I Woke Up!

By Sharon Adebisi

I was raised to believe that sadness was a sin and that depression meant I didn’t trust God enough.  I thought that anxiety was just a demon to cast out.

So I performed. I worshipped hard.  I worked harder.

But inside, I was dying, singing over the screams in my soul. If I earned enough holy points, the ache would leave.  But trauma doesn’t disappear under praise songs. Addiction doesn’t bow just because you volunteer more. I was a ticking time bomb with a choir robe on.

Then tragedy hit. And I scared myself— to get out of bed felt like a spiritual battle.

I envied those who gave up. I wanted to be brave enough to quit life. I mixed theology with my negative headspace, whispering prayers like, “I just wanna start over….”

But something stirred. A voice—not loud, but clear.

Your inner saboteur is winning.

Wake up! So, I told God to please help me, and searched for help!

So I reached out. I found help. And it was like a warm blanket on a cold night, a soothing balm on a wound.

Real help.

My church in Decatur didn’t hand me a scripture. They handed me support: Therapy.  Twice a week. Referrals. Accountability. Grace. They showed me that faith and mental health support can go hand in hand, and that seeking help is not a sign of weakness, but a step towards healing.

I went to this place called The Healing Collective in Huntsville to be officially diagnosed.  It took 10 hours but produced sixteen pages of truth. A diagnosis that didn’t define me, but explained me and how I operated.

I saw psychiatrists. I saw therapists. Four services deep, and finally…I saw myself. Through therapy, I was able to peel back the layers of trauma and understand the root causes of my struggles. It was a journey of self-discovery and acceptance.

I stopped drowning in shame. I stopped feeding pain with food. Tipping the scale at 367 pounds,

I chose surgery. I decided to heal. It was a decision that put me back in the driver’s seat of my life. Seven months of preparation, then one moment of surrender.

Now? Still healing. Still growing. But lighter in every way.

I replaced addiction with writing. Shadow work became my sunrise.

And now I know: Joy isn’t a reward in heaven. It’s a weapon here.  

Healing doesn’t look holy—but it’s sacred.

And no, mental health can’t be prayed away.  But healing? Oh yes, that’s divine too! So, if you’re reading this, this is your invitation.  Walk into the sacred—here, on earth. Not just in the sweet by and by. But in your body.  In your mind.  In your soul. Accept the process. Do the work. Let the Creator meet you in the middle of the mess. And know this:  It will be ugly. Messy. Vulnerable.  It will feel like it’s taking forever. But it's all part of the journey, and it's okay.After the devastation, you will flourish!