By Tish Coleman
There are parts of our story that are not easy to share. The quiet battles, the hidden struggles, the places where we felt the most broken, but it is often in those very places that God does His deepest healing. This is my story of how He met me in one of my darkest seasons and brought me into freedom.
I have been thinking about how to share my testimony, or even how to begin it. When I look back on my life, there have been many times that God has shown up and poured healing and blessings into it. But the one that stands out the most is my testimony of healing and deliverance from a disorder that I believe was the enemy’s way of trying to stop me and rob me of the calling God had placed on my life.
That disorder was an eating disorder known as anorexia nervosa.
It came at a time in my life—as it does for many young people—when you are trying to understand who you are, where you fit in, or even if you fit in at all. You begin to wonder: Am I pretty enough? Skinny enough? Just… enough? The teenage years can be wild, but they can also be deeply distressing and depressing—especially if you don’t know where your identity lies and you struggle with low self-esteem.
Let me backpedal a little to provide some context.
I come from a loud Hispanic family. There was always laughter, joking, and yes, some seriousness too. I often say you can’t be part of our family unless you have thick skin, because the jokes and laughs may be about you and honestly, that still goes on today. For a long time, it wasn’t a problem… until it was.
Some of my self-image issues began there. There were jokes about my skin color being different from my brothers—I was lighter, while they were darker. Then came comments about me being chunkier than they were. So, I was “white and chunky,” which must have meant I was adopted. Again, all jokes, funny… until they weren’t. And slowly, those words began to take root.
Then came the bullying at school, which I didn’t share with my parents until much later. We moved a lot, so I changed schools often. I constantly had to make new friends, and I was asked questions like, “Why are you a white girl with a Black name?” or “Do you and your brothers have different fathers?” or “Why do you have frizzy hair and thick dark eyebrows?” One kid in 8th grade even started calling me “Hey, Bert” like the character from Sesame Street.
Over time, I began to see myself as chunky, ugly, overweight, and worthless.
The one place I thought I could escape those feelings was church but even there, it wasn’t always easy. That’s not to say I didn’t have friends, because I did. But it was also a time of gossip, comparison, and pressure; where how you looked and dressed often determined who people thought was special or worth being around. Yes, even in church.
I was tired of feeling that way. Tired of having to buy “big girl” clothes. I became depressed and truly hated myself but no one knew, because I had mastered the art of hiding and suppressing my feelings.
The summer after my freshman year, I came to a painful conclusion: tall, overweight girls with frizzy hair and thick eyebrows don’t get boyfriends. So I decided to do something about it.
At first, it started in a healthy way. I cut out junk food, began eating better, and started exercising. I spent hours swimming laps in our pool that summer. By the time band camp came around at the end of summer—going into my sophomore year—I had lost 20 pounds, and everyone noticed. I felt good.
I even tried out for JV volleyball, thinking it would help me stay in shape, and it did. But that’s when things began to spiral.
Despite the weight I had lost, I started picking apart my body. I had body dysmorphia. I still saw “fat,” so I began cutting out meals. I distinctly remember hearing a voice telling me, “If you cut out lunch and dinner and only eat one meal a day, you’ll be skinnier and prettier.” Looking back, I now recognize that voice as the enemy feeding me lies.
But at the time, I listened.
I kept listening until I reached a very low weight, surviving on maybe a bagel and water for an entire day. And the result? I was still unhappy. Still empty.
Eventually, I landed in the hospital with a cardiac arrhythmia, and my kidneys were struggling to function.
By the middle of my sophomore year, I had to be pulled out of school because I had no energy and could pass out at any time. The hardest part was that I knew I could die—the doctors told my parents that—but I didn’t care. There were so many external things happening in my life at the time that I felt completely numb.
It was a slow form of suicide.
The Healing and Deliverance
I will never forget that Easter Sunday morning when Pastor Mark preached a message on victory. It felt like the message was meant just for me. Even now, writing this brings me to tears.
When the call for prayer came at the end of the service, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I knew it was for me. I can’t fully explain it, but it felt as though I was lifted from my seat and drawn to the altar.
I will never forget what happened next.
There were immediate tears—tears of relief. I felt a warmth, like someone was holding me. I know now that it was the Lord. People gathered around me and prayed, including Pastor Mark. I remember him lifting my head and saying, “You are being healed today. I don’t preach messages like this for nothing.”
In that moment, I knew I was delivered.
With the help of a nutritionist, one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met, and through God’s healing power, I never struggled with that disorder again.
Where I Am Today
Fast forward to today. Over the past 12 years, my journey in medicine has led me into the mental health field. If you had asked me 20 years ago if I would work in psychiatry, I would have said, “That’s interesting, but not for me.”
But God had other plans.
He paved my path in such a way that brought me right back to His calling on my life: to serve others in the mental health field. I understand my patients when they talk about severe anxiety. I understand the deep, dark despair of depression. And sadly, I understand what it feels like to be so hopeless and alone that you begin to question whether your life is worth living.
Isaiah 61:3 says:
“To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”
The Bible recognizes heaviness, what we would call depression today. God’s Word brings hope and encouragement to those who feel weighed down. God’s people are called to stand with those who are struggling, bringing relief and restoration, just like those who stood with my parents and prayed for me.
God promises restoration and healing so that He may be glorified.
That is why I can stand here today and give God glory for saving me from myself, for bringing me out of the depths of darkness, and for turning what the enemy meant for evil into something good for His glory.
For the One Still Fighting
My prayer is that if you are struggling—especially in your mind—you would be encouraged to trust in the Lord, to surrender your heart and your thoughts to Him, and to allow Him to heal and deliver you. There is hope. There is freedom. And there is a full, abundant life waiting for you in Him.
3 Responses
Beautiful testimony!
This is so beautiful, thank you so much for sharing this important and empowering story 🤍
💙