught in a familiar cycle of success to failure and hopefulness to despair.
One by one my destructive behaviors were addressed, but more terrifying than that, the roots that ran deep into my heart were exposed.
Pain.
So much pain.
Ugly.
So much ugly.
For the first time, the real Joanna Hope Beresford stepped forward.
(And for the record, I didn't like what I saw.)
My healing and freedom journey during my time in CA was m-e-s-s-y.
At one point when I got honest about the ugly, it devastated me and fear took control. I plunged back into my suicidal mentality, and was taken to the emergency room by the staff at Mercy. I ended up being involuntarily admitted to the county psychiatric hospital and diagnosed with severe clinical depression. After the week long "vacation" in the hospital, I returned to Mercy and resumed the program.
(Another for the record: Becoming a patient in a mental institution wasn't on my bucket list as a "good girl" growing up. Nope. Pretty sure not.)
By my own profession, I had been obsessed with Jesus.
But, to be honest with you, I wasn't obsessed with Jesus. I was obsessed with my misconception of who He was and my own ability to impress Him with my good behavior.
When the real me stepped forward, I had an encounter with the real Jesus. Funny, it happened when I was stripped of everything that I believed qualified me to know Him.
While "Messy" does seem like an accurate description of my time in treatment, it doesn't capture the entirety of my story. So, "Redeemed" is the word I've chosen.
Can't take credit for that one.
I discovered that I am loved passionately and jealously by someone who calls me precious. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear while I sat in an unkept corner room of a psychiatric ward. He consistently called me beautiful on the days my face lit up with joy, and on the days my face was swollen from crying. I uttered my deepest secrets in counseling and fell into the loving arms of mercy and grace. Nothing I said or did could shake the truth of my Redeemer's love.
I am happy to say that I did complete the program, and found myself up front for a graduation ceremony on August 26th, 2015. I walked out the doors of Mercy, not with the intention of ending my life (like I had previously predicted), but with every intention of living it to the fullest.
A little less than 6 months ago, I left California stomping my feet in victory and filled to overflowing with a hope I never imagined possible.
Now, I'm trying to figure out how to live life outside the safe walls where I first tasted freedom. Messy is still one of my favorite adjectives.
These months of transition have been, and continue to be difficult and painful. I have fallen flat on my face more times than I want to admit. This week. My journey of healing from past trauma and the internal consequences of addiction continues. The counseling that began at the Mercy home is now relocated to the lovely and rainy state of Oregon.
And God is still good.
I am falling deeper in love with my hero, Jesus. I am being pursued and won back again and again by His tenderness as He relentlessly restores me.
I'm discovering new levels of freedom, and yes, new levels of my own brokenness. I'm trying to accept the reality that I am not perfect-on a daily basis! I'm trying to push past the fear that screams "you'll never make it!" I'm trying to trust my God and choose to believe that He is a good father.
I am terribly human, just like you.
Here's the deal,
My story is nothing special.
It's special to me. And it's special to Jesus, cause He freaking loves me like nobody's business. But in the grand scheme of things, it's not all that grand. I haven't been through the best or the worst circumstances. All I know, is that when it was just my story, it was a story of darkness, death, deception, and despair. Now, I dedicate it to Him, because it's only when I let Him take it from my hands that it became beautiful.
I know that you have a story too.
And while I will never know the depths of your story, (the pain, the shame, the mistakes, the victories), anymore than I can get you to understand what has happened in my heart, I do know that He knows your story.
I share my story because I want you to know what He has done for me. I want you to know who He is. I want you to know what He's done for me because it's incredible! Because He is incredible!
I am not who I was.
I am no longer Joanna, the good girl.
I am no longer Joanna, the performer.
I am no longer Joanna, the victim.
I am no longer Joanna, the liar.
I am no longer Joanna, the eating disordered.
I am no longer Joanna, the depressed.
I am no longer Joanna, the cutter.
I am no longer Joanna, the suicidal.
I am no longer Joanna, the bound.
I am not what I have done and I am not what has been done to me.
I am loved.
I am chosen.
I am treasured.
I am free.
I am restored.
I am whole.
I am healed.
I am pure.
I am redeemed.
I am His.
My life is now His story.
Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee. I want to tell you a story.
It's my story.
But, it really isn't mine. It belongs to a the hero who saved my life. That's who I'd like to dedicate it to, anyways. After all, every good story is dedicated to someone, right?
Let's begin.
I was a very good girl.
If you asked me who I was, I would have rattled off some titles and identifying factors:
Preacher's daughter; homeschooled; sold-out Christian; theater enthusiast; writer; singer; speaker; horse-crazy country girl; the loyal best friend to many; my mother's sweet girl, my daddy's straight-A student; full of potential; full of joy.
I'm going to make such an impact in the world for Jesus.
I may have been many things, but above all, I was a very good girl.
Cool story, Jo.
...
My knees hit the cold cement. I looked up and the stars mocked me. The awe and wonder of their beauty no longer stirred me. My mind swarmed with thoughts darker than the January night. I was numb, but it wasn't the winter air.
"God, why won't you just let me die?"
...
The story that my performance told was a lie. The truth? I was not a good girl. And it plagued me.
There were deep wounds inside my heart from childhood trauma that I had buried.
Real emotions that I had drowned in the name of godliness.
Passionate self hatred and shame.
I'm not sure when, but at some point I went into hiding. I hid the real Joanna behind the Joanna that I wished I was.
This is my story:
The lies and pretending go back into early childhood.
The sexual addiction was confined to junior high.
The eating disorder took control in high school.
Anorexia appealed to me. Bulimia disgusted me.
First one and then the other, I became a slave to both.
Self harm became my release. The temporary escape.
The lies continued. False fronts. Intentional deception.
The darkness was my friend.
Finally, obsessed with death, I sought my own.
3 years ago my life spiraled out of control and into a nightmare I never dreamt possible.
I applied for a 6 month women's residential treatment program as a result of an ultimatum from those who loved me most. Something had to change.
I was accepted into the program and became a resident of Mercy Multiplied in Lincoln, CA on June 25th, 2014. In my pride, I thought I would be in and out in 5 months. In my hopelessness I was convinced it would fail me and upon returning home, I would commit suicide.
I was wrong on both accounts.
For one thing, this "6 month program" turned into 14 months as I fought to maintain my control.
I walked through the doors of Mercy with a fantastic attitude. I was unmotivated, unwilling, unfeeling, and silently furious. I fought the help extended to me. I refused to change. I broke the rules just because I wanted to. Much of my time there was caught in a familiar cycle of success to failure and hopefulness to despair.
One by one my destructive behaviors were addressed, but more terrifying than that, the roots that ran deep into my heart were exposed.
Pain.
So much pain.
Ugly.
So much ugly.
For the first time, the real Joanna Hope Beresford stepped forward.
(And for the record, I didn't like what I saw.)
My healing and freedom journey during my time in CA was m-e-s-s-y.
At one point when I got honest about the ugly, it devastated me and fear took control. I plunged back into my suicidal mentality, and was taken to the emergency room by the staff at Mercy. I ended up being involuntarily admitted to the county psychiatric hospital and diagnosed with severe clinical depression. After the week long "vacation" in the hospital, I returned to Mercy and resumed the program.
(Another for the record: Becoming a patient in a mental institution wasn't on my bucket list as a "good girl" growing up. Nope. Pretty sure not.)
By my own profession, I had been obsessed with Jesus.
But, to be honest with you, I wasn't obsessed with Jesus. I was obsessed with my misconception of who He was and my own ability to impress Him with my good behavior.
When the real me stepped forward, I had an encounter with the real Jesus. Funny, it happened when I was stripped of everything that I believed qualified me to know Him.
While "Messy" does seem like an accurate description of my time in treatment, it doesn't capture the entirety of my story. So, "Redeemed" is the word I've chosen.
Can't take credit for that one.
I discovered that I am loved passionately and jealously by someone who calls me precious. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear while I sat in an unkept corner room of a psychiatric ward. He consistently called me beautiful on the days my face lit up with joy, and on the days my face was swollen from crying. I uttered my deepest secrets in counseling and fell into the loving arms of mercy and grace. Nothing I said or did could shake the truth of my Redeemer's love.
I am happy to say that I did complete the program, and found myself up front for a graduation ceremony on August 26th, 2015. I walked out the doors of Mercy, not with the intention of ending my life (like I had previously predicted), but with every intention of living it to the fullest.
A little less than 6 months ago, I left California stomping my feet in victory and filled to overflowing with a hope I never imagined possible.
Now, I'm trying to figure out how to live life outside the safe walls where I first tasted freedom. Messy is still one of my favorite adjectives.
These months of transition have been, and continue to be difficult and painful. I have fallen flat on my face more times than I want to admit. This week. My journey of healing from past trauma and the internal consequences of addiction continues. The counseling that began at the Mercy home is now relocated to the lovely and rainy state of Oregon.
And God is still good.
I am falling deeper in love with my hero, Jesus. I am being pursued and won back again and again by His tenderness as He relentlessly restores me.
I'm discovering new levels of freedom, and yes, new levels of my own brokenness. I'm trying to accept the reality that I am not perfect-on a daily basis! I'm trying to push past the fear that screams "you'll never make it!" I'm trying to trust my God and choose to believe that He is a good father.
I am terribly human, just like you.
Here's the deal,
My story is nothing special.
It's special to me. And it's special to Jesus, cause He freaking loves me like nobody's business. But in the grand scheme of things, it's not all that grand. I haven't been through the best or the worst circumstances. All I know, is that when it was just my story, it was a story of darkness, death, deception, and despair. Now, I dedicate it to Him, because it's only when I let Him take it from my hands that it became beautiful.
I know that you have a story too.
And while I will never know the depths of your story, (the pain, the shame, the mistakes, the victories), anymore than I can get you to understand what has happened in my heart, I do know that He knows your story.
I share my story because I want you to know what He has done for me. I want you to know who He is. I want you to know what He's done for me because it's incredible! Because He is incredible!
I am not who I was.
I am no longer Joanna, the good girl.
I am no longer Joanna, the performer.
I am no longer Joanna, the victim.
I am no longer Joanna, the liar.
I am no longer Joanna, the eating disordered.
I am no longer Joanna, the depressed.
I am no longer Joanna, the cutter.
I am no longer Joanna, the suicidal.
I am no longer Joanna, the bound.
I am not what I have done and I am not what has been done to me.
I am loved.
I am chosen.
I am treasured.
I am free.
I am restored.
I am whole.
I am healed.
I am pure.
I am redeemed.
I am His.
My life is now His story.
So, let my story end here.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”
2 Corinthians 5:17
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.”
Ephesians 1:7-10
“For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.”
Romans 8:14-17
“He sent from on high, he took me; he drew me out of many waters. He rescued me from my strong enemy and from those who hated me, for they were too mighty for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in me.”
Psalm 18:16-19
“But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life. To the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.”
1 Timothy 1:16-17
