Hope In the Shadows

Sometimes, some stories linger in my mind, refusing to let go. Today, one such story has been with me and the lessons it carries are deep. I have always said, mentorship is not just about giving; it is a journey of learning aswell. We absorb wisdom, not to pile it, but to share it for the betterment of our society. I have always believed that the knowledge we gain should be a weapon for transforming lives and changing the narrative around us.

During one of our ministry events at one University, my husband and I met a young girl. She was at the time, a third-year student. The event lasted all night till dawn and by 3 AM, exhaustion weighed heavily on my legs and knees. I decided to step away, to rest a little in the car while the event wrapped up. My husband was with me when one girl approached us. I will call her Hope. A little detour, I name these girls in my stories not just as a label but based on what I believe they embody. In her, I saw resilience, a quiet strength waiting to bloom. And so, I will call her Hope.

Hope approached us, her appearance both confused and oddly composed. Something was clearly weighing on her heart. She hesitated, then finally spoke. “If not for this event, I wouldn’t have met you because I had planned to go home today.” She said as she showed some excitement that she met the people she wanted to meet. I was curious. “Oh? Is the semester officially over or are you just heading home early?” “No,” she replied. “That’s part of what I’m about to tell you.” She took a deep breath and continued, Her words measured but heavy.

“You see, I have both my parents. You’d think they weren’t my biological parents, but they are, 100%. Yet, they make me feel completely alone in this world. I am the firstborn and the first in my family to walk the corridors of a University. One would imagine they’d be proud to say the least, excited even. But no. My selection to University was just another day in their lives. That, I could have ignored. But what I cannot ignore is how they have forgotten they even have a child in school.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on.

“Since my first year in school, my parents have never called me. If I don’t call, we don’t talk. They show zero interest in my life, my studies and worse in my struggles. When I go home for the holidays, I arrive with little or no notice. No warm welcome, no ‘we missed you.’ Just the same toxic environment, where they are constantly fighting, arguing or shouting at us. Just chaotic really. My home is toxic; home is traumatizing.” Tears welled up in her eyes and we could feel the weight of her pain. The pain of a child who couldn’t understand what she had done wrong to deserve such neglect.

As we spoke further, we learned that Hope had been fending for herself. She ran small businesses in school to cover her needs while her parents, who owned thriving businesses back home, rarely sent her any money. When she did call to ask, it was like rolling dice, sometimes which are probably the best of all, they simply said they had nothing to give her. Other times, it was worse. The Father would deflect, saying, 'I don’t have any, ask your mother,' and it would be the same with the mother. And when Hope asked either one of them as instructed, it would spark an argument between the parents, blame tossed back and forth, frustration boiling over, leaving her stranded in the middle of their never-ending battle. The burden seemed to be crushing her.

Her mind had spiraled into darkness, her heart growing weary. Staying in school felt impossible because her mental health was in shambles. That day, she had decided to leave. Not just campus, but education altogether. She thought that maybe, just maybe, if she dropped out, her parents would finally take notice. Perhaps then, they would be happy. Her pain was heartbreaking. We worked with Hope, offering her guidance, support and the help she needed. But even as we stood by her, we understand this alone was not enough. Healing could not come solely from external hands, it had to start where the wounds were first inflicted.

Dear Parents, Hope is not just one girl. She is the voice of countless others crying for help in silence. Many of them need parents who are not just present by name, but who take responsibility, who show love and support. There is no excuse, none, that justifies subjecting our children to mental and emotional neglect.

Hope will find help from people like us and from health professionals who care. But no amount of external help can fully heal her if she returns to a home filled with toxicity and pain. Healing starts at home. A healed home raises a healed child and a healed child grows into a responsible adult who will in turn, raise a healed and healthier generation.

Can we rewrite the stories of generations to come for a better world? Yes, we are capable!