Nikki’s Story:
I can remember that day like it was yesterday. On a warm winter day in Austin, Texas, I walked out of church feeling strong and hopeful for the future. Out of nowhere, a handsome man walked up beside me and introduced himself. I’d never had a man seem so instantly drawn to me, so focused. It was almost like a movie scene. He was handsome and charming, and we immediately connected.
Little did I know that one seemingly carefree walk would change the course of my life forever.
While I had grown up in a Christian home, I was living a life that looked more like the world. I didn’t really know God. I had my first true encounter with the Holy Spirit when I was with Jack, and I connected my new faith to him. He seemed selfless and generous, a true man of God.
Later in our relationship, I began to see red flags. My family became concerned that Jack was too controlling. One of his neighbors warned me to be careful with him based on an earlier experience. Since others’ concerns contradicted what I’d seen in Jack, I concluded they didn’t know him like I did.
As we spent time together, Jack sometimes told me stories of his abusive childhood. Even as an adult he felt rejected and misunderstood. I felt inspired to support him, showing him not everyone would treat him poorly. I would show him true love and kindness. I began pulling away from anyone who “misjudged” him.
On a hot July day, I married Jack at the Austin courthouse against the wishes of my parents and my family. When I told my mom, she was distraught. But Jack had won me, and now I was his wife.
From that day, everything changed. On our wedding night, he was detached, cold, and selfish. I knew right away I had made a mistake.
Soon afterwards, he started bringing home a six pack of beer every night, something he had never done while we were dating. He began to control my every move, belittle me, and scrutinize every word I said.
He began calling me names that no one—I mean no one—had ever called me. I was in shock that my own husband could call me such names. We lived in a duplex with thin walls, and my neighbor approached me one day, telling me I didn’t deserve the way I was being treated. Despite the neighbor’s courage, I stayed.
To Jack, everything I did was wrong. How I cooked, cleaned, dressed, even the words I said. Everything had to bend to his wishes. Anything that went wrong was my fault. It’s painful to remember how he used to yell at me; it was unrelenting and humiliating.
His mistreatment wore down my self-esteem little by little, until I began to feel insecure and dependent upon him. The worse I felt about myself, the more control he gained. I just wanted the yelling to stop, so I learned how to do and say what he wanted.
Jack also had a broken back, resulting in four major back surgeries. After each surgery, I took care of him while the abuse raged on. Every time I left the house, I had to give a full report of what I did, everyone I spoke with, and every word I said. This interrogation created so much anxiety that I tried to avoid people so I could bypass his scrutiny.
Following his surgeries, Jack got addicted to pain medicine to the point of seizures from the volume of medicine in his body. He even visited doctors in Mexico for prescription supplements.
One day, I came home to find him shooting up IV cocaine. That was when Jack started behaving irrationally. He hallucinated, talking to demons through windows. He put paper clips in the window cracks, trying to keep the demons from coming in. He wrote with soap on the mirrors. It was a season of pure fear and evil in our home.
Everything came to a head one night when he thought the demons were after him and grabbed his gun, ready to shoot them. Afraid an innocent neighbor would get hurt, I tried to talk him down from his psychosis as the night wore on. He took the phones away from me so I couldn’t call the police. I was trapped in a very dangerous situation.
At one point in the night, I simply collapsed on the floor in a fetal position, paralyzed by my own fear. Then the Lord intervened. An overwhelming sense of peace and clarity came over me. I possessed an authority over Jack I had never known before. I grabbed the gun, coaxed him into giving me a phone, and finally called for help.
We took him to rehab that day. I gathered enough strength to tell him that if he didn’t stop doing drugs, I would leave him. I visited him in rehab, where I sat in family sessions, stunned at what my life had become. Many others in that group had similar stories.
My tiny spark of hope was quickly extinguished when shortly after rehab, Jack returned to his addiction. His relapse was the catalyst that finally gave me permission to leave. I stayed with my sister while I tried to decompress. During that time, I bought a book about abuse with a questionnaire determining the type of abuse suffered: mental, physical, emotional and more. Broken, I realized my abuse checked every category.
Seeing that revelation on paper opened my eyes to all the lies and mistreatment I had endured. I had adapted my life around the abuse, but after reading the book, I could no longer excuse it away. The prison door was finally open, and I gave myself permission to leave forever.
My spiritual healing journey began one Sunday at a small church in my hometown. Though he didn’t know me, the pastor prayed over my mental torment. I experienced instant relief. I spent two years with that church body, focusing on my healing, deliverance, and identity, and basking in Biblical truths about God’s love, which could heal all the wounds I carried. I renewed my mind with Isaiah 43:1—God had known me and called me by name before He even formed me in the womb. Trusting God would use my pain for good, I began to climb out of my grave.
Six months after leaving Jack, I learned through a phone call that he had died tragically because of his addiction. He died on Good Friday, the day Christians remember Jesus’ death on the cross for all our sins and sorrows. My abuser could never hurt me again.
God continued to show up for me in a healing that was both miraculous and steady. I read the Word and learned how to counteract lies I had believed with truth. God became my Comforter, my Husband, Protector, Teacher, and Redeemer.
Today, years later, I’ve learned how to use my pain for God’s glory, comforting others with compassion, prayer, and my testimony of hope. A brighter future awaits those who are willing to come to the One True Healer.
Photo by Jana Shnipelson on Unsplash
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