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Finished Listening? For the REST and BEST part head here, to the Faithful Podcast
After 30 plus episodes, it is time. It is time to tell you the whole Amy Watson story. True to self, this podcast is Amy's story on her terms and in the most hopeful way possible given the body of trauma that is her story. Special guest Phil Baker recorded some of Amy's favorite songs and they are interwoven into the podcast.
Sometimes it is time to close a chapter, and at least for the purposes of this podcast, this is the last time this story will be told in a public forum. God could always change that, but in this podcast journey, Amy has found healing and Hope of her own and is happy to close this chapter--the one that built her and the whole reason for this podcast.
Her mission will not die, in fact, quite the opposite. But moving forward, the focus will continue to be on the stories of other people, and the mission will continue to provide Hope in the veins of unimaginable pain and suffering. But God is keeping His promises, and is redeeming all the years the locust stole, and so it is our desire that as you listen to Amy's story, and her favorite songs, that you will know that the God of the universe is able to and will redeem it all. This earth may not be the place where all the sad things become untrue, but this podcast points you to the Star of the story, Jesus, Who will, one day make all things new.
Our journey has just begun, but this chapter is closing--may you find peace in the God of comfort in Amy's story, and know it is yours too.
Podcast Sponsor: Pastor Anthony Shannon. Pastor Shannon is hosting the Hard Reset Conference June 22nd-June 24th. You can register for FREE here. This conference will focus on faith, family, fitness and finance and will help you recognize and activate your spiritual gifts. We are so grateful to Pastor Shannon and his support of this podcast.
Podcast Host: Amy Watson
Special Music: Phil Baker (you can find his music by clicking on his name)
Podcast Producer: Amy Highland
Podcast Sponsor: Anthony Shannon
Accompanying Podcast: The Faithful Podcast, host--Stephanie Baker
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Amy Watson 0:10
Hey everyone and welcome back to the Wednesdays with Watson podcasts. today's podcast is again sponsored by Pastor Anthony Shannon. Pastor Shannon is speaking at the Hard Reset cloud conference June 22, through the 24th. This is a free conference addressing faith, family, fitness and finance. You can register now at Full Gospel conference.org. This conference will have an emphasis on identifying and activating your spiritual guests. We will provide the link in the show notes but are extremely grateful to pastor Shannon for sponsoring today's show. Today's show is a little bit different, as I was able to share my testimony in a public forum and gotten many, many emails asking if I would record this and place it into my podcast schedule. And so we're interrupting the season as we're normally focusing on other people's stories to fulfill that request. You're in for a treat because I have asked Phil Baker, who sings the Outro Song marked by you to sing songs as I tell my story. So his music will be interwoven in the podcast, and I hope you enjoy it. This is my story. And these are my songs. We all stood in a circle, as we quoted the memory verse of the week. Who will I send? And who will go for us? I stared down at the ground. Remember a teardrop landing on my shoe. The verse Isaiah six, eight and nine, who will I send? And who will go for me? Then said I, Here am I send me I thought of the nightmare at my home and all of the jobs that we had to do to provide for my sister and me. I had no idea how I could help God out but I felt the call the one that would provide hope for people I would survive I was pretty sure of that. And I would commit right then and so my prayer was that God would first save my life and then I prayed that he would use it
Phil Baker 3:39
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Amy Watson 5:38
it was the same church where I found solace. The people there realized that the towheaded kid, the monster slayer, sit in in front of them was living in abject poverty and abuse. And so they loved me. Well. They took me to Disney for the first time, different church members took me home with them on Sundays. It was the first time I remember my food being hot and not Alva canned. And all of this happened because the nice man and woman came to the ghetto of Jacksonville, Florida, and invited me to that building called church where the people cared. Before that day, life had handed me plenty of pain. The lives of my church friends confused me though. They weren't locked in rooms or worried about where their food was going to come from. Their moms loved them and their dads didn't hit them. I clung, I clung to the love that I received from their parents. I loved going to summer camp, which is where we were when that we had that when that memory verse came to light. And anytime I was away from home, I was safer than the places that my mom chose for us. Because you see, I will never forget the moment I was at a friend's house, and we saw their pictures on the news. Henry Lee Lucas and oddest tool, were friends of my stepfather. And one of the men that stole my innocence for the very first time autist tool had claimed responsibility for kidnapping and killing a little boy named Adam Walsh. I returned home. And my stepdad told us that Henry Lee Lucas, who was my first abuser had also kidnapped my stepsister. Her body was missing. I don't remember being afraid, because it was normal. Life was dangerous. But the responsibility of taking care of myself was exhausting. But I knew it wasn't going to change. I kept going to church as the list of trauma makers increased. I just kept letting those people love me. Although I would experience abuse at that church, it was still the safest place to me. I flourished. I was so tired. And my mom had allowed me to work for a man that wanted more for me than work. He took what he wanted. And I let him have it because he was literally providing food and clothing. By that point, I was in junior high school, and my adult work schedule was impeding my ability to keep up at school. And so my boss used me in other ways, merely so I could have money to provide for myself. I still don't know why. But the last person to touch me set something off for me. And I decided I would no longer be someone for people to use. The last man was my mom's pedophile boyfriend. He literally moved from prison to our home. And again, I was a piece of property to a man and I was over it. So one night I went to church and told my pastor's wife just a little of what have been going on, and that Warzone that we called home. The state prom promptly launched an investigation, resulting in her boyfriend's arrest, and subsequently release his abuse of made and not leave forensic evidence. So he returned her home and stayed with my mom. The state told her if he left I'd be able to stay with her. She agreed. Social workers packed my stuff in a few plastic bags. I was happy, so happy that she had finally chosen me. When I saw the note on the door, I knew that she had in fact, not chosen me. After all. The note read, gone to get married mom. We drove directly to the courthouse where I watched the judge sign away my mom's parental rights. life as I knew it was forever changed. The rejection stung, but in some ways that day of abandonment and rejection demonstrated the sovereignty of God. And I listened to the song on the radio, a song I knew by heart and somehow define all practicality and all logic I believed it I had sung it so many times in that church that was a safe haven and on this day I believe that God did not understand so, so great Oh Lord
Phil Baker 10:22
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Amy Watson 13:27
how crazy that sees my god how how how. The 18 months that followed, I found me living with my pastor and his wife. When I lived with them, it was the first time I had my own bed, had three meals a day and was provided with the Central's like toothpaste and shampoo. Seven abusers are on the roster. My stepfather was number eight. And while my mom never hit me, I understand now that her locking us in that prison room and ultimately abandoned me for her boyfriend was the ultimate abuse. And one day that truth would catch up with me. I loved my time with my foster parents, but all the demons of my short 14 years of life demanded attention and that exhibited itself massive need for attention. I wasn't a bad kid, but the responsibility was too much for them. So on a warm day in June, I found myself standing under a blue and white flickering sign that red faith children's home have felt rejected and abandoned again, introverted and hurting. Soon as I got settled, I found a place to hide where I thought no one would find me. I hid between an industrial sized refrigerator and a cabinet when her head popped into my space, her southern accent brooked heavy silence. Has anyone told you today? I stared at her. But my southern manners demanded that I answer her. Ma'am. Has anyone told you today? She knew I was confused and scared, so she didn't wait for me to answer instead, she continued. Has anyone told you today that they love you? I just stared at her blankly. That was the first time I could remember hearing those words or that phrase. That day, I began healing and the next few years would be the best years of my life. I learned about love and I understood what it felt like to not be responsible for anything. I had my own bed, the bell that rang three times a day met food. Only at my foster home had that been true. Mom and Dad McGowan, the founders of the children's home, had taken some special interest in me. It was a healing time for me. I finished my remaining three years of high school and just under two, I earned a full ride scholarship to college and worked at the children's home through college. College was amazing. And again, I got to be normal. After turning 18 My mom and I reconnected. She was quite ill by then. By the time I graduated from high school, I had one year before she was gone. My 21 year old sister and I had to sign papers. That meant they would unplug the machines keeping her alive. Before they did though, I stood in her hospital room. While listen to the sounds of the machine. I looked down saw our hand, the only one without tubes and needles, and I couldn't make myself grab her hand. I stared at her rising and falling chests and wanted to scream. Why didn't you love me. But I didn't say anything. I just sat in that room, often standing at the window, staring at the skyline that I called home for so many years.
I had an early class the next day, but I refused to leave her. She was in a coma. And I was in shock. But something deep inside of me needed to be in that room with her. So I stayed all night with stories of how she failed to protect me and never chose me. I guess there was a part of me that wish that she would wake up and explain it all to me. But she didn't. She was never going to wake up. And two months later, we sign those papers. At just 19 years old I was too young to rent a car and what and my car would not make the three hour trip. Finally I found a rental place that would allow me to rent a car as I drove back to Jacksonville the miles clicked in my brain sought solace and those days in the church pews just kept ringing in my ears and another song played in my head and somehow on that day the lyrics rang so true
Phil Baker 19:05
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Amy Watson 23:22
I returned to school with the most empty feeling and a sadness that I still can't explain to you even the most prominent emotion was not grief over the loss, but regret that I didn't tell her that I had forgiven her. And the truth is, and so that heart monitor flatlined, I had not forgiven her. This is a regret that would live with me until about 12 years ago. Forgiveness is a whole other topic. But it's not worth it. And I knew it. By the time I graduated from college, something about Jacksonville was calling me calling me home calling me to my hometown. So I said goodbye to my family at the children's home and move back without a job or anywhere to live. I moved in with my sister and it felt good to be with her as well as my niece and nephew refused to go back to church. Because somehow along the way, I had begun to blame God. I didn't understand His sovereignty. But I wanted a social life. And that is when I met my next trauma maker. The first time I joined the ranks of a domestic violence survivor. I was in shock. I didn't feel the pain. The felt the warm sensation that was blood draining from my eardrum. That first incident was the first of many. Over the next 12 years. I realized that my original trauma of being locked in that room as a child had simply been replaced with a prison In home, I didn't tell anyone about what was going on, but worked really hard to gain His approval, and maybe stop the violence in our home. My body kept the score though, as I tried harder to be okay. My heart was literally and figuratively broken. Doctors chased the issue with my heart. And no one understood why a woman in her 30s was in a danger of a life ending cardiac event. You know, there is something about faith. And as the days got harder, and the bruises got harder to cover, my heart longed for community, because he isolated me a good portion of the time. When it came time for me to find that community, I remembered a church on the corner, right down the street. I knew I'd pay a price at the end of his fist for going to church, that my heart longed for the truth of my faith. And so I went to church, and that was a life altering decision. The way it is that the church rallied around me, and when I finally made the decision to leave him, but I knew that decision was a big one, and needed to be made with great care. I literally packed suitcases and left them at people's houses. And when the time came, I could leave and still have some clothes. I think it is important to highlight here why domestic violence victims stays when victims experienced childhood trauma like I did. The only response to a domestic violence situation is to freeze, or in my case to perform, hoping at some point, I would be good enough. But that community at church helped me understand that I deserve better. And in 2007, when he was on the on a road trip, and with no job, and with $5,000 I left the country while he was served with divorce papers. When it came time for me to pick where I moved, I drove west to the place that had really tethered itself to my heart. I replaced a home three blocks from the beach, and to a 750 square foot apartment. My life had been completely turned upside down. I had picked up a pain pill habit. And as I sat at a light turning into what would be my my road in that small dark apartment. I took a swig of my narcotic cough medication, and wash down Xanax. I woke up the next afternoon with over 50 text messages from friends and family who had left me the night before. The days that followed were dark, and the few friends that still lived in my college hometown weren't enough. I was lonely. But then I remembered another church on another corner, the one at the stoplight where I took a swig of that cough medicine. Within weeks of my first visit to that big church on the corner, I had landed a job teaching at the school, I began to be surrounded by a community of people who loved me was cheering for me. And when my ex violated restraining orders and marital settlement agreements they were there for me.
But the PTSD nights were hard, and the memories of my trips around the Sun haunted me. I did not understand what was happening. And the opiates and benzos did little to stop the trauma filmstrip in my mind, all of the abusers of my childhood, the guilt that the serial killers only took my innocence and not my life was real. My mom's choices. The 12 years I spent hiding bruises. All of it came at night and sleep was rare. I was loving the teaching job. But the early morning schedule was tough. One night, I took a Klonopin for every hour, the clock clicked. I never did go to sleep. The next day for reasons I still can't explain. I told my boss about the Klonopin. he solicited a friend of mine, and they took me to the hospital, or I spent five days behind locked doors. The doctors throw around words like PTSD and complex PTSD and nervous breakdown. I wandered the halls, frankly enjoying the fact that there were zero expectations of me except for to breeze. And the nurses checked every 15 minutes on all of us. Nobody in that psych ward was okay. And for the first time in my life, I realized I wasn't okay either. After agreeing to start eating, I was released with a pile of prescriptions. The next months were tough as doctors attempted to keep my nervous system out of constant PTSD mode. The school released me and my responsibilities and I started the hard work of chasing wellness. I found a counselor who specialized in the level of trauma I had suffered. I was constantly surrounded by a group of people who loved me, and maybe for the first time Ever, I surrendered to whatever God wanted from me. I wanted my story to change lives. I didn't want it wasted. But for a number of years traumas still chased me. Having battled that pain, pill addiction, all throughout my divorce, I was finally able to find and use better coping mechanisms. And that meant leaning into the pain and doing the hard, hard work. And that was work. And that was hard. Among the things of the last couple years was the death of the of my abuser, my ex to a drug overdose. His death confused me, he remained a danger to me at the time of his death, I still had a lifetime restraining order. His death was followed closely by his son's death, also by a drug overdose. But both of their deaths meant that I could heal. And when healing came, I could do things like this, tell my story. So I get behind microphones and I get behind keyboards, and I get behind podiums to tell of my faith that is sustained me, even when I neglected it. Life with PTSD is still hard. And it has been more so the last year, but I will not stop fighting. I won't stop fighting for me and I won't stop fighting for you. I don't know what the future looks like moving forward. But I do know that only my faith has brought me through and will continue to do so. I hope that when I am gone that as Paul wrote in Philippians 112 That things that have happened to me have really happened the furlough of the gospel and with that, I would like to play the song marked by you because it is the cry of my heart
Phil Baker 31:50
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Amy Watson 35:08
I truly do want to live a life that is marked by him and one day not too long ago I found myself on a beach back in Jacksonville hurting because my heart was coming to life as I walked that beach another familiar song shuffled on my phone I will forever call that day Victory Day because of the words of the old pride of my call because I wanted to raise my Ebenezer
Phil Baker 35:45
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Amy Watson 38:15
I got back to my hotel room, and I penned what God did in my heart that day, and truly surrendered. As I mentioned, today's music was brought to you by Phil Baker. The rest of this story can be found on his wife's podcasts, the faithful podcast, you could find the direct link in the show notes. Because that was the day I surrendered. All right there in your app. The very first link you'll see as her podcast, head there now for the rest of the story. As for me, I'll see you back here and two weeks back in a healing zone
Transcribed by https://otter.ai
