I grew up in a very large household, surrounded by brothers and sisters, but there was never enough food or love to go around. We were poor, and meals were scarce. My brother and I often ate from garbage cans or snuck pieces of bread just to quiet our hunger.

My mother was never close to me. She called me the spawn of Satan and singled me out from the others. While my siblings played, I was forced to sit on my hands. She mocked me, sprayed me with the water hose for her amusement, and locked me away in the basement. Down there, I spent my days alone—sometimes taking apart the sink pipes and putting them back together, sometimes reading, and sometimes curling up under the stairs just to feel safe enough to sleep. More than anything, I longed to be loved. I couldn’t understand why my mother loved my brothers and sisters, but not me.

When I got older, my dad finally took me out of that house. It was like stepping out of hell into heaven—but I didn’t know how to act. My stepmother was strict with chores, and I rebelled. I fell in with the wrong crowd, got into trouble, and ended up at a “bad boy” camp. That camp wasn’t salvation—it was more pain. I was bullied, beaten so hard once that I suffered a concussion and lived with brutal headaches whenever I bent over. Part of the program forced me to survive in the wild, alone in a tent for three days. And I did survive—just as I always had.

At 17, I became emancipated and struck out on my own. I had an engineer’s mind and a will to make something of myself, so I joined the Army. But after just five weeks, the migraines returned, and I realized it wasn’t where I wanted to be.

Through the years, I wrestled with my purpose in life. I attached myself to older women who used me, cheated on me, or treated me like a babysitter. I thought love was only what my mother had shown me—conditional, painful, and cruel. That led me into toxic relationships and ultimately a 12-year marriage to a narcissistic woman who threatened to take everything if I ever left.

Then something incredible happened. I won half a million dollars in the lottery. Suddenly, I had everything I thought I needed to be happy—cars, a boat, a brand-new house, acres of land, and all the toys a man could want. But as the excitement wore off, I realized there was still a deep emptiness inside me. All those possessions meant nothing without someone to share them with. I longed for a close family. I wanted to sit on the porch holding hands with someone who truly loved me. I wanted laughter in the house, dinners together, and a partner to walk through life with.

I had my young child, and that brought me joy beyond measure—but my soul longed for a companion, someone who could love me back.

That’s when I found God. And in Him, I found strength—strength to leave behind fear, to heal, and to believe that true love could be mine. And not long after, I found that love.

My story is one of hope. If I could survive the basement, the rejection, the pain, the emptiness of wealth without love, then you can survive whatever you’re walking through too. Fear has no place in your life. Love exists. Healing is real. Keep hope alive.