The Road Between the Pain and True Healing

 Leaving the church wasn’t the end of my faith journey. It was the start of a completely different one.

When I walked away from that building, from those people, and from everything I had known, I didn’t walk away from God. I never stopped believing. My relationship with Him didn’t vanish—but I can’t pretend it didn’t change. For years, it was distant. Quiet. Strained. Not because He stopped loving me, but because I didn’t know how to approach Him anymore without the structure I’d always depended on.

And in that vulnerable space—feeling unanchored and uncertain—I met my first love.

At the time, I thought I loved him. I needed to believe I did, because after all the hurt I’d experienced, I was desperate to hold on to anything that looked like love. He wasn’t kind. He was emotionally manipulative, dishonest, and damaging. But I stayed. I stayed for nearly two years. He cheated. He lied. He made me feel like I was never enough—and I believed it. After being let down so many times, I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve better anyway.

It took everything in me—and the loving persistence of my family and friends—to finally take the blinders off. They helped me see what I had been too worn down to see on my own: I was being abused. And I didn’t have to stay in that cycle.

Walking away from him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But it was also the first time in years that I chose myself. Chose healing. Chose freedom.

And then… came the unexpected.

I was in college when I met the man who would change my life completely.

He wasn’t just another guy. He wasn’t just a rebound or a temporary distraction. He was steady. Kind. Patient. I didn’t believe it at first—I didn’t trust it. I waited for him to leave like others had, or to hurt me like I had come to expect. I tried to push him away more than once. I told myself I didn’t deserve his love, and sometimes I acted like I didn’t.

But he stayed.

He loved me anyway. Through every wall I put up. Through every breakdown. Through every lie I believed about myself. He kept showing up. Over and over again.

We met when we were just 18 years old. And we’ve been together ever since.

He Loved Me Anyway

Meeting my husband wasn’t the end of my healing, but it was the beginning of something new—something safe.

He saw the broken parts of me and didn’t run. He loved me through my doubt, my fear, my self-sabotage. And no matter how much I tried to push him away, he stayed. He loved me anyway.

Our story deserves its own space—and I’ll share more about him soon—but for now, I’ll just say this:

Sometimes God sends love in the quietest, most unexpected ways. Not to fix you, but to walk with you as you heal.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew I wasn’t walking alone.