Trigger Warning: This is a personal story that contains self-harm content.

I left the steaming shower running and stepped out, wrapping myself in a waiting towel.

My long, wet hair dripped down my back and left water droplets on the floor where I stood. With the pounding water drowning out all noise, I sank to the floor, curled up on the bathmat, and let myself sob.

Why was I stuck with a brain that told me hurting myself was a good idea?
Why was it so hard not to listen?

For over a decade, I’d struggled with self-injury. What started as an impulsive, one-time choice at fifteen had spiraled into years of desperate decisions. I waded through high school and college and early adulthood trying to work my way into healing. I did everything I was supposed to do: I prayed, read my Bible, surrounded myself with community, and tried alternative coping mechanisms. None of it had worked, not for long anyway. No matter what I did, no matter how much time passed between incidents, the urge to hurt myself never went away.

On good days, the battle with my brain was background noise. On bad days, it left me exhausted and begging God to make it stop. Having found faith at an early age, I’d spent my whole life believing God loves each of us beyond measure and hears our prayers. But, after years of pleading prayers going unanswered, I often wondered if He heard me. That night, from the floor of my bathroom, I threw a singular half-question, half-accusation at the ceiling: God, do you even care?

I know I’m not the only one who has wondered if they are unseen and unnoticed by the God of the universe. Even when Jesus walked among His disciples, they doubted His care for them on occasion.

In Mark 4, after a day of ministry, Jesus and His disciples board a boat together. A tired Jesus is lulled to sleep by the boat’s gentle rocking as it makes its way to the opposite shore. In the middle of the crossing, a storm builds and the wind tosses crashing waves into the boat. Panicked, the disciples begin trying to save the boat and themselves. Realizing their efforts are futile, they wake Jesus and beg Him to save them, asking, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

Put plainly, the men who knew Jesus better than anyone looked at their sinking boat and asked, “Don’t you care about us?”

How often do we find ourselves in the middle of storms and asking this same question? Maybe we’re praying for healing or guidance or just some room to breathe between each wave that fills our lungs with water, but at the heart of each of those prayers is one deeper question: God, do you even care that I’m about to drown?

Laying on the floor of my bathroom that night, there was no lightning bolt moment of clarity or instantaneous healing. There was no booming voice from the heavens. The urge for self-injury that I’d dealt with most of my life didn’t suddenly disappear. But, as my tears slowed and my breath steadied, I sensed God with me.

While God is capable of calming any storm, He doesn’t promise us that He will. What He does tell us about Himself in Exodus 3:14 is “I am who I am.” God is only able to be who He has always been, which means that even today . . . He is faithful and loving and present.

I think about the relationships I have in my life, the people who I believe really care about me on a personal level — the people who show up, regardless of circumstances or mood. They make a conscious choice to be in my life, outside of obligation or requirement. If I trust that those people, incapable of unconditional love, care about me, why shouldn’t I trust that a God who promises His presence cares about me, too?

There are days that I still beg God to take away the urge to self-harm that flits through my brain all too often. In those moments, when I’m tempted to believe the lie that I’ve been abandoned and that God doesn’t care about me, I’m reminded that the same God who met Moses in the burning bush, the same God who was with Daniel in the lion’s den, the same God who sent His son to earth to walk among us, and the same God who cried with Lazarus’ sister is the same God who is with me on the nights I end up on the bathroom floor.

Whether I find healing on this side of eternity or not, I have peace in knowing that every time I ask God, “Do you even care?” His answer is a patient and resolute, “Yes.”

 

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At (in)courage, we believe in making space for all stories and experiences. With heartache, we recognize the reality of self-harm. With hope, we share this story — proclaiming the help and healing that can be found in community and Christ. We are here for you, in prayer and in the comments below, should you wish to respond to this guest article. If you are in a crisis and considering self-harm, dial 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline which provides 24/7, free, and confidential help for self-harm. You are not alone. There is help.

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