My name is

Shandy Wheaton

I can remember the daily bullying as a child. I was caught in a world of teasing, taunting, having spit balls thrown in my hair, and physical harm at times. I feared going to school because I knew what would come. I didn’t have a lot of friends, in fact I tried to avoid people in hopes that the more I stuck to myself the less I would be bullied.

“I had hoped the bullying would cease, but the problem became worse.”

In my mind, I figured out early on, that I was the cause of my own problems, because when I tried to speak up about it, nothing was ever done. In high school, I had hoped the bullying would cease, but the problem became worse. I still remember the day I burst into tears in music class and told my teacher, this world would be better off without me in it.

“I had been beating myself with a hammer to make the pain of everything around me stop!”

I had been beating myself for years with a hammer, to try and make the pain of everything around me stop. I was longing, and looking for a way out of this pain, and out of this world. I chose to stop speaking, because I felt like what I had to say did not matter anyway.

I remember after I had slit my wrist and my teacher had discovered it, she pulled me into her classroom, and asked me what was going on. I did not speak in class, and did not look up when walking. I became lost in my own world of existing, trying daily to avoid the pain I knew would come.

“I became lost in my own world of existing.”

This teacher who was also a guidance counsellor arranged for a Psychologist to come in every other day to work with me. We would sit for the morning, she would ask me questions and I can remember just sitting there, not saying a word, because I felt no-one would care anyway. As we continued to work, I still continued to be silent, for fear that what I had to say, was “stupid”, or I would be made fun of, etc.

“Writing was my way of communicating without feeling judgement.”

This woman continued to sit patiently, while I would write my answers to her questions, somehow feeling my writing, was my way of communicating without feeling judgement. We worked on Self-esteem assignments, challenges to get me out of what was comfortable, and on the last and final day we worked together, I wrote a “promise” to myself and to the world, that I would never harm myself again, to ease the pain.

“God got me to a place where I realized that my voice and what i have to speak matters.”

God got me to a place where I realized that my voice and what I have to speak matters. It takes me daily reminding myself, that my story, my life, my voice, has something that somebody in this world needs to hear. I got my voice back! God has over the years helped me realize, that He put something inside of me, that others need to hear.

Sometimes it’s with a song, sometimes it’s with words on a paper, and other times it’s my voice, sharing and speaking the things that God has helped me overcome. You see I gave up my voice, my right to speak. I have since then been a part of many singing opportunities, singing on stages in front of 10 people to 1000 people. I now can have great conversations with people where as before I would have avoided it at all costs.

“Our stories, our victories, our pains, our triumphs, are things that others may need to hear in order to realize there is hope!”

I have overcome my fears with little steps but I have come a long way. At one point I set aside my story thinking nobody would ever want to hear it, but our stories, our victories, our pains, our triumphs, are things that others may need to hear in order to realize there is hope. There is hope in God who will help us to overcome. Every woman has a story, every woman has something they have faced, triumphed and can now share that story, to help free another.

“Your voice matters, your story needs to be heard!!”