A Tale of Two Lives and Brain Health

In a quiet rural area, there lived a young woman named Norma. From her earliest memories, life felt like an uphill battle against invisible forces causing poor brain health. Her father was a distant shadow—a man who worked long hours and rarely spoke more than a few words at dinner. There was no warmth in his gaze, no bedtime stories or playful hugs; he seemed more like a stranger sharing the same roof than a parent. Her mother, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of expectations. She demanded perfection in everything: straight A's in school, a spotless room, and impeccable manners. "You're not trying hard enough," her mother would snap, her words like daggers that chipped away at Norma's fragile spirit. Norma grew up feeling profoundly unloved, as if she were an afterthought in her own family. She internalized the rejection, convincing herself she was ugly—her reflection in the mirror a constant enemy, mocking her with perceived flaws.

Teenage Years of Turmoil

As Norma entered her teenage years, these wounds festered into deeper mental health struggles. She battled anorexia, starving her body in a desperate bid to control something, anything, in her chaotic inner world. Suicidal thoughts whispered to her in the quiet nights, tempting her with escape from the pain. Self-harming became a secret ritual, the physical scars a twisted mirror of her emotional turmoil. At the core of it all was a crippling low self-worth; Norma believed she was unworthy of love, success, or even basic kindness. She navigated life like a ghost, fading into the background to avoid drawing attention.

In her attempts to cope, Norma developed what she thought was humility. She apologized constantly—for bumping into someone accidentally, for speaking too loudly, even for things she had no part in, like a friend's bad day. "I'm sorry," became her mantra, a shield against conflict and a way to deflect blame onto herself. She saw this as virtuous, a sign of her meekness in a harsh world. But over time, this self-deprecating habit twisted into something darker: self-righteous pride. Deep down, her endless apologies weren't born from genuine remorse but from a subconscious belief that she was morally superior for always taking the fall. "At least I'm humble enough to admit my faults," she'd think, even when there were none. This false humility elevated her suffering as a badge of honor, turning her into a martyr in her own eyes. It fed a cycle of self-pity and victimization, where every setback was proof that the world was against her, and she was the noble victim enduring it all.

This prideful mindset kept Norma trapped. She wallowed in her pain, replaying old hurts like a broken record, refusing to see her role in perpetuating her misery. The consequences were devastating: her energy dwindled to nothing, leaving her exhausted from the simplest tasks. Her immune system weakened, turning minor colds into prolonged illnesses. Deep connections eluded her; friends drifted away, tired of her constant negativity and inability to move forward. Worst of all were the extreme headaches that pounded like thunder in her skull and the panic attacks that seized her mind, making her feel like she was drowning on dry land. Life became a prison of her own making, where pride disguised as humility blocked any path to healing.

Starting her Brain Health Journey

One fateful day, after a particularly brutal mental attack, Norma hit rock bottom.  A friend helped convince Norma to see a  compassionate counselor who suggested therapy and going to Harmonized Brain Centers, and though skeptical, she agreed. Through sessions with a faith-based therapist who integrated biblical wisdom, Norma began to unravel the tangled web of her past. She learned that her "humility" was actually a form of pride—self-focused and self-exalting, contrary to the true humility modeled by Christ, who emptied Himself in service to others without seeking pity (Philippians 2:5-8). The therapist guided her through Scriptures like Romans 12:3, urging her not to think of herself more highly than she ought, but with sober judgment. Norma confronted her victimization narrative, realizing it stemmed from unbelief in God's sovereignty and grace.

Taking responsibilty for her life was the turning point. Norma started small: journaling her thoughts to challenge negative self-talk, seeking help for her dysfunction, and practicing genuine apologies only when warranted. She forgave her parents—not excusing their flaws, but releasing the bitterness that poisoned her soul, as commanded in Ephesians 4:31-32. Prayer became her anchor, confessing her pride and asking God to renew her mind (Romans 12:2). Her church became a sanctuary, where vulnerability fostered real connections for the first time. As she surrendered her self-pity to God, her energy returned, her health improved, and the headaches and panic attacks faded like shadows at dawn.

Transformation is a Remarkable Thing

Norma stood transformed—not perfect, but free. She became a mentor to young women facing similar struggles, sharing her story with authentic humility that pointed to God's redemptive power. No longer defined by her past, she embraced her identity as a beloved child of God (1 John 3:1), stepping into the purpose He had for her: to love boldly, serve selflessly, and live with the quiet strength of one who knows her worth comes from Him alone. In the end, Norma's journey from brokenness to wholeness proved that even the deepest wounds could heal when surrendered to the One who makes all things new.