When the Pain Is Real… But So Is the Truth

I’ve been sitting with the book of Lamentations lately, and if I’m honest, it’s been heavy in a way that feels… familiar. Not overwhelming, but confronting. Like reading someone else’s grief and realizing you’ve felt parts of it before, just in your own way.

And I think that’s why it’s been staying with me.

Because I’ve had seasons in my life where I didn’t have language for what I was going through. I just knew something felt off… and instead of leaving, I convinced myself to stay.

I remember being in a relationship that took a real emotional, spiritual, and even physical toll on me. And the hardest part to admit now is that I knew, deep down, this wasn’t something God had sent. The warnings were subtle, but they were there. I just didn’t want to fully see them.

What’s wild is that everything around me at the time looked like it was finally coming together. I had just gotten my first apartment. My son and I were good. I was working from home, growing in my career, and financially I was starting to see the light. Life was stabilizing.

And then something entered my life that looked like a blessing… but wasn’t.

Looking back now, I can call it what it was—a counterfeit. But at the time, I didn’t recognize it, because I didn’t yet love myself in a mature way. So what felt like love, I received as love. What looked like provision, I mistook for care. Bills were paid, shopping sprees, trips… even a trip to Spain. And I remember thinking, this must be what being loved right feels like.

But it wasn’t.

It was manipulation. Control. Confusion. Pain. And the hardest truth I’ve had to sit with is that I tolerated things I knew weren’t right while also trying to convince myself that I wasn’t. I would fight back, argue, leave, come back… and in my mind I told myself I was strong. That I respected myself. But the truth is, I was still betraying myself in the process.

I remember grieving the independence and freedom I fought so hard to build. Sitting there thinking, how did I even get here?

And in that place, I started numbing. I smoked a lot of weed—not because I didn’t love God, but because I didn’t want to feel the weight of my decisions. I didn’t want to sit with the truth. And I shamed myself for it. I condemned myself for believing I needed someone other than God.

Because if I’m being honest, I had made idols. Out of a man. Out of a feeling. Out of escape.

And that’s hard to say.

But even in that… God never left me.

I was still in my Word. Still praying. Still worshipping. Even when I wasn’t showing up perfectly, He was still there. I fasted for 40 days, just water—not because I was trying to prove anything, but because the trauma had taken my appetite. And in that place, God met me.

He moved.

He moved me. He covered me. He protected my son in ways I can’t even fully explain. And that’s what humbles me the most—my son was shielded from so much of what I went through. God’s grace was that real. His mercy… I didn’t deserve it, but He gave it anyway.

And this is why reading Lamentations has been hitting me so deeply.

Because it’s not just grief over what happened. It’s grief that’s also connected to what was allowed, ignored, or repeated. And that’s the part we don’t always talk about, because it’s easier to process pain when we can point outward instead of inward.

But I had to sit with the truth that some of what I experienced… was connected to choices I made while I was still unhealed, still searching, still trying to find something outside of God that only He could be for me.

That doesn’t mean everything was my fault. There were things that were done to me, things that were out of my control, things that were unfair. But there were also moments where I knew better and didn’t choose better. Moments where I silenced discernment. Moments where I stayed longer than I should have.

And God, in His love, didn’t shame me for that. He showed me.

Right in the middle of Lamentations, there’s this reminder that I’ve been holding onto: “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning…” — Lamentations 3:22-23

That verse means more to me now than it ever has.

Because it reminds me that even when my choices played a role in my pain, God’s mercy still met me there. He didn’t leave me in it. He didn’t define me by it. He used it to show me the difference.

The difference between what looks like love… and what actually is. The difference between what feels good… and what is from Him. The difference between counterfeit peace and the peace that only comes from Him.

And I think that’s what I’m learning in this season. Not just how to heal from what I went through, but how to be honest about it. How to take accountability without carrying shame. How to let God show me the truth without running from it.

Because real healing hasn’t looked like me having everything figured out. It’s looked like me sitting with God, being honest, and letting Him gently correct me while still covering me.

And maybe that’s where freedom actually begins.

Not in pretending. Not in blaming. But in truth… with God right in the middle of it.