What did God liberate you from, Roberta?
Growing up as the firstborn daughter to a single mother, life didn't come with a soft landing. I learned resilience too young, wearing it like armor, but beneath it was a child struggling to find a place in a world that often felt cold and unforgiving. Before I even stepped foot into university, a shadow loomed over me—a diagnosis of depression in 2021 that only put a name to the pain I’d known for so long. I searched desperately for love, hoping it might fill the hollow space inside. Yet, each boyfriend, each friendship, was like a fleeting whisper; they’d come and go, leaving me even emptier than before.
From as far back as I can remember, I hated myself—my skin, my body, every part of me. Those boys in high school, with their careless words, seemed to echo in my mind like a relentless chant, and I took their cruelty as truth. I went from school to school, twice expelled in four years, each time wondering if I’d be forced out again. My father, who was barely part of my world growing up, suddenly re-entered my life, and with him came new disruptions. I blamed my mother and my father for the ache that simmered within me, my resentment toward them built walls that neither of us could tear down. Slowly, the pain shaped me into someone unrecognizable—a cold, hardened version of myself that I barely knew.
By the time I reached university, the fractures in my heart had deepened, pushing into friendships and drowning my spirit. I partied every weekend, hoping the alcohol might silence the sadness. To others, I looked strong, a pillar that stood tall and unyielding. But the truth was, I was collapsing inside, weak and worn from holding it all in. I lashed out at the people who cared about me, unable to find love even for myself. By the end of last year, the weight became unbearable. I spent a week at rock bottom, teetering on the edge of surrender, masking my pain with parties and indulgences, until finally, on December 10, 2023, I let go of the burden I had been carrying for so long.
There’s a line from the song "Mercy/Tremble" by Housefires that speaks to me like no other:
"What He did for me was more than defend me. He set me free from unforgiveness, from anger, from self-hate. And He gave me an identity. And that's what the mercy of God can do."
Those words echo my journey, reflecting how God pulled me out of the pain I’d carried for nearly two decades. He freed me from grudges, from resentment, from the exhaustion of carrying wounds I never thought would heal.
My turning point didn’t come easily, though. On my birthday this year, I found myself grappling with the same hollow emptiness, even after I’d removed the “cause” of my problems. I had hoped that leaving Ishaka and going to Lira for my community placement would make things better, but it didn’t. I was still drifting, craving peace. For the first time, I longed for God—not out of a sense of obligation, but because I knew He was my only source of true healing.
So, in a desperate bid for change, I turned back to Him wholeheartedly. I made hard choices to help myself stay on track—I suspended my social media accounts, the ones that kept dragging me back into old habits. Snapchat, TikTok, Instagram—all of it went dark. I kept only LinkedIn, WhatsApp, and Pinterest, platforms that didn’t feed my distractions. I threw myself into a new routine: early mornings in the Word, workouts, my classes, and little else. Writing even took a back seat as I focused entirely on God, trusting Him to work in me.
This season was nothing short of transformative. I felt the shift as I earned my first salary under a new contract, found a new direction for my career, and saw my friendships and family mended and multiplied. But the most profound change was in my spirit: unforgiveness melted away. I began to pray for those who’d hurt me, pouring my heart out in ways I never had. One at a time, in tears of relief and reconcilment, I reached out to each person I’d held a grudge against, apologized, and made peace—including one of my closest friends, someone who means the world to me.
A significant part of this journey came through the wisdom I found in The Bait of Satan by John Bevere. This book opened my eyes to the corrosive power of offense and how it traps us in cycles of bitterness. One quote that stood out to me was,
“You will encounter offense, and it’s up to you to decide how it will affect your relationship with God. If you forgive, it opens your heart to receive His mercy and peace.”
This reminded me that forgiveness wasn’t just a duty but a pathway to freedom. The follow-up devotional, The Awe of God, led me even deeper into daily moments of reverence and reliance on His strength. It became a touchstone, grounding me every morning and slowly, day by day, remaking my heart.
For those who know me—whether as family or colleagues from school—reading this may come as a surprise. On the outside, I seemed to have it all together: stellar grades with a 4.0 CGPA, a spot in the top 5% of my class, articles published every week, a podcast that I poured myself into. By all measures, I looked successful. Yet, if I had to choose between all those achievements and my relationship with God, I would give them up in a heartbeat.
Proverbs 3:5-6 has become my anchor:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.”
This verse reminds me that my worth doesn’t lie in my accomplishments but in what God has already done for me. The freedom I found wasn’t in a list of achievements but in surrendering to Him and letting go of everything I clung to for validation.
So forget what you know about me from my achievements and failures. I am created by God, designed with intention and purpose. I’m not a mistake. Jesus died for me, hence I was forgiven and made whole. God chose me as His own, redeemed me, and poured out grace upon grace so that I could know His love. My identity rests not in what I can do but in what God has done for me.
Let me ask you: What do you want to be liberated from?
