Growing up in a family of 10 children with an alcoholic, abusive father, and a 4’10” mother who seemed to stand taller than anyone wasn’t easy. Some images from my childhood have never left me – images no child should have to carry.

As we got older, my brothers and I helped however we could, shining shoes in bars and selling newspapers on the streets of South San Francisco. I thought we were simply doing what we had to do. Looking back, I realize those years were teaching me faith, hard work, and perseverance – the foundation that would shape my life.

Lessons My Mother Planted

As I grew into adulthood, I continued learning from my mother in quiet ways. We didn’t have much, but when we visited friends or family, she would often give them money – people who had even less than we did. She gave not from abundance, but from understanding what it meant to need help.From her, I learned that sacrifice doesn’t have to be loud, and serving others doesn’t require abundance. Sometimes it means remembering what it feels like to have nothing and choosing to give anyway.

Betrayal and the Weight of Adulthood

Those lessons followed me into adulthood more than I realized at the time. I carried them with me in the way I worked, the way I treated people, and the way I tried to keep moving even when life became heavy. My beginning was not easy, but it gave me something I could not have learned from comfort – a foundation built from faith, hard work, sacrifice, and my mother’s example of strength.

Finding Purpose Through Work

After 12 years in Seattle, I moved back to South San Francisco expecting family to feel like family. Instead, I found division and moved to Sacramento, where I began a career in Information Technology.

Starting as an application tester, I discovered how much I loved helping people. My work ethic took me from technician to supervisor to manager, where I built teams, mentored others, and learned the importance of doing the right thing.

But while my career grew, my faith did not. I became focused on work, success, and survival, while nightlife, partying, gambling, and other choices pulled me further from my foundation.Then I fell in love with a woman who offered me something different—church, stability, and family. I moved to Los Angeles with the foundation my mother had given me, but without the community and structure of a church to hold it together.

Success Without a Foundation

I thought I had finally found a whole life. I had a successful career, a beautiful wife and family, and a big home. She was able to stay home and raise her daughters, and from the outside, it looked like we had everything. We were even looking for a church, but never quite found one.

Then, in 2020, the pandemic changed everything. I was laid off after years of being the go-to guy at work. With a good severance, I told my wife I would take three months to rest before looking for another job. But within the first month, I became reckless – drinking heavily, spending freely on friends, and even smoking weed. Then my wife told me she wanted a divorce. I didn’t contest it. In a short time, I had lost both my job and my marriage.

Stunned, I began to self-sabotage, masking my pain and surrounding myself with people who were only there for what I could give them. I lived that way for 14 months. Little by little, the money ran out and the friends disappeared.

I found myself empty, alone, broken, and lost.

And right there, near the bottom of myself, one of my mentees suggested Hillside Community Church.

Hillside and the Road Back

When I visited, Pastor Woody was on stage and began the service with words that seemed to reach right into where I was: “We are glad you are here. Some of you may be broken, but we are glad you are here. Some of you are sick, but we are glad you are here. Some of you are in a good season, and we are glad you are here.”

I felt welcome, even though I wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling yet.

The next week, I went again. A kid’s choir joined the worship team, and I noticed one child singing with an energy I had never seen. They sand, “I Speak Jesus,” a song about depression, anxiety, family, and so many of the places where I was broken.

I broke down.

Soon after, my doctor told me I was experiencing severe depression and anxiety, and that it would take time to work through the trauma I had never dealt with. It all felt like too much – no job, money running out, the weight of divorce, and God calling me while I was barely holding on.

The pressure overtook me, and I overdosed on the medication I had been prescribed. I remember waking up in a room and eventually being sent home. Recovery didn’t come all at once. It came slowly through counseling, returning to church, and taking small steps I didn’t always feel strong enough to take.Then I met a woman who invited me to a luncheon called Pizza with the Pastor. I accepted, still carrying the shame of the past few years and the weight of trying to end my life.

As I walked to my car afterward, I found a note that a child had dropped. It said, “Believe in God. He is Real. He loves you.” I didn’t believe it was a coincidence. I believed God was speaking to me directly. In that moment, something shifted. I decided I was going to make my commitment to Him intentional.

At the time, Hillside had a program called 1,000 Tables, where people could sign up to share a meal with members of the church. I signed up for many.I also joined a Next Steps class and volunteered with the parking team, helping with traffic and greeting people as they arrived.Recovery became more than just surviving. It became showing up, connecting, serving, and letting God rebuild what had been broken.

From Survival to Testimony

Although I know the journey is not finished, I can look back and see God’s hand in places I couldn’t see it before. The same foundation my mother planted in me – faith, resilience, sacrifice, hard work, and service – was still there, even when I had buried it under pain, disappointment, and poor choices.

Recovery didn’t erase my past, but it began to redeem it. It taught me that brokenness is not the end of the story, and that God can still use the pieces we thought were too damaged to matter.

Today, Hillside allows me to serve in ways I never imagined. I still serve in the parking lot, am part of Rooted, help in the kitchen with Sunday night meals, assist the facilities team with breaking down and setting up the church, and help with prayer requests.These may seem like simple places to serve, but to me they are signs of something deeper. What once felt like survival is becoming purpose, and what once felt like loss is becoming testimony.

Looking back, I can see how every season taught me something – my mother taught me resilience, my career taught me hard work and leadership, and my losses taught me how quickly success, money, relationships, and status can disappear when the foundation underneath is not strong enough.

God used all of it – the hardship, mistakes, broken places, and moments I thought would destroy me – to bring me back to the foundation He had been building in me all along.

This story is not just about what I survived. It is about how God kept reaching for me, how He met me in my lowest places, and how He began turning a broken life into a life with purpose.

A Heart of Thanks

I want to give a special thanks to the people God placed in my life during different seasons of this journey. Some encouraged me, some prayed for me, some challenged me, and some simply made room for me when I needed a place to belong. I am grateful for every conversation, invitation, act of kindness, and moment of support that helped me keep going. The kindness, prayers, and encouragement will not be not forgotten by God.

By: Oscar Gomez