A Gentle Truth: Hardship Is a Teacher, Not a Life Sentence

Warm & Inviting

My name is Zariah Shields, a songwriter and woman of faith who has walked through hardship and emerged with purpose. Through life challenges and spiritual growth, I learned that trauma, fear, and silence do not have the final word. Instead, they can become the foundation for healing, wisdom, and transformation.

Over time, my journey of overcoming fear through faith shaped both my voice and my calling. As a result, I now inspire others to face childhood trauma, break free from shame, and share their stories with confidence. By speaking truth and choosing vulnerability, healing from emotional wounds becomes possible.

Because of this calling, I am building Rise Up In Faith, a counseling community center created for those navigating silent suffering and seeking spiritual healing. At its core, this space stands on the belief that hardship grows wisdom, faith strengthens resilience, and pain—when met with God’s love—can transform identity, restore self-worth, and lead to lasting growth.

The Quiet Lie Shame Tells

Shame is more than embarrassment; it is the belief that something is fundamentally wrong with you. At its core, it demands silence and teaches you to hide parts of yourself for survival. Over time, it convinces you that if people truly knew your story, they would walk away. Slowly, it ties your past to your worth, making old wounds feel like permanent labels. What many don’t realize is that shame rarely begins as a choice—it is often born as a response to pain.

A Light in the Darkness

Psalms 3:1-8

O Lord, I have so many enemies; so many are against me. So many are saying, “God will never rescue him!” But you, O Lord, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high. I cried out to the Lord, and he answered me from his holy mountain. I lay down and slept, yet I woke up in safety, for the Lord was watching over me. I am not afraid of ten thousand enemies who surround me on every side. Arise, O Lord! Rescue me, my God! Slap all my enemies in the face! Shatter the teeth of the wicked! Victory comes from you, O Lord. May you bless your people.

PRAYER

Heavenly Father, I just want to say thank you so much for the opportunity and strength to be able to share this with the world. I have been through so much Lord and every time I thought I was going to fall apart because of a temporary season you gave me every reason to keep going by faith. Your wisdom is Truth, your love is true light, and your guidance has taught me to trust in your path no matter what life may bring and most importantly show love and compassion towards others. I believe Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and I will forever worship and praise the Lord as long as I'm living here on earth. May no weapon formed against me will ever stop me from going where I'm meant to go and the people Lord you kindly place to be connected in this community. Lord I pray my story reaches someone who needs to know that they are not alone and they are loved by You. In Jesus Mighty Name Amen!

A Childhood That Left a Mark

When I was eight years old, I was exposed to sex in a way no child ever should be. At the time, I didn’t have the language to understand what was happening—or the protection to stop it. What I did learn was silence. I learned to disconnect from my body. I learned to carry confusion alone. I learned to believe that something about me made this possible. That moment didn’t stay in childhood. It followed me.

How Trauma Spoke in My Adult Life

As I grew older, the trauma no longer lived in my memories; instead, it surfaced as fear. It showed up as a fear of rejection, then deepened into a fear of being exposed. Soon after, I worried that people would talk about me if they truly knew my story. Because of this, trusting love felt difficult. Even more, feeling safe in relationships seemed almost impossible. At the same time, an exhausting belief took root—I felt “too much” while also feeling “not enough.” This is how trauma works. It doesn’t always scream for attention. Instead, it whispers. Over time, it quietly reshapes how you see yourself, how you relate to others, and how you move through the world.

What I Carried Didn't Stay In Childhood

For a long time, I didn’t have words for what happened when I was young. I only knew the confusion it left behind. I was manipulated by cousins—people I trusted—into believing certain actions were okay. As a child, I didn’t understand boundaries or consent. Only later did I realize it was abuse, and the shame I carried was never mine to hold. But God showed me the truth—not to condemn me, but to free me. I share this not for pity, but for truth. For anyone who has ever carried shame that wasn’t theirs. For anyone who didn’t realize until later that what happened to them crossed a line. You are not weak for taking time to understand. You are not guilty for surviving. And you are not alone. This is part of my story—but it does not define me. Healing is ongoing, and grace meets me every step of the way.

Carrying Shame Into The Classroom

Life didn’t pause just because I was hurting. Every day I walked into school carrying a story I didn’t know how to tell. Kids surrounded me with questions, repeating rumors, throwing around names no child should ever have to hear. Each one lodged itself deeper into my chest. Regret followed close behind. Fear pushed me to deny everything, so I said, “No, I didn’t do anything.” I hoped the lies would protect me, but instead they made things worse. The bashing spread. The voices grew louder. Shame settled in next, heavy and suffocating. Hate started to grow, and fear slipped through the smallest cracks. Because I didn’t yet know who I was, I let their words tell me. Slowly, I turned their insults into my identity and began to believe them. Speaking up felt out of reach. Silence became my shield, even as it shattered me from the inside. I carried the pain alone, hating that I couldn’t find the words for what was breaking me—or the courage to let anyone see it.

When Silence Turned Me Into an Easy Target

Not knowing how to say no made me vulnerable. Because of that, people-pleasing quickly took over. Whenever someone asked me to do something, I agreed—not because I wanted to, but because I feared they would talk about me or abandon me. Even so, those people were never truly my friends. I simply wanted the whispers to stop. At school, I pretended nothing happened. With a forced smile on my face, I kept walking the halls while noticing the looks people gave me—judgmental, curious, unkind. Still, I didn’t stop. I just kept moving, hoping invisibility would protect me. Meanwhile, dread followed me into the classroom. Having to share space with the boys who manipulated me filled me with hate and fear all at once. Every part of me wanted to disappear, to shrink, to hide. However, there was no escape. I had to show up, even when being seen felt unbearable. Over time, survival became performance. Fear shaped my choices, silence became my defense, and people-pleasing replaced my voice. Yet underneath it all, I wasn’t weak—I was coping the only way I knew how.

Faith Heals Childhood Trauma

Healing childhood trauma through faith allowed me to separate who I am from what I experienced. Over time, faith replaced fear, truth dismantled shame, and trust in God began restoring my sense of self and worth.

Where Truth Meets Healing

Healing childhood trauma through faith does not happen overnight; however, every honest step forward matters. As you choose prayer, speak truth, and allow vulnerability, real transformation begins to unfold. Over time, healing childhood trauma through faith weakens fear’s grip and rebuilds identity on truth, not trauma. Through God’s guidance, what once caused pain becomes the very ground where faith and freedom take root. Healing childhood trauma through faith often starts with difficult questions—especially when we look back and ask where the adults were when innocence slipped away.

God's Healing Begins With Honest Surrender and Faith

When Love and Harm Exist in the Same Story

During my early years, my siblings and I lived with my grandmother. There were four of us. At the time, my mother had a lot happening at home, as I mentioned at the beginning of this blog, so my brother and I stayed where structure, care, and consistency existed. Meanwhile, my dad worked long hours down south. Still, he showed up. After work, he would drive to the west side, come to my grandma’s house, cook for us, and unwind while watching the game. His presence mattered more than I understood back then. As a child, I lived gently. I often ate at the table by myself, watched cartoons, and trusted people easily. My family raised me with manners, prayer, and respect. One memory still stands out clearly. I once told my dad, “Daddy, I can spell the B word.” Even though I spelled it wrong. When I spelled it, he corrected me immediately—with a whooping and a lesson about boundaries. Looking back now, I see protection, not punishment. He wasn’t trying to harm me; he was trying to guard my innocence. Life felt safe while I lived with my grandma. Now, through healing childhood trauma through faith, I can see both truths clearly: I experienced real love, and I experienced real harm. Faith allows me to hold both without denying either. Prayer gives language to what once lived in silence. And healing doesn’t begin by rewriting the past—it begins by facing it honestly with God. Through faith, I am learning this: trauma may mark a season, but it does not define a life. Healing childhood trauma through faith restores identity, replaces fear with truth, and gently leads the heart back home.

A Prayer of Honest Surrender

God, I bring You the parts of my story I once hid in silence. The memories I didn't understand, the pain I carried without language, and the innocence that faded too soon. Thank You for the love that covered me and for walking with me through the harm that wounded me. Teach me Lord how to hold Truth without shame and healing without fear. Lord Jesus restore what was taken. Redeem what was broken. And remind my heart every single day that I am still Yours. Protected, seen, and gently led home. Amen.

Escaping My Brokenness at 12

Running From Pain

By the age of 12, I carried wounds I didn’t know how to name. I thought if I became someone else—someone different, stronger, unbothered—I could escape the shame and hurt that followed me everywhere. I told myself that changing my identity would make the world stop noticing the cracks in me, the brokenness no one seemed to see.

The Lie I Told Myself

At school, people asked, “Oh, you like girls now?” And I would answer, “Yeah, I like girls,” even though inside, I was confused and desperate. I wasn’t discovering who I was—I was hiding from the pain I refused to face. I built a story in my mind, convincing myself that this new identity was real, when really, it was a mask for the girl who needed God’s healing the most.

A Moment That Shook Me

The chaos escalated at Herzl. One fight with my ex girlfriend and the girl I was dating led me to make a reckless choice—I brought a knife to school, believing it would protect her and somehow protect me too. I walked around boasting about it, thinking it made me strong, only to be caught by security and arrested. Sitting there in handcuffs, I felt humiliation, fear, and a quiet whisper in my spirit: This is not who you are.

Faith in the Midst of Brokenness

Leaving Herzl felt like freedom, but spiritually, I knew God was teaching me a greater lesson. Running never heals; only surrender, honesty, and faith do. That moment of shame and danger became a turning point—God was calling me out of a false identity and reminding me that my true self was always in Him, waiting to be restored.

When My Gap Became Everybody’s Favorite Joke

Leaving Herzl and ending up at Spencer felt like switching schools just to get roasted in a different building. No matter where I went, somebody had something slick to say. And listen… at that time my gap was gapping. I mean, shining like it had its own personality. So of course the kids at Spencer took it and ran: “Mannn ole fat gap a, I can put a quarter through yo sh**!”** I laughed on the outside, but inside? Whew, that hurt. The way they clowned me had me in the mirror every day, checking my teeth like I owed them rent. Eventually I got so fed up I basically begged my parents for braces. I wanted that gap gone like yesterday. But even with all the jokes and all the drama, I made it through. I actually ended up graduating from Spencer, and that felt like a win after everything I survived. Now I was stepping into high school, ready for a new chapter—even though I knew life wasn’t done testing me yet.

What Happens When a Child Isn't Heard

When a Child's Cry Goes Unheard and Pain Turns Into Escape

I ran away from home twice, not out of rebellion, but out of longing. I wanted to be with the girl I loved, and I wanted to feel chosen. After my arrest and getting kicked out of school, punishment came fast. My moma took my phone, but what hurt more was the silence. No conversation. No understanding. Just me alone with thoughts that already knew how to wound me. Eventually, the pressure built up. The last time I got arrested, I waited until my mama left for the store. Then I walked out with a plan—to escape. I walked Independence Street on the west side of Chicago, all the way from Laramie. It was a long walk, but pain kept my feet moving. After that, I disappeared without telling anyone. I hid at a boy’s house I knew from school. He respected me and never crossed boundaries. His mama welcomed me with kindness and laughter. Still, I carried my secret until my body gave out. Coming on my cycle made everything harder, and fear finally caught up with me. Meanwhile, my mama kept calling. Each ring tightened my stomach. Eventually, I answered and told her where I was. I also told the family the truth. Shock filled the room when the police showed up. They feared the mama might get arrested, but she stood firm and said she didn’t know—and she was spared. When my mama saw me, tears fell first. Then anger followed. Her words cut deep, and her hand struck the back of my head. In that moment, the pain rose higher than ever before. That was when I truly wanted to leave this earth.

Psalm 34:18

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Trust Issues, Trauma, and the Search for Escape

My identity as a lesbian kept growing, and with it came walls I didn’t even realize I was building. Every relationship I entered felt shaky because trust slipped through my fingers. No matter how hard I tried to connect, my past kept creeping back in, whispering reminders of everything I had done and everything I was running from. Those memories followed me like shadows, pushing me deeper into confusion. Eventually, the pain became too heavy to carry. Instead of facing it, I looked for ways to numb it. So I turned to weed, then to pills, hoping they would quiet the hurt inside me. With every hit and every swallow, I wasn’t healing—I was burying myself further. Depression wrapped around me, and I kept pretending I was fine when really, I was breaking in silence.

When My Smile Became My Strength

When God Turned My Insecurity into Strength

Life has a way of circling back with revelation. When I got older and started working on myself—really working on myself—I began to fall in love with the same smile I once hated. After wearing braces for three or four years, my gap came back. Not as big as before, but enough to remind me of the girl who once felt broken by words. Surprisingly, instead of going backward, something in me shifted forward. I didn’t see “ugly” anymore. I saw identity. I saw the woman God created for a purpose far greater than people’s opinions. And now that I truly know who I am in Christ, nothing can shake me, move me, or tear down my worth. Yet the journey wasn’t easy. There was a moment—one I never forget—when I tried to overdose at school because no one wanted to be my friend. I was hurting silently, drowning emotionally, and convinced that my life didn’t matter. But by the grace of God, I survived what should’ve taken me out. Today, I thank God I didn’t lose my life during a time when I didn’t understand the value of it.

Seeing the Bigger Picture: How God Fights for us Through Every Season

Every painful season shaped my strength. Every lonely moment drove me toward God. And although I’m still working on myself—discipline, patience, not feeling like I always have to defend my name—I’m learning to trust that God really does fight for me. Exodus 14:14 says, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” I didn’t just read this verse—I lived it. One morning, a few weeks after moving into my first apartment, I woke up on an air bed in the living room. As soon as I opened my eyes, I heard a voice in my right ear say, “I will fight for you.” It wasn’t male or female. It was a spiritual whisper, clear and gentle, and my whole spirit recognized it immediately. That moment anchored me. That moment reminded me that I am never alone. And now… we’re about to walk into what happened when I was 16. Because my healing didn’t start where the world broke me, it started where God rebuilt me.

The Year Everything Changed: My Sixteen-Year-Old Self

Turning sixteen should’ve felt exciting, but for me, it became the year I realized how deeply my childhood wounds were still speaking through me. By then, I had already learned how to smile through pain, how to pretend nothing bothered me, and how to act like I had it all together. But underneath all that strength was a girl who had never truly healed from what happened to her. At sixteen, the memories I tried to forget kept showing up—loud, heavy, and unexpected. Everything I’d been pushing down since childhood started rising back to the surface. The things my cousins did to me… the manipulation… the confusion… the silence I carried because I didn’t know how to explain something I barely understood. All of it was still living inside me, shaping my thoughts, my fears, my relationships, and the way I saw myself. And honestly, it felt like the world was closing in on me. But God was closer than the darkness I was wrestling with. During that season, I found myself battling fear, shame, and anger. I didn’t know how to name it back then, but now I realize I was fighting a spiritual war without weapons. I was hurting, but I didn’t know I was allowed to heal. I was broken, but I didn’t know God was preparing to rebuild me piece by piece.

When Anger Met Grace: The Day That Changed My Life at 16

Growing Up With Walls Around Me

At sixteen, a freshman at Marshall High School, I thought keeping to myself would protect me. I didn’t trust people, so silence felt safer than disappointment. Eventually, I opened up a little and started hanging around a few people who seemed cool. Even then, somebody always had something to say about me. I wouldn’t bother anyone, yet somehow my name stayed in people’s mouths. Back then, I didn’t realize I carried a light that made demons uncomfortable. I couldn’t see it, but they could.

The Moment Everything Went Too Far

How One Incident Changed the Direction of My Life

I stormed back outside ready to find her. I asked everybody on the block where she was. I made it clear—out loud—that if I found her, I was going to stab her. My mind wasn’t thinking about consequences; it was drowning in hurt, betrayal, and all the trauma I never healed from. They told me she was at the gas station, so I waited. When she finally returned and went inside her house, I yelled for her to come out. She didn’t. I grabbed her bike and threw it. Then threw it again. Eventually, she came outside, and everyone gathered like it was entertainment. We fought. She got on top of me, hitting me in my face. In that moment, something in me snapped. I blanked out. I reached for the knife and stabbed her in the forearm. Her scream shook the whole block: “Y’ALL JUST GONNA LET HER STAB ME?!” That’s when reality hit. Sirens echoed. People scattered. I looked down and saw blood everywhere—hers on her arm, mine on my clothes. Running didn’t even cross my mind. For what? They knew where I lived. And my moma didn’t even know what happened yet. I threw the knife in the alley and walked forward when the police pulled up.

Facing the Consequences

Facing the Consequences Was the Beginning, Not the End

The moment they handcuffed me, I still didn’t cry. I stayed silent. But when I got in the back of the police car and my moma called telling me to come inside, my heart dropped. That’s when fear finally caught up with me. At the station, guilt hit me harder than any punch I ever felt. I kept asking if she was okay. I broke down because she didn’t deserve that. I didn’t want to be a monster, and in that moment I felt like one.

The Judge Who Spoke Like God Was Using Her

When a Judge's Statement Shifted My Perspective

Court day came fast. I stood there shaking, hoping I wouldn’t get locked up. Then the judge looked at me and said something that has stayed with me ever since: “Since you never had any charges and your grades are good, I’m giving you three years of probation. But if you get in trouble again or even bring this situation up at school, you’re going to jail.” That moment felt spiritual—like God stepped in right before destruction swallowed my life whole. I took those words seriously. I stayed quiet. I avoided drama. I refused to let anyone pull me back into chaos. And I never got in trouble again.