When Pain Becomes the Path: Learning to See God’s Hand in Life’s Struggles

Suffering has always seemed inevitable in my life. From the moment I entered this world, born into a chaotic, unstable family, life felt more like survival than living. My first teacher, my first love, was my mother. She did her best to love me while struggling with the heavy chains of alcoholism and domestic violence. Her pain became mine, absorbed into my tiny, trembling body. From the very beginning, my heart pulsed with an unspoken craving for love, safety, and connection.

The physical, mental, and sexual abuse we both endured left invisible yet excruciating scars. Those early experiences planted seeds of both despair and devotion deep within me. The soil of my soul split open beneath trauma and something sacred began to take root.

When I was torn from my mother’s arms and placed in a Russian orphanage, something in me shattered. The silence of those cold nights, thirty children crammed in beds, a ceiling stained with time, was deafening. I remember lying awake, praying to the moon, whispering my wishes into the shadows, hoping someone, anyone, would love me. I had no name for what I felt or who I was reaching for. But something, some presence, was always there.

Three long years soaked in grief and longing passed in that orphanage, each day painted with hunger, grief, and a desire for warmth. Then the unimaginable news that my mother had taken her own life. I was only a child. My soul fled my body. I was shattered. I died with her. Tears became my language. I withdrew into a silent shell that no one could enter. My father? He vanished like smoke in the wind, chasing other women, never once wondering where I was.

Yet even in that endless darkness, something extraordinary began to happen. I began to pray more. I would lay in bed, in that crowded room full of forgotten children, and speak to the silence. And in that silence, I felt heard. I felt held. Not by human arms but by a Presence far more intimate. That’s when I first touched God. Not through words, but in the quiet ache of a child’s longing heart.

Eventually, I was adopted by an American family. Four years later, I was adopted again, this time by a couple who had no children of their own. They gave me love freely. I was held like I mattered. I felt protected. Wanted. Safe.

But life has a way of testing our wholeness. After college, the world pulled me into a version of life that didn’t feel like mine. I drifted. I lost touch with the things that once lit me up. I stopped creating. My laughter became rare. My joy dulled. I gave up my voice. My intuition, once so strong, faded into a whisper. I numbed the ache with alcohol and fleeting fun that always left me emptier. I abandoned myself, little by little, in exchange for the illusion of belonging.

Then came a long-term relationship that mirrored all my hidden fears. I wrapped my entire identity around someone else, believing love would save me. I gave everything. But no matter how much I gave, it wasn’t enough to earn their loyalty. The more I tried to hold on, the more I lost myself.

When that relationship ended, I collapsed. I gave up everything, my home, my savings, my future. It felt like being ripped from my mother’s arms all over again. The pain was unbearable. I had nothing left to hide behind. But within that raw, horrible pain, something miraculous occurred. I became nobody. And in becoming nobody, I found my Truest Self.

I turned inward. Toward Spirit. Toward that old, quiet presence I had known as a child. One night, shattered and desperate, I came across a YouTube video of an Indian spiritual teacher, dressed in pure white, glowing with the kind of presence and peace I hadn’t seen before. His stillness pierced through my chaos. A soft thought landed like a feather in my heart, “If he can be free… maybe I can too.”

That moment marked the beginning of my spiritual awakening and unforgettable journey. I immersed myself in satsangs. I devoured spiritual texts. I surrendered each breath to prayer and meditation. I began turning each moment into a living prayer, an offering. I started turning inward, observing my breath and seeking the silence beneath the noise. The layers began to fall away. My love for the Divine deepened. I began to feel, not just think, the profound connection between mind, body, and soul.

I traveled to India for a year. I sat with saints and sages. I lived in ashrams, roamed the Himalayas, and let the sacred smoke of temple incense wash over me like a prayer. I stood beneath towering peaks, where the air whispered God’s name. I bathed in sacred rivers and wandered through temples in Nepal and India. I walked the path of fire and smoke, chaos and silence until all that was left was surrender.

Yes, I explored altered states of consciousness. I tasted bhang and journeyed through psychedelics. I saw beyond the veil of this material world. But in the end, no vision, no high, no ecstasy, came close to the stillness and truth than the silence I discovered within.

Through pain, I was purified. Suffering became my sacred teacher. It peeled back the masks I didn’t know I was wearing. It exposed the parts of me where I still clung to identity, control, and illusion. It humbled me to my knees. And in that place of surrender, I found God, not as a concept, but as a living, breathing presence that had never once left me.

Today, I see suffering differently. Not as punishment. But as a sacred invitation. A whisper from the Divine, calling us back home.

Pain

• Cracked my ego like an eggshell so my soul could rise like a Phoenix from the ashes.

• Carried me to “Mauna,” a deathless silence where God spoke.

• Shattered illusions until only truth remained.

I became vegetarian. I gave up alcohol. I reclaimed my health. I walked away from toxic environments and began honoring my inner voice like a sacred scripture. My love no longer needs outside validation. It flows effortlessly from the Source, ever-present, ever-loving.

To anyone who is suffering, You are not broken. You are being initiated. Your pain is not a curse, it’s a calling. Let the pain open you. Let it reveal who you truly are beneath the noise. The fire will not destroy you. It will purify you. And one day, you may look back, like I do now, and whisper through your tears with the deepest reverence, “Thank you, suffering, for leading me home to God.”

Grateful Reflections

I am grateful for,

• This life and all the teachers, both visible and invisible, who have shaped me.

• My baby, whose heartbeat softens and strengthens me with every passing day.

• My fiancé, who holds me steady through the tides of transformation.

• My kitty cat, whose purrs and playful spirit light up my heart.

• My car, my old shelter, my moving temple, my freedom.

• This body, still standing, still breathing, still sacred.

• Every fleeting moment of peace that touches my soul.

• The sacred lessons hidden in suffering.

• The strangers who became angels in the dark.

• The grace that has never abandoned me, even when I turned away.

• My capacity to love, again and again and again.

• And God, who has never stopped holding me.

Each day, remember, there is a miracle within you.