‘My childhood was full of violence and rejection. But God healed my broken heart’

My childhood was full of trauma. I was sexually abused by a babysitter’s twelve-year-old son between the ages of four and six. I witnessed my father beating my mother on numerous occasions. Once he threw boiling water over her, missing her face but permanently scarring her arm. This left me absolutely petrified of him.

My father hated me intensely. I remember one occasion, around the age of six, when he took me into the kitchen, locked the door behind us and made me strip naked. He folded my clothes neatly and placed them on a chair before beating me with a leather strap. I was told that any tears would only make things worse. From that moment, I learned to keep my emotions buried. Holding everything inside became an automatic response to life’s difficulties.

Seeking refuge

School became my refuge, and I threw myself into my studies. My headteacher suggested that I could attend a highly competitive grammar school in central London. I passed the entry exams and was offered a place. There, I discovered a love for singing. A music teacher noticed my voice and encouraged me to audition for a cathedral choir. I was accepted and choir practice became a sanctuary, a chance to escape home.

Then I experienced the trauma of racism. I noticed that the boys the choir director was asking me to mentor were being promoted above me, while I remained a junior chorister. One of my white friends in the choir encouraged me to make a complaint with his support. I did and was told that if I did not like it, I knew what to do. My ejection from the choir, after trying to stand up for myself as a young boy, would taint my view of Christians and church for many years to come.

At home, my life continued to deteriorate. At the age of 13, my father suggested I should commit suicide because nobody wanted me. I felt so broken and utterly rejected by his angry words that I decided I would kill myself.

Away from everyone, I cried so bitterly. Depression became a dark cloud that would hang over me for many years to come.

When I was 15, my father emigrated to America, and it was 15 years before I saw him again. The day he left was one of the happiest of my life. With his absence came freedom to be myself. The trouble was, I didn’t know who that was.

Invited to life

When a family member who had become a born-again Christian began inviting me to visit a Christian house group, I wasn’t interested at all. As far as I was concerned, it was full of fakes, and their priests were paedophiles. 

Eventually, however, I agreed to go. That night, I felt the presence of God, and all I knew was that I wanted more. I started attending church on Sundays. At church, I answered the altar call and, within minutes, I was filled with the power of the Holy Spirit. That same day, I was baptised by full immersion in water.

My conversion didn’t bring instant healing from the trauma of my formative years. Soon after, memories of my childhood sexual abuse began flooding back, tormenting me at night. I reached breaking point, sobbing uncontrollably for hours, unable to articulate the pain I was experiencing. 

I learned that forgiveness is not excusing the offender, it is choosing freedom for myself

My new pastor did his best to support me when I shared my trauma with him, but he was out of his depth and encouraged me to get outside support. Eventually, I found some Christian counselling. When I sat down in that first session, I spoke for two and a half hours without stopping. It was God releasing years of pain I had buried and tears that I was forbidden to cry as a child.

Breaking the chains

Not long into that journey, I was confronted by the need to forgive my father and abusers. At first, I resisted. I thought forgiving them meant saying what they did was acceptable. But what forgiveness did for me was break the chains of anger and bitterness that were poisoning my soul. Sometimes it felt impossible, but I learned that forgiveness is not excusing the offender, it is choosing freedom for myself. Carrying that weight was crushing, and Jesus never meant for any of us to live under it.

As I began to share my testimony in churches, men would approach me afterwards, admitting that similar things had happened to them. For some, it was the very first time they had ever told another person. I began to see how desperately people needed a safe place to open up. Survivors of trauma and abuse need the Church to be steady, compassionate and unshockable – just like Jesus is with us.

My wife and I now provide counselling and often our work feels like peeling an onion layer by layer – gently helping people uncover where they have wrongly laid blame at God’s feet. Healing comes when they see His heart rightly: not as the cause of their pain, but as the One who longs to redeem it. 

This is the wonder of the gospel – God can take even the messiest consequences of human sin and bring beauty out of ashes. God didn’t cause the painful chapters of my life. But He has woven them into my calling, allowing me to sit with others in their pain and say with full assurance: You are not alone. There is hope in Christ.