My Story

The Girl Named Faith

The life No One Saw

Growing up, I was Megan.

I grew up with the family who raised me and was in church for as long as I can remember. From the outside, our family looked like the kind of family people might think had it all together.

And my twin sister, Heather, was everything to me.

We were inseparable. We even ended up in the same classes at a Christian school, so it seemed like we were always together. She was my sister, my twin, my best friend, and one of the most important people in my world.

But behind closed doors, there was a part of our story that no one saw.

While everything may have looked fine from the outside, we were carrying trauma, pain, and experiences that would shape us in ways we couldn't yet understand.

Then life changed in ways I never could have imagined.

I lost my sister.

And around that same time, I became a mother at nineteen—twenty years old a young woman having a child outside of marriage, trying to navigate a life I wasn't prepared for.

But my son became a light in one of the darkest seasons of my life. In the middle of so much loss, he brought hope. He gave my family something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I didn't know it then, but the years ahead would take me through places of grief, confusion, brokenness, and choices I never imagined making.

And somehow, God would use even those chapters.

The things I would eventually overcome would become part of the testimony He was writing through my life.

I didn't know who I was becoming yet. But God did.

Where I Came From

Before I ever knew the story of my beginning, there was a little girl named Faith.

My birth mother was only thirteen years old when she became pregnant with my twin sister and me. My biological father was eighteen and lived in her neighborhood.

It wasn't until I found my biological family recently that I learned the truth about how my sister and I came into this world. We were conceived through rape—a truth I had lived my entire life without knowing.

My birth mother wanted us. But she was only thirteen, and her stepmother believed she was too young to raise us and forced her to place us for adoption.

My grandmother considered adopting us herself. But eventually, she made the decision to have us adopted by the family who would become our adoptive family.

And before we were adopted, my birth mother gave us names:

Faith and Hope.

I didn't know those names for most of my life.

When my adoptive family adopted us, our names were changed.

Faith became Megan.
Hope became Heather.

Our biological family was also told that we had been taken to another state. They weren't told that our names had been changed.

So, they searched for two little girls named Faith and Hope, in the wrong state.

All those years, they were looking for us.

And the part of this story that still amazes me is this:

We were never as far away as they thought.

We were right here.

Only a town apart.

For years, the people who loved us and wanted to find us were searching for girls who no longer existed by the names they knew.

And I was growing up as Megan, never knowing that somewhere nearby was a family who was still looking for Faith.

I wouldn't discover that truth until much later.

And when I finally did, I began to realize that my story had been carrying pieces of my identity long before I was old enough to understand them.