“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

I was never allowed to be a child.

The abuse was constant from the time I was a baby. There are official doctor and police records of cigarette burns and bruises all over my body even before I turned 3. My own mother — the woman who gave birth to me — beat me relentlessly, threw me across rooms into walls, and once hung me by my feet over a 16-storey balcony while I screamed. I was locked in bathrooms for hours while she worked as a sex worker and drug addict. I was exposed to things no child should ever see. I was subjected to sexual abuse from a very young age, molested by her clients, raped. My little brother, who was only a year older than a toddler at the time, suffered severe physical abuse that caused brain injury and lifelong intellectual disabilities. I had to raise him while trying to survive her.

When I finally called the police on my own situation, I was taken away… only to be sent back six months later. The abuse continued and escalated. I remained trapped in that environment until I was 7 years old. My entire childhood was destroyed.

Even after I was finally removed, the system failed me again. In foster care I was locked in rooms for days at a time. On some nights I had no choice but to relieve myself in the corner of the room I was trapped in. Despite the state having official records of the abuse I suffered from the time I was a baby, I was never given any proper mental health support or care while in the system.

I started working at 12 years old — lying about my age (forgive me lord)— because I had no one and nothing. By God’s grace, I’ve been headstrong and independent my entire life. I carried severe anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, and insomnia, yet I kept fighting. I worked. I survived.

But the last two years have finished what my childhood started.

Australia’s housing and cost-of-living crisis has destroyed any chance I had. I work part-time. I have no family and no safety net. With everything skyrocketing, I had nowhere left to go.

So I spent what little money I had on a bus. Not because I wanted some perfect “van life” adventure, but because I needed one thing in this world that could become mine — a roof, a door I can close, and a place to sleep. A tiny home where I can finally stop living in constant survival mode.

I’ve been trying to make it livable, but I have nothing left for insulation, power, a real bed, or basic security. Every single day is a battle just to exist. The stress is destroying what little mental health I have left. It feels like I’ve been running my entire life and I’m finally out of road.

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4

I’m not asking for luxury. I’m asking for the one thing I have never had: a safe, stable place to exist so I can finally stop surviving and start healing.

With your help I can turn this bus into an actual home — somewhere warm and secure where I can sleep without fear and focus on getting my mind and body back. Even $10 or $20 makes a real difference. If you can’t give, please share this. I will be completely transparent with every dollar and post updates with photos.

After everything that was done to me and every system that failed me, I’m still here — trusting that God has not forgotten me. This could be the turning point He is providing through His people.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for your prayers and support.