When Hopes Are Dashed

I don’t know about you, but I’ve always dreamed big. Inspired by remarkable men and women in my family and by the stories of Scripture, I’ve always believed in a big God who uses ordinary people in extraordinary ways.

I’m an idealist and an eternal optimist. Rooted in God’s Word, I truly believe I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13). Although I’ve faced deep valleys and low moments, I have always emerged with more wisdom, clearer discernment, and a rock-solid conviction that God saves, rescues, and turns all things for good (Romans 8:28).

But what about when He doesn’t?
What are we to make of those seasons when it feels like the world has imploded, when the valley feels endless, when hope, idealism, and belief seem to evaporate? What do we do when we encounter evil so cold, malice so calculated, and contempt so cruel that it drains the very will to live?

Jordan Peterson speaks of trauma not as the result of tragedy, but of malevolence. In Vogler’s 12-step Hero’s Journey, every narrative requires an ordeal: a moment when the hero confronts their greatest fear in a life-or-death crisis, leading to a symbolic death and rebirth. My life has held more of these moments than I ever expected.

The Roots of Fear and Faith

I grew up in a home marked by violence, chaos, and emotional terror. Bound to my siblings by sheer survival, I clung to my older brothers and sisters for safety in a world of turbulence and unpredictability. In the midst of that darkness, there was one constant source of joy and stability: church. Not just church attendance, but a legacy of fiery evangelical faith passed down from my grandparents, two of the most wonderful people I have ever known.

From an early age, I loved Jesus deeply. Singing, listening to sermons, and being with my church family brought a joy that shaped me as much as the hidden trauma did. Two extremes, light and darkness, lived side by side, shaping my heart in ways I only now understand.

Those early experiences birthed two things in me:
• lifelong fear and uncertainty within close relationships, and
• a deep love for the Lord that has been my anchor through every storm.

That love has been the antidote to all that has been dark — all that tried to steal my hope, my life, even my sense of self.

Survival, Daydreaming, and the Seeds of Limerence

As a child, when life was at its darkest, I learned to daydream. What frustrated my father was, in fact, my young brain’s way of dissociating — a survival mechanism in the midst of overwhelming fear.

But when the danger passed, the habit remained. I developed a strong compulsion to escape into fantasies of being rescued, especially in romantic ways. It’s no surprise that I carried into adulthood intense anxiety, a deep fear of abandonment, and an overwhelming craving for emotional security.

This is where limerence entered the picture.

Limerence is an intense, involuntary state of romantic obsession — marked by intrusive thoughts, an urgent need for reciprocation, emotional highs and lows, and idealisation of the other person. It thrives on uncertainty.

And uncertainty was the atmosphere of my childhood.
My survival depended on overlooking flaws, projecting my needs onto people who couldn’t meet them, and confusing fear with love.

Healthy romantic love, grounded in mutuality and reality, was something I never learned. Instead, my brain latched onto the familiar: unpredictability, neglect, and the desperate hope for someone to finally choose me. Predictably, this has made me easy prey for people who test those vulnerabilities — and exploit them.

Another Ending I Didn’t Expect

And so here I am, at the end of another painful marriage and an even more painful divorce. After sixteen years alone, I gathered all my courage and tried again. But almost immediately after the wedding, the dream dissolved. The person I believed would never harm me began, with chilling intent, to dismantle the best parts of me.

This isn’t speculation. It was admitted. The cruelty, the malice, the spite: unmistakable.

And once again I found myself in a recreated hell, face to face with my deepest fears. I fell to my knees and begged God to deliver me. And despite my mistakes, my naivety, and my flawed choices… He did.

God delivered me.

Like Hagar, I have seen the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13).
Like Job, I can say, “Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him” (Job 13:15).
And I rejoice in a God who loves me more than He hates divorce, a God who delights in rescuing, redeeming, and restoring His children.

He is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and my refuge (Psalm 144:2).

Still Standing

Despite all that has tried to define me, destroy me, or annihilate me, I am still standing. I am a woman who has walked through fire and not been consumed, who has passed through waters and not drowned. I know intimately the God who keeps His promise to never leave or forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6).

I am a living testimony that God restores the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25).

And my hope, though battered, is not gone. In fact, it is even stronger than ever. It is rooted in a God who redeems, who rebuilds, and who is always, always faithful.

This is the word the LORD has spoken against him: “Virgin Daughter Zion despises and mocks you. Daughter Jerusalem tosses her head as you flee Isaiah 37:22.