I always felt a bit like an outsider, especially among my friends. At times, it seemed they'd close the circle in conversations, leaving me outside. Over the years, as I dealt with the brokenness in people, I discovered that many others share this feeling. It doesn't mean you're being pushed out. It's about a feeling of not meeting their standards, which may cause you to retreat. I can now see what was happening in my life. But, in my twenties, I silently believed my friends didn't like me.

 

In my early thirties, after I started attending the Vineyard Church, I had a powerful dream. The dream was so upsetting that I decided to share it with a wonderful, godly woman. After I told her about my dream, she asked me to come and see her.

In the dream, as an adult, I went to a restaurant with the youngest of my three brothers and my mother. A little girl accompanied us. As soon as we sat down, my mother got up to go to the bathroom. After a while, my brother also got up and walked out. I sat at the table with the little girl, waiting for my mother and brother to return so we could order food and eat. Eventually, the little girl and I fell asleep at the table.

In my dream, I woke up to find the little girl still there, and we both had nothing to eat. Looking at that poor, hungry child filled me with such anger that I got up and went looking for my mother and brother. I found them both outside, on beach recliners in the sun. They were sipping fancy drinks and having a great time.

The dream ended with me running to my mother and slapping her in the face. I couldn’t stop. I was shocked at my actions and felt terrible! When I woke up, resentment and hostility overwhelmed me, leaving me feeling so ashamed. Later, I visited the lady from our church. I cried as I shared my dream with her. I felt so bad about my reaction. She began asking me questions about my relationship with my mother and ministered to me. The healing had begun, but it was only the start. Years later, the issue continued to resurface.

 

I was the youngest of five children. My sister Monica was the eldest, and there were three boys between her and me. My mum had me when she was forty, at the height of her career as a dressmaker, which was her lifelong passion. Unfortunately, having another child was not part of her plan. I often felt ignored and unwanted by her.

 

In many ways, Monica became everything I wanted to be close to. As a toddler, my mum on one occasion went to care for her sick mother. The plan was for Monica to take me to our beloved neighbours during the day and take care of me after school. Unfortunately, I clung to Monica like a little monkey. They had to inform the school that she wouldn't attend that week. It wasn't until my forties that the Lord took me back to that time. He showed me that, in her absence, I detached from my mother, and attached to my sister.

 

My mother was a very successful seamstress, spending long days in front of the sewing machine. I would sit on the floor near her while she worked until my three brothers returned home from school. They were often told to take me out and give me some attention—"Remove her from under my feet," she used to say. What began as them playing with me became bullying. It left painful memories. I understand they were young boys wanting to play after school rather than take care of a toddler. Those bullying sessions only added to my feelings of rejection.

As I grew older, my mum would often make jokes about everything I did. I longed to hear her say, "I love you," and for her to laugh with me, rather than at me. But it never happened. When I was around nine years old, I began to back-chat her. It became a way for me to express some of my anger toward her. I remember a painful moment. She slapped me in the face and said, "I hate you." Jesus taught us in Matthew 19:19 to honour our parents and to "love your neighbour as yourself." It took me half my life to realise that I did not truly love myself; I had no framework for understanding love. I once heard that constant criticism from parents can hurt kids. As parents, they won't stop loving you, but they'll stop loving themselves. Every child needs to feel loved, but if nobody shows it or expresses it, the consequences are dire.

 

What I do remember are the most painful and heartbreaking moments. I recall being with my mother and our neighbour in the kitchen during my last year of school. This lady had never met the rest of our family, as they had already left home. She said to my mother, “Leonie must be your most beautiful child.” My mother replied, “No, she’s not. My oldest son is my most beautiful child.” To this day, I cannot comprehend how she could say something so hurtful, especially in front of me.

With my very first pay-cheque, I bought myself a guitar and took some lessons, something I had always wanted to do. My mom and her sister visited my little flat one day. My aunt saw my guitar and asked me about it. I tried to change the subject, but she insisted that I play something for her. I was tapping my foot to keep the rhythm, but my mom found it hilarious and started pointing at my foot and laughing. She finally included my aunt in the laughter. I quickly packed up my guitar, deciding I would never do that again. Those moments broke my heart and destroyed any confidence I had.

 

I came to understand the anger that manifested in my dream. The lady who prayed for me said the little girl in my dream was me. I needed to let go of my anger towards my mom and brother. I knew I had to forgive them, but there was still a lot I needed to work through.

 

My brother always started bullying me. He persuaded the middle brother to join in, and my mother became involved later. The road to my healing was going to be long.

These and other experiences would be very influential. For example my Art College days, Helen de Leeuw did me a favour. It took me years to understand why I didn't reply to her. However, I realise now that nothing was lost. God knew how I would react, but He had another plan for my life.