Nia’s Story

Ex-communicated from for her failure to bring her abusive husband to repentance, Nia was forced to make a false public confession in order to be restored to fellowship.

by Noelle Wells

          I was born in Troy, New York, in September 1950. I was the fifth of ten children and the first girl after four boys. My father, charming but unreliable, left the family when I was seven years old, leaving my mother to provide for the family alone. My father would come by periodically throughout my life, but he couldn’t be counted on. Even so, my mother remained charmed by him until the day she died. You can imagine with such a big family and a single parent that we were poor! We survived on welfare, which in those days was something you couldn’t hide. In those times, welfare recipients were judged and found wanting. Not because of poverty, but as a result of this stigma, I felt deep embarrassment and shame for many years.
          My oldest brother began molesting me when I was still in a crib. My mother caught him a few years later and gave me ‘the talk’ and told me not to let my brother do that to me. Sadly, this went on for years without her effectively stopping him. When I reached puberty, I was finally able to stop his abuse myself. At that point, he shifted to calling me vulgar names. At age sixteen, I finally snapped! I grabbed a sharp can opener and attempted to attack him. My siblings held me back. That seemed to genuinely frighten him, and he left me alone after that. Although my brother was no longer abusing me, much damage was done. In addition to PTSD, I was consumed with horrific shame which impacted all my thinking and emotions.  I started my life carrying a burden I would not ever fully shed.
          I coped with my tumultuous life by escaping into books. We moved often, and I felt quite isolated and without many friends. Thus, reading became my safe place. I would read several books a week and even irritated my mom for being so absent when she needed me.  
         At age thirteen, I met Peter, the man I would eventually marry. He was Catholic, but he participated in our church youth group with his friend because there were girls there. Ultimately, I became friends with Peter’s sister, and Peter befriended my brothers. They spent an enormous amount of time at our house. 
When I was sixteen, I started dating other boys.  Peter became jealous and decided I was to be his girlfriend. He pursued me tirelessly. Today they would call it ‘love-bombing’. Eventually I gave in and we started dating. Soon after, I got pregnant. My mother wouldn’t let me marry him because Peter wasn’t a Christian. He left and joined the Marines. He accepted the Lord during that time and my mother agreed to let us marry. We remained married for 35 years before our divorce.

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