I never would have imagined that within two years of walking through the doors of Catherine House, I would have fulfilled many dreams that I thought were beyond my reach. They were called dreams for a reason – a figment of my imagination, something I could only hope for, but never possible. It wasn’t until I came to a place where there were other women facing their troubles, many much more challenging that I could ever fathom, that I realised I wasn’t alone. We were together in our pain and struggles, and it was the women who were there to support us, and pick us up from the ground that were the true inspiration.
I will be forever grateful for the way I was treated in Catherine House – cleaners, cooks, administration staff and volunteers all loved me to life. I needed that more than a bed and a meal on the table. Nothing else could combat the terror and hatred that was ripping me apart inside. Thank God for Catherine House.
Until now, I was the walking dead. I wasn’t here, I was too engulfed by my fear, self-loathing and racing thoughts and insidious beliefs. I was never judged at Catherine House, I was treated with respect, discipline, love, understanding and compassion.