Tag Archives: abuse

April 14, 2026 · 4:09 AM

Reflections From My Heart

From my heart to yours:

For more than ten years, I’ve been pouring out pieces of my life right here. Some posts came from deep pain, others from quiet gratitude or hard-won lessons. To my humble surprise, a few of them have kept drawing readers year after year, long after I first hit “publish.”

These are the posts that have touched the most hearts over time. They talk about real struggles—loss, brokenness, family wounds, verbal abuse, and the battles we fight inside—but they also point to the hope and healing that only God’s grace can bring. Many of them echo the same journey I share in my memoir, Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace.

If you’re walking through a hard season and feeling unseen or hopeless, I pray one of these reflections meets you right where you are and reminds you that you are not alone.

Here are my Top 12 Most-Viewed Posts

I’ll Never Forget 9/11: A personal reflection on that heartbreaking day and how it still echoes in our lives.
About Me: My story, where I came from, the struggles I faced, and how God can transform despair into hope. This page alone has welcomed over 80 heartfelt comments from readers who shared their own journeys.
The Battle Within: The struggle didn’t disappear, but through God’s grace, I learned I no longer have to fight it alone.
Beauty For Ashes: An honest wrestling with the idea of beauty in the middle of real-life devastation.
Verbal Abuse: I wrote this from a place I know all too well—the silent pain of feeling broken, invisible, and trapped. But it’s also a reminder that we are not meant to stay there.
I Dreamed a Dream: I’ve walked through seasons where the dreams I once held began to fade, pushed aside by life, responsibilities, and discouraging words. But I’ve come to see that what feels like the end may not be the end at all… just the beginning of a new dream.
This Thing Called Tears: Tears don’t only come in sorrow; they show up in joy, frustration, and even gratitude. In these everyday moments, I’m reminded that God meets us in every emotion, and every tear has a purpose.
Damaged Goods: I once believed the lies that I was broken, unworthy, and beyond repair. But I’ve learned that we are not defined by what we’ve been through. God doesn’t see damaged goods… He sees something worth restoring.
Stick-to-Itiveness: Persistence isn’t easy—but it’s powerful!
Ode to a Mother’s Heart – Part II: A mother’s love & the unimaginable pain of losing a child. My heart grieves with those who carry this kind of sorrow, and I lift them up in prayer.
The Shadow of My Baby Sister’s Death: Love, loss, longing… and the ache of what could have been.
Shark Bait: This is my dear husband’s story, and a reminder of how faithful God is, even in the most unexpected moments.

Each story carries a piece of my heart. Some made me cry as I wrote them. Others reminded me of God’s faithfulness even when life felt unbearable. Readers have told me they saw parts of their own stories in these words, and that blesses me more than I can say.

If these reflections speak to you, I believe you’ll find even deeper encouragement in the pages of Running in Heels. It’s the fuller story behind so many of these posts—the raw truth of growing up in pain, surviving abuse and abandonment, and learning to walk in grit and grace. The book is available on Amazon in paperback, hardcover, Kindle, and audiobook. And I’m thrilled that a Spanish edition, Corriendo en Tacones, Memorias de valentía y gracia, is on the way for my Latino friends and family.

We’re prayerfully hoping to reach 500 honest reviews on Amazon so this message can reach more women who feel broken or stuck. If any of these posts (or the book) touches your heart, I would be so grateful if you’d take a moment to leave a review.

Thank you for stopping by and for being part of this journey with me. Whether you’ve been reading for years or this is your first time here, my prayer is that I lift you up with love and faith.

From my heart to yours, Mary A. Pérez, Author of Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit & Grace, Houston, Texas 2026

Curved stone pathway through lush garden with sunrise in background — A colorful stepping stone path winds through a vibrant garden at sunrise.

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Filed under Christian Blog, Faith Journey

Tagged as abuse, encouragement, Faith, Grace, grit, healing, hope, memoir, redemption, resilience, testimony, trauma

July 12, 2025 · 6:28 AM

Damaged Goods

Definition of damaged goods: inadequate or impaired. Products that are broken, cracked, or scratched. A person considered no longer desirable or valuable because of something that has happened—someone whose reputation is damaged.

Are you damaged goods? Do you feel unworthy?

You don’t have to remain that way, regardless of your past or your present.

Was that ever me?

You betcha!

Read on…

Hollow. Pure loneliness. Dark, like a bottomless pit. Ripping in my chest. Piercing my heart. Again, he stays out all night. Overcome by torment. Abandonment accompanies me. Consumed with depression, isolation wraps itself around me. My mind races with wild imaginations of where he has gone, what he is doing, and with whom.

Instead of going to bed to sleep, I am wearing a hole in the couch. Every time a car approaches, I spring like a jack-in-the-box, peeking out the window, hoping he has returned. With every disappointment, my stomach turns into knots. My own sobs mock me until I cry myself to semi-consciousness. Hideous lies will follow after he returns and add to my anguish and emotional decline.

Broken. Flawed. Undone.

That was me back then, living with a cheating husband. His words, like rubbing alcohol poured over fresh wounds, stung!

There were no quick fixes. No bandages for emotional wounds. I sank deeper and deeper into a dark abyss, convinced I was beyond repair. For years, that was my reality.

But I know now, it didn’t have to be.

So what was the problem?

I was overwhelmed by abuse—physical, verbal, and emotional. My self-esteem was nonexistent. My sense of worth? Gone.

I believed the lies about who I was and what I deserved. I convinced myself this was just my life, my portion, my fate. I had seen the cycle before in my own family, yet somehow I couldn’t recognize it in myself.

“I made him mad again… maybe I deserved it.”

That’s what I told myself.

That’s what co-dependency sounds like.

How do you see yourself?

Have you been lied to? Torn down? Made to feel small and insignificant?
Do you feel like you’re drowning, gasping for air but never quite reaching the surface?

Maybe you’ve been trying so hard to please someone else that you’ve lost yourself in the process, compromising your values, your peace, your health, your identity.

Enough.

Do not allow someone else’s brokenness to rob you of your joy or harden your heart.

You are worthy.
You are valuable.
You matter.

There is nothing wrong with being fragile, but be like fine china: delicate, yet precious and worth protecting.

You are not damaged goods.
You are not disposable.
You are not a forgotten memory.

Do not become someone’s victim because you believed their lies.

I am living proof: God does not discard what He intends to restore.

Get up.

Rediscover yourself.

Feel your wrist, do you feel that? A pulse?

Then you still have purpose.

Allow God’s hand to lift you, to place you in higher places. He will wipe your tears and gently restore what was broken inside you.

If He brought me out of the pit, He can bring you out too.

But it takes a decision—a made-up mind—to believe that today can be the beginning of something new.

What’s in your hands?
What’s in your heart?

A dream?
A gift?
A child?

You have something worth fighting for.

Choose your battles wisely, but don’t give up the fight for yourself.

If you don’t know my pain, you may never understand my praise.

But my praise? It was born from surviving what tried to destroy me.

https://gofund.me/3f5e598b

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Filed under psychology

Tagged as abuse, Alabaster Box, battles, Cece Winans, co-dependency, emotional pain, healing, hope, inner strength, life, mental-health, Musing, psychology, purpose, trauma, victim or victor, worthiness

Aside

Heaven, Hell or Hoboken – Part II

1965

Out in Jersey’s bitter cold, the moon full, the trees rustled. Mama and I spent half the night shivering, huddled together on a bus bench—my head on her lap.

“M-Mama,” my teeth chattered. “I’m cold.”

“I am, too. Now, stay still.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“I know, Mary. Close your eyes. That bum. Where is he?”

We would have frozen if a kind woman hadn’t invited us up to her place to sleep on her sofa overnight.

Whenever Mama cornered Jimmy in a bar, drinking his pay away, after bickering over dinero, she’d remain with him. If I happened to be around, they sent me away, or Mama left me at home by myself. It saddened me how she preferred being with him rather than with me. Often, they’d stagger home and pass out in a stupor. Only then did the arguments cease and the fights end.

More often than not, I’d gone to bed with the sound of my stomach rumbling. Mama and Jimmy routinely barged in from a night of carousing.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Why are you awake?”

“Can you fix me something to eat?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. It’s late.” She turned on the hotplate to fry a hot dog. A few minutes later, she’d have one for me rolled inside a slice of bread. “Here. Sit up.”

“Fix me one, too,” Jimmy demanded.

“Hold your horses,” Mama snapped.

As soon as I finished, I lay back down, my eyelids heavy. Eventually, the bright lights in the room faded. My parents’ fussing drifted away as sleep overtook me, but not before I heard familiar sounds. A can is popping open. Cursing. A slap. Sobs.

Unsure as to why, one evening Jimmy overturned the bed that Mama and I slept in. We tumbled onto the hard floor. As Mama struggled to rise, Jimmy pulled her by the arm and shoved her into a windowpane. Jimmy became aware of my presence, and after he flipped the bed upright, he ordered me back into it. I faced the wall, sniffling until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to the sight of a blood-spattered Mama hobbling on crutches. I ran to help her.

“Mama, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, Mary. Stop crying! I tripped, that’s all.”

I couldn’t help but wonder, Why did she think I didn’t know anything?

I knew some things. I hid loose change and planned to save enough money to take care of Mama one day. In my childish mind, I knew that one day we were going to live in a big house, have plenty to eat, and Mama wouldn’t ever have to worry again.

That afternoon, I heard cursing and knew it wasn’t good. A rattling sound echoed around the wall, as if something were whirling in a container. Then, to see Jimmy shaking my pink, plastic kitty bank upside down in mid-air, my pennies, dimes, and nickels clattering onto the floor, made me feel weak and sick inside.

I followed the coins that rolled under a chair and dove for them. I looked up, my eyes darting between Mama and Jimmy, hoping she’d do something. Mama called him a “jackass,” but that didn’t stop him. He couldn’t care less that I knelt there sobbing. He expressed zero shame as he scooped the scattered change into his pocket. My coins.

Later, Mama told me that Jimmy was just thirsty and to stop sniffling. “He’ll return the money soon enough,” she said. I knew that wasn’t true.

On my knees, I gathered up the broken pieces of my kitty bank. With no more tears left, I seethed, thinking, maybe Mama can take care of herself. And maybe I’ll never talk to her again. Or to Jimmy. And maybe I’ll run away . . . to my real daddy.

(Excerpt from Running in Heels – a continuation of Part I)