I married the first man who told me he loved me. Truthfully, I was young and naive, and things moved quickly.

My aunt and her husband arranged for me to be with him after I became pregnant. I was only 19, and he was 40. Looking back, I see now that I was far too young to understand what was happening.

My father left a lasting memory, making me repeat these words after him: “This brain is good!” while pointing at my head. He was a teacher, and my mother worked as the assistant postmaster in our small town. Sadly, they both lost their lives in a tragic car accident when I was just starting high school.

After their passing, I was sent to live with my aunt (my father’s older sister) and her husband. They had two children and held very strict beliefs, following misguided religious teachings. They came to believe I had inherited something dark from my mother’s side, which was completely untrue but caused me immense suffering.

During those years, I endured hurtful treatment and was isolated from my cousins. I was even pressured to make up stories to “confess” to things I hadn’t done. One story I invented was that I’d cast a spell to cause trouble in town—of course, none of it was real, but I had to play along to stop their harshness.

Despite everything, I finished high school with top grades. Later, I met the man I eventually married. He reminded me of my father, and I convinced myself I’d found a friend. I was very vulnerable and ended up in a marriage that was emotionally and mentally challenging.

My escape came when I found work as an assistant in a Catholic hospital. My job was my refuge; I loved helping children and easing the worries of struggling parents. My supervisor, a compassionate nun, saw potential in me and helped me pursue nursing school. My husband opposed this, but with the support of the church community, I was able to continue my studies.

After three years, I earned my diploma and was hired as a nurse at the same hospital. The sense of purpose I gained from my career helped me rebuild myself, even though I felt bound by my beliefs to stay in the marriage.

When my husband’s health declined, I cared for him until he passed away. At that point, I felt free to take my life in a new direction. I returned to school, earned a degree, and eventually became a certified nurse anesthetist. I started to feel empowered, discovering my own strength and worth.

In God’s time, I met a kind widower, another teacher, who became my second husband. For the first time, I felt truly loved, respected, and appreciated. I built a circle of wonderful friends and found joy in the confidence I had regained.

Years later, at a family gathering, my aunt and her children barely recognized me. My aunt looked at me, astonished, and asked, “What happened to you?”

And I replied, “God did!”

I had grown so much that people had to get to know me all over again.