My Testimony

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MY TESTIMONY — A Beautifully Messy Journey

Hi I’m Olivia and I am here to share my testimony — my messy story that God somehow made beautiful. I’ve learned that our hardships can be an opportunity for God to shape and mold us into the sons and daughters He created us to be — more into His image. I hope that my testimony is a reminder of these things. I pray that the Lord will use my story for His glory and that I can encourage others. And I hope you know that your story matters too — truly. 🤍

I grew up in church, learning about God from a young age, but I didn’t start a personal relationship with Him until I was about twelve. I wish I could say that relationship began in a healthy way, but it didn’t. When I was twelve, I experienced what felt like God opening my eyes to the reality of sin — not just in the world around me, but in myself. Instead of finding freedom in that realization, I became consumed by fear. I started obsessing over every thought, every action, every tiny thing I did wrong. I became fixated on whether I was good enough for God, whether I was pure enough, whether I was forgiven.

It wasn’t until later that I learned there was a name for what I was going through: scrupulosity — religious OCD. But back then, all I knew was that I couldn’t stop obsessing. I would spend hours reading my Bible, praying repetitively, and ruminating on questions about sin and salvation. I was trying so hard to be perfect for Jesus that I forgot He already loved me as I was. My faith was driven by fear, not love. I saw God as someone who was disappointed in me rather than someone who delighted in me. OCD took something I loved — my relationship with God — and twisted it into fear and shame.

Around that same age, my physical health also started to change. I had been mostly healthy as a kid, but at age nine, I began having daily stomach pain and headaches. Doctors ran all sorts of tests, including endoscopies and colonoscopies, but nothing clear showed up. I was eventually diagnosed with IBS, but that didn’t really explain everything. As I got older, my health problems multiplied. At twelve, I developed intense migraines that began to take over my life. Every small activity could send me into days of pain. My anxiety worsened, and I started dealing with other types of OCD as well. I began having panic attacks and lived in constant fear — all while hiding how bad things really were this time.

I was fifteen, my body started breaking down in ways I couldn’t ignore. I was exhausted, dizzy, and in pain all the time. At sixteen, after countless tests and appointments, I was diagnosed with several chronic illnesses. One of them was Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system — the part of the body that’s supposed to automatically regulate things like heart rate, breathing, and digestion. For me, those systems weren’t working properly. My blood would pool in my legs instead of circulating to my brain, making me lightheaded and causing my heart rate to skyrocket to 170 just from standing up. Even walking from my room to the kitchen felt like running a marathon.

Around the same time, I was diagnosed with Charcot-Marie-Tooth (CMT), a genetic neuromuscular disease that affects the nerves in my arms, hands, legs, and feet. It causes weakness, balance problems, and loss of sensation. We learned that my mom had it too. I was also diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, which causes widespread pain, aching, and fatigue that makes every movement feel heavy. The exhaustion was unbearable — like wearing invisible weights on my body. Even sleep didn’t bring rest.

Those years were full of loss and confusion. My life became centered around my health — appointments, medications, tests, and limitations. I became homebound and isolated, seeing doctors more often than friends. Depression crept in, and at sixteen, it became severe. That year, which was supposed to be one of the best of my life, became the darkest. I began self-harming and experiencing suicidal thoughts and ideation, leading to attempts. There were moments when I truly didn’t want to live anymore — moments when I almost didn’t make it — moments when I asked God to send me home. But God wasn’t done with me yet, and He intervened. I didn’t realize it then, but His hand was on me even in those moments when I was ready to give up.

It was during that season that I finally began to get help for my mental health. I saw a psychiatrist and therapist, though the process was far from easy. I went through medication changes, different counselors, and many setbacks. At seventeen, I was formally diagnosed with OCD after years of silently suffering. I also began exposure therapy and started to face my fears one by one. It was terrifying, but it began a slow journey of healing. That’s when I realized how important it is to speak up about mental health — because I didn’t for so long, and it almost cost me my life. That’s why I’m now so passionate about raising awareness, so no one else has to suffer alone like I did.

As if my plate wasn’t full enough, my physical diagnoses kept piling on. At eighteen, a gastric emptying scan revealed that I had Gastroparesis — a condition where my stomach doesn’t digest food properly. It explained the pain, nausea, and trouble eating I’d dealt with for years. Then at nineteen, I received another life-changing diagnosis: Autism.

That moment changed everything for me. Looking back, I could suddenly see so many traits and struggles that made sense in a new light — why I’d always felt different, misunderstood, and out of place. I used to think I was “weird” or “wrong,” but learning I was autistic helped me finally understand myself. It was both healing and freeing. I realized that being autistic isn’t bad — it’s just different. It’s beautiful, even. God used that diagnosis to comfort me, to remind me that I wasn’t broken — I was designed. There was purpose in how I was made.

Then, at twenty, I was diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS), a connective tissue disorder that likely explained why my other health issues had developed. At twenty-two, I was also diagnosed with an eating disorder (which I had hidden for years) and narcolepsy, which finally explained my fatigue and sleep issues. Each diagnosis brought both relief and grief — relief because I finally had answers, and grief because each answer carried a lifelong reality.

Over time, though, something began to shift in me. Through the chaos, God was working. I started to realize that my relationship with Him had to change — that I didn’t want to live in fear anymore. God wasn’t a harsh ruler demanding perfection; He was a loving Father inviting me to rest. It took years of unlearning the lies OCD told me about who God was. It took years to learn how to cope with the relentless pain and to put my full faith in Him. It took years of learning to love myself again — to see myself the way He does. That process — of going from self-hatred to self-acceptance — was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But it was also one of the most sacred.

Chronic illness forced me to slow down. It made me re-evaluate everything and realize I needed to take care of my mind and soul, not just my body. In a strange way, my sickness became my teacher. It taught me compassion, patience, and dependence on God. It gave me time to heal — even if that healing didn’t look the way I expected.

Now, at twenty-two, I live with over ten chronic and mental health conditions. Some things have improved; others haven’t. Some days are still incredibly hard. But I’ve learned to measure progress differently. Sometimes victory looks like getting out of bed. Sometimes it looks like choosing hope when everything hurts. I’ve come so far — further than I ever thought I would — and it’s all by the grace of God.

When my body started getting sick, I felt so weary and hopeless. But what’s different now is that I have Christ in my life to help me. Even if my circumstances are bad, He is good — and He is there to give me strength and hope.

I won’t lie and say my faith hasn’t been shaken. It has. I’ve had moments of anger, confusion, and silence. But even then, Christ has always welcomed me back into His loving arms. I still have pain and uncertainty, but I also have peace — a peace that comes only from Him. When I look back at my life, I can see Jesus sitting beside me through every panic attack, every diagnosis, every tear. He never left me.

I don’t know what my future holds. I’m still waiting on direction, healing, and answers. But I trust the One who holds me. I’ve learned that a painful journey with God is better than a painless journey without Him. And one day all our pain will be gone, and we will get to spend eternity with Christ. What a great joy and hope!

My pain has purpose — that’s the message behind my blog and my heart. I want people to know that even when life feels unbearable, God can make something beautiful out of brokenness.

My life hasn’t been easy. I’ve lost a lot — friends, experiences, normalcy. But I’ve also gained more than I ever imagined — compassion, purpose, resilience, and faith. My health, both physical and mental, has been a mess at times — but it’s been a beautiful mess, one that God has used to shape me and draw me closer to Him. I’ve come a long way, and I try to remember how grateful I am for that and how, each step of the way, God was with me. Even when I didn’t feel like I was going to make it, God pulled me through to the other side. Even when I kept falling, God lifted me up with His right hand and called me worthy — called me seen, loved, and beautiful. My faith is so important to me, and His help is what I rely on to get through each day. He is a good God who has good plans for us, even when pain is intertwined.

Through the ups and downs of my health, I’ve had to hold onto God — because though things in my life change, God doesn’t. He is my rock, my firm foundation. Having Christ — someone who understands even the deepest pain in my heart — is such a beautiful thing. I’ve carried diagnosis after diagnosis, and it’s been so hard, but I don’t let them define me. My illnesses can be a big part of my life, but I’m grateful that my identity is found in Christ alone.

And though I still struggle on a daily basis, Jesus is with me. Without His love, I wouldn’t be here. Without His grace, I wouldn’t be alive. He saved me — not just from death, but from despair. And now I live for Him, knowing that my story — as messy, painful, and imperfect as it is — can be used for His glory.

I can gladly say that Jesus is my everything and my greatest passion. It’s been a long journey, but one worth going on to find the One I desperately needed all along — Jesus.

I’m living proof that God can save your life, use your pain, and make it into something beautiful. That’s a life worth living for. And I’ll spend the rest of my life sharing that truth with others.

Thanks so much for listening! 🤍

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Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! - 2 Corinthians 5:17