A version of this experience first appeared in the U.K. publication, Art of Living. 

Jane Steele had to reach rock bottom before she found the sparkling diamond of Buddhahood. 

I was born a Black child to a single mother in Yorkshire in 1969. It may have been the tail-end of the Swinging Sixties, but many attitudes remained firmly Victorian. At the time of my birth my mum lived in an unmarried mothers' home in Chapeltown, Leeds, where my horrified grandparents had placed her after stopping her from marrying my father through racism.  

My father disowned me, threatening my mother that he'd "swear her out of existence" if she tried to say that I was his. Prior to my birth, one of my mother's uncles had offered to pay for an abortion. Mum refused, and also kept me against all odds, when the policy in such homes at that time was to coerce mothers into adoption. 

After the home we moved in with my grandparents in Wakefield. Mum married in haste in 1970. Having repented at leisure, she returned with me to my grandparents' home in the early Seventies. There then followed a series of my mother's boyfriends — all flares, stack heels, and strong aftershave — and arguments between my mother and grandmother reminiscent of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. I was frequently the piggy in the middle.  

In 1977, I was sexually abused by a gang of boys in a series of episodes. Afterwards one of their friends called me "the waste of a good f**k." (Not a good thing to hear at any age and, anyway, how did he know? They must have been gossiping.) This experience, and those words, went straight into my subconscious. I "forgot" the episode as a coping mechanism, but began to carry around a nagging but pronounced feeling of contamination: a feeling that I was soiled, inferior and dirty. My weight began to fluctuate and I developed stomach problems to the point where I went for blood tests — not surprisingly, they yielded nothing. I also began to have trouble sleeping, as well as eczema. Racism was a constant. 

In 1978 my mother met my current stepfather. We moved in with him in 1982 and so began four years of torture. I was told that I was a "quadroon" and that any children I had would be "octoroons" — old slave-trading terms for people who were perceived as one-quarter or one-eighth Black.  

I moved out in 1986, back to my grandparents. I was covered in eczema and recovering from the glandular fever I had succumbed to the year before, but things began improving. I changed schools and with the help of my grandparents, teachers, and old and new friends got excellent A-level results and went to university in London. I also got a good degree, which surprised me because I was more interested in drink, drugs, nightclubs, and sleeping.  

After graduating, unsure of what I wanted and in the middle of a severe recession, I returned to Wakefield and began temping in Leeds to pay off my overdraft, raving in Leeds and Manchester at the same time, and dabbling with speed and Ecstasy in the process. I also went to Trinidad to see my Black relatives, including my father.  

I then moved to Liverpool in 1992, having met someone at an engagement party. Writing had been an interest for many years and I got a voluntary job with a listings magazine. I went to Trinidad again in 1993. This time, my father hid behind a steel drum rather than speak to me. I buried those feelings of rejection and anger along with all the others: I was carrying a ticking timebomb inside!  

Then in 1994 my beloved Grandad, the only semblance of a kind/steady male presence in my life, died. As frozen and out of touch with my own emotions as I was, I didn't grieve properly. I wrote a novel in the space of three months and began taking drugs with a vengeance, having moved into a flat on my own and found a dealer. My amphetamine intake began escalating: in 1995, when I got my first "proper job" as an admin assistant at an inner-city special school, I was on speed at the interview. 

That job was the start of something really special for me. I was earning a regular wage and active in the unique, challenging, and very special Liverpool 8 community. I also met the friend who introduced me to Buddhism and began to chant in Spring 1996.  

Yet highs and lows fought for dominance in my life: for example, I got the job in the September, had a car accident in October, and caught salmonella in November. Salmonella didn't stop me: come that New Year's Eve I was on a table in a city centre bar, full of speed and Ecstasy, dancing away. I'm surprised that I still have a stomach lining! I caught chickenpox at about the same time and in January ’97, I was in another car crash.  

All my karmic patterns were gearing up for one huge showdown with the good in my life. A so-called friend had a long-distance boyfriend who worked in a table-dancing club in Texas. I wanted to try it! I had the bright idea of telling my boss where she could stick her job and flying out there to be a table dancer.  

Table dancing was, for me, a complete disaster. A bigger disaster was that I returned home and told my then boyfriend, with whom I was completely in love, or so I thought. He dropped me like a hot potato, slandering me to anyone who would listen and calling my mental health into question. It was my stepfather all over again, but I had brought this situation about due to my greed, anger, and stupidity.  

I was devastated. Unable to work for very long, sleep or keep food down, all the fatigue, drug abuse and years of self-slander took their toll. Astonishingly I still managed to do things, such as get a job. I gave it up after two months because I had to drag myself up from the bathroom floor (where I would regularly collapse in the mornings) to get myself there. I also arranged a family reunion with cousins from Trinidad and Manchester, and had a go at sending articles off to the Black press. My dream of becoming a writer was still a flickering flame — just about alive, like me! 

Come August 1997, I had no job, my flat had damp in all but one room, I was heartbroken and physically exhausted. It was still possible to bulk-buy Ibuprofen tablets then: buy them I did. The first time I took around 60; the second time, 80-90. A despairing friend rushed me to the hospital where I promptly threw up all the tablets.  

There, left to my own devices on the overnight observation ward, I really began to think about what I was doing to myself, my body, and my life. "What’s happened to me?" I thought. "What's happened to all my talent?"  

This was the epiphany, the turning point: it was the first time I had ever given myself credit for having any talent, at anything. During that overnight stay, I also thought, "There must be a flip-side to this. If I have messed up to this degree, then surely I can succeed to the same degree, and greater."  

Bingo: I had found the indestructible diamond buried deep in the mud. Very slowly, I began to make the necessary changes in my way of thinking, feeling and doing. My friend, the same one who had introduced me to Buddhism when we worked together, taught me gongyo, and I began to attend meetings. What impressed me most of all was the sweet fragrance of the incense and the serene, welcoming atmosphere of certain members' homes, particularly as my own place was a mess: I could smell the damp from it in my own hair.  

That was five years ago. Now, I have a beautiful flat, which I chanted for, in one of the most desirable parts of Liverpool. The city itself is regenerating like a phoenix after years of struggle. Liverpool has now become a Chapter and we have small but thriving, growing and powerful Young Women's division for which I am honoured and humbled to be the District Leader. I have had promotions, substantial pay rises, a job change and now work hours which I chose. My current (lovely) employers know that these hours fit around my writing and my Buddhist activities. In June, through work, I am participating in a Dragon Boat race in Liverpool for Businesses Against Child Abuse and the NSPCC (National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) — something which I hope to be a real expression of my bodhisattva nature. 

Memories of the sexual abuse came up in the form of flashbacks in summer 1998, and I dealt with them through two years of counselling — every week for the first nine months, then less and less frequently until I no longer needed the sessions.  

The best part is that at my previous job, someone phoned from a very well known regional magazine. My Buddha wisdom in full flow, I quickly asked if they wanted any contributors. The answer was yes and for two years, from February 2000 to February 2002, I worked for them as a freelance book and club reviewer. So, not only has my dream of being a professional writer come true, I got paid for reading and going out! 

An increasingly strong Buddhist practise has made the difference. I was very sceptical at first, but as I continued to chant there were too many positive "coincidences" for me to write off. Through chanting daimoku, I obtained the energy and wisdom to make changes. Keibi (spending a week looking after the Taplow Court Buddhist centre in England), study courses and a week at our centre in Trets in France moved my life on still further. You feel the changes inside.  

The most obvious conspicuous benefit came from doing the monthly Buddhist newsletter, which "coincidentally" preceded my break as a professional writer.  

The inconspicuous benefits have been immeasurable — purpose, strength, clarity, peace, and happiness: a miracle after almost thirty years of constant upheaval, suffering and confusion.  

And, of course, when you see the benefits yourself, you want to share them with others in the form of telling others (shakabuku). Your ego melts away and you don’t care whether they think you are a religious nut. You just want them to be happy! The most unlikely things happen, too: my grandma is now practising, for example, at the age of 85, and the positive transformation is unbelievable. Last Saturday, my Mum accompanied me to a study meeting. 

The key discovery for me has been choice. I no longer have to accept the demeaning rubbish that I have been force-fed about myself and what I am capable of. The very solid concepts within this Buddhism — the Ten Worlds, cause and effect, and the oneness of self and environment — help me to see, clearly every day, how I can act to make things better for myself and others. And taking complete responsibility means that being a victim becomes a thing of the past.  

Now, the next stage of my life is here. On 2nd December 2000, I began one million daimoku with the aim of getting a novel published and making a comfortable, full-time living from my writing. Now, in March 2002, I have about 20 hours left. That million daimoku has taken me on an incredible journey which will make the publication of my first novel the icing on a wonderful cake, no matter when I achieve it.  

Generally, I know that there is going to be at least as much happiness as there has been misery. I can also see a positive aspect to the bad things I went through. Having been on the receiving end of cruel words, for example, means that I know the psychology of language; I can now use words my way, to create value for myself and, crucially, for people who are suffering. And I've also lived, up to now, three novels' worth of experiences! So, if you are reading this and feel like giving up hope or feel trapped by circumstances, please don't. There is a way out. As the Gosho says: 

"Even a tarnished mirror will shine like a jewel when polished…. Arouse deep faith and polish your mirror night and day. How should you polish it? Only by chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo."