When I left home for college, I was unprepared for the overwhelming social anxiety and depression that awaited me. Thrust into a new environment, miles away from familiar faces, I found myself engulfed by loneliness. In an attempt to fill the void inside, I turned to shopping—buying new clothes, food, and decorations for my dorm room. Each purchase was a temporary balm, a fleeting distraction from the ache of isolation. But this habit came at a steep cost: overdrafts, maxed-out credit cards, and mounting debt. Over time, I withdrew deeper into a cave of sadness and financial burden, a pattern that would haunt me for the next decade.
After my freshman year, I moved back home, hoping to regain my footing. Instead, I bounced from job to job and school to school, directionless and unmotivated. Anxiety made it nearly impossible to engage fully in anything. I failed most of my classes because I couldn’t summon the courage to participate or even attend regularly. During this turbulent time, I got engaged, but I kept my struggles hidden from my fiancé. Shopping remained my coping mechanism—carelessly spending money meant for essentials, school fees, and even my wedding.
In an effort to keep up appearances, I lied about graduating before my wedding day. The fear of admitting my failure overshadowed even the anxiety that had gripped me for years. I risked my marriage, my family relationships, and everything I valued just to save face. While my mental health shaped much of my experience, the choice to conceal the truth was mine alone.
Eventually, I sought medical help and started medication for my depression and anxiety. This brought some relief, but the deeper spiritual battle inside me persisted. I was far from God, and that distance was painful to admit. For so long, I had tried to fix everything on my own—masking my failures instead of surrendering them. A full year into my marriage, I still hadn’t told a single person about my unfinished college journey. I lived in constant fear of exposure, avoiding prayer and resisting the call to be honest, because I feared the consequences. My husband knew I was struggling, but he didn’t know the extent of my deception.
Then one day, I picked up a book called TrueFaced: Trust God and Others With Who You Really Are. The words struck me deeply, breaking through my defenses until I was on my knees, overwhelmed by the weight of my guilt and shame. A particular passage from Psalm 40:12-13 became my anchor:
“For troubles without number surround me; my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see. They are more than the hairs of my head, and my heart fails within me. Be pleased to save me, Lord; come quickly, Lord, to help me.”
In the margin of my Bible, I wrote a simple, desperate prayer: Lord, save me from myself.
By God’s grace, I found the courage to remove the mask I’d worn for so long. I confessed my lies to a trusted friend who listened without judgment, held my tears, and gave me the strength to tell my husband the truth. The following weeks were terrifying, but I came clean with my family, and I began therapy.
The journey to healing was long and difficult. I had to rebuild trust with those I loved, repay the debts I had accumulated, and face the consequences of my actions. But the forgiveness I received was more than I deserved. Alongside medicine, I found that what I needed most was God. Through books, friendships, family support, my husband’s unwavering love, and professional counseling, I learned to lean fully on Him—even with my deepest shame and brokenness.
Years have passed since depression held me captive, and even longer since anxiety dominated my social life. God has brought victory not just over my mental health struggles but over the fear that once ruled me. By His amazing grace, I have been debt-free for two years—free from the financial chains that once tightened around me. I’m now finishing my college degree at 39 years old, a testament to God’s power to redeem what seemed lost.
The truth, I’ve learned, truly sets us free.
No matter how far gone you feel or how deeply your mistakes have wounded you, it is never too late to turn back, to repent, and to face the consequences. Those consequences, however daunting, pale in comparison to the prison of hiding our sins and living behind masks. Trust God with your failures. He will meet you with forgiveness every time—and in that forgiveness, you’ll find freedom.
