“What have you done to my daughter?” Mom yelled at my stepfather, Oscar, as she grabbed me to get a closer look. “Her hair will grow out thicker,” he explained. I was about three years old when Oscar shaved all my hair off. As I got older, Mom made it a point that I knew how much this bothered her. “I was very upset that he shaved your hair. We got into a big fight over it.” He did not have permission to alter my looks in this way, making my hair even shorter than my older brother Alex.

This buzz cut made me look like the hairless cartoon character Charlie Brown. Alex gave me the nickname Charlie. In his broken English, it sounded like Choly. The name stuck like a brand, and I was called Choly by my family, extended family, and friends. Only in school was I called by my given name, Solé. 

This nickname was more damaging than anyone could have imagined. 

It was not only the name itself but what it represented. I looked like a boy. In addition to that, I was sometimes dressed in boy’s clothing. They could have been Alex’s hand-me-downs. I don’t know. Nevertheless, it was a confusing impression of myself and had a negative impact on my self-image.

As a young girl, I naturally gravitated toward dolls, dresses, and everything girly. I loved making crafts, coloring vibrant, beautiful pictures, playing house, singing, and dancing—often in a leotard or tutu. I loved wearing bright outfits; flower patterns were a bonus. Even when wearing the most dainty dress, I didn’t see a pretty girl when I looked in the mirror. I never did. I saw the shaved-head image from when I was young. As I got older, what I saw in the mirror never changed. I didn’t see my feminine features.

Trauma can cause us to see ourselves as flawed, to see an image that does not fully represent what is really there or who we really are.

In my thirties, I had an unexpected redemptive breakthrough with this part of my story. Upon entering my bedroom, I saw my daughter Hannah looking through my childhood photo album. 

With no thought of what was sliding out of my mouth, I said, “Didn’t I look like a boy?” A picture grabbed my attention as she was ready to flip the page. I placed my hand on it to let her know I was still looking at it. Before me was a little girl with an inch of new hair growth. Innocent. 

I saw when the twinkle in that little girl’s eyes faded. When her beauty was stolen. I saw what broke her heart. I saw all that her young life had already experienced.

For a minute, it was just her and me. Compassion for that little girl from the past welled up in my soul. Seeing those pictures through a different lens—seeing the truth—allowed me to pour love into my inner child.

We all have an inner child who longs for love, acceptance, or even validation. This inner child needs to hear the truth of who she is, and she needs to hear it from you. 

As my daughter noticed my deep reflection over the picture, she asked, “What’s wrong, Mom?” I would answer this question for her one day, just not then. At the time, I said, “Nothing, I’m fine.” As she continued turning the pages, I was in a whirlwind of thoughts. Images of different stages of growth were projected in my mind: as a little girl, entering puberty with my body showing outward signs of my femininity, and entering womanhood. 

That picture showed me when I first believed the lie—when the trauma happened. 

I was holding on to a distorted image of myself because of what someone did to me and the name I was called afterward. This negative thought pattern blinded me from seeing and loving myself properly. Up to that point, I saw myself through the lens of brokenness. I am damaged goods. I didn’t feel worthy of being loved and believed that God made a mistake when He created me. 

Later that evening, alone in my room, I walked towards my dresser mirror. With my hands on the dresser, I stood in front of the mirror and looked into the eyes of the woman staring back at me. 

For the first time in my life, I saw beauty, strength, and tenderness flowing out of me. I saw redemption! 

My features didn’t change at that moment. My heart did. I saw the truth of who I am, of how God made me. I never looked like a boy to my Father! He saw the little girl He created. He saw the woman I had become and finally, so did I.

Healing and reconciliation from my past to the present took place at that very moment. 

I was suddenly aware of how this negative thought pattern emerged, developed, and ultimately took me captive. It was like peeling an onion. God revealed another layer of my story, and He showed me how He made me and how He sees me, not what I thought of myself because of what someone did to me. I wondered what other areas of my life had been captive to the lies from the past. 

When people are bound by lies that grip them through words or events, these lies attack their identity and derail them from God’s purpose. They contradict God’s truth. 

Paul tells us to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). Pray that God would reveal through the Holy Spirit the lies you believe about yourself and the truth of who He created to be. Breakthrough comes when you no longer let your past trauma define you but instead allow God to redeem your past so your story can become your strength. 

~Solé

Solé is the author of After Some Time , a bold memoir with thought-provoking questions and Scripture readings that will encourage you to break the cycle of shame and secrecy. You will discover that you are not alone with the scars that trauma has left behind as you read real-life stories of women like you. This book will empower you to confront your if people knew secrets and release the control they have over your life. Solé shares parts of her story and the secret that kept her stuck for almost five decades. It was her mother’s hardships that filtered into her own life and their journey of overcoming that inspired this book.