All The Good Things – Becoming Whole After Hurt

Introduction

Before I tell you about my story, I need to start with this: this is my truth. Every story has multiple sides, and sometimes people try to dismiss ours because their memory of the same moment looks different. Two people can walk through the same fire and come away with two very different scars. My hope for this blog is to share my truth with those who feel trapped in abuse, those who don’t believe they are worthy of healthy love, or those who are still learning how to love themselves. If even one person finds the strength to stand taller because of these words, then I’ve fulfilled my purpose.

With that said, let me introduce myself. My name is DevRene’ Nicole. I’m a 39‑year‑old woman with three incredible children, two dogs, and a career I love. I’m also a survivor of an 18‑year relationship that was emotionally — and at times physically — abusive. You’ll learn more about me as we walk this healing journey together, but first I want to set the tone for the kinds of stories I’ll be telling here — the experiences that shaped me and brought me to this place of sharing.

Disclaimer: At times I will be sharing some very difficult and even traumatic experiences. My goal isn’t to trigger a traumatic response in anyone with a story similar to mine, but rather to offer hope that change is possible. Over the years, I’ve learned a truth that took me too long to accept: no matter the circumstances, it is never okay to allow someone to hurt you for the sake of love.

I met my ex‑husband when we were both 18. I was a high school senior; he had just finished his first year of college. We met playing tennis, something I was deeply passionate about, and we were instantly drawn to each other. For a long time, I believed we were meant to meet. In some ways, I still believe it — not because I excuse what happened, but because our experiences shape us.

His story shaped him too. From what he told me, his childhood was filled with many of the classic Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) — as outlined by the CDC and the National Library of Medicine: physical and emotional abuse, parental substance abuse, domestic violence, separation from caregivers, and a deep lack of consistent, nurturing love. Hearing his retelling, I came to believe that these experiences may have contributed to the development of his narcissistic traits. He never sought professional help, though toward the end of our marriage I encouraged it. I thought if I loved him hard enough, if I gave him what he never received as a child, it would heal him. But healing has to be chosen, and he never chose it.

Fact Check: the word narcissist gets overused today. Not everyone who is selfish or self‑promoting has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). Research suggests that only 0.5% to 5% of people in the U.S. may have it, and most never seek help (Cleveland Clinic, 2023). True narcissism shows up in specific ways: a constant need for admiration, a lack of empathy for others, manipulation to maintain control, gaslighting to distort reality, an inflated sense of self‑importance, and difficulty maintaining healthy long‑term relationships (American Psychiatric Association, DSM‑5). These signs don’t make every selfish person a narcissist, but when they appear together and persist, they point to a deeper personality disorder.

When I think back on the little boy he once was, I can see why I wanted so badly to protect him. But no matter how much compassion I had, I could never close that gap for him. My mistake was believing my love alone could make him whole. That realization has been one of the hardest lessons: his pain shaped the way he loved and treated others, and while all of us carry our past forward, those with narcissistic tendencies often leave deeper scars on the people who care for them.

We were together for 18 years, married for 15. Married at 21, first child at 23, miscarriage at 25, second child at 26, third at 28. The first decade was pure survival — bills, babies, and holding everything together. When his career finally improved and we no longer lived paycheck to paycheck, the fog lifted just enough for me to notice how exhausted I was. I started to see that I wasn’t caring for myself at all. His constant need for more — more attention, more energy, more sacrifice — left me pouring out far beyond what I had to give. I was demanding superhuman strength from myself just to keep him satisfied.

In 2017, I filed for divorce for the first time, but I went back. We spent seven more years trying to make our marriage work. We fought less — no more physical altercations initiated by him or me — but the emotional battles still left scars. I filed again in 2023, and this time, I stayed gone. I did it. I got out.

After my divorce, I fell into deep depression. I sought help, expecting medication for depression, but my psychiatrist uncovered something more: Bipolar II Disorder. I was officially diagnosed right after my divorce in September 2023.

That’s when I learned that leaving — the end of our marriage — was actually the beginning of something new.

My journey started long before I realized I was on it. At 18, it felt like I was sent out onto a long, winding trail wearing shoes that didn’t fit, without a map, and without the right layers to protect me from the storm. The only tools I had were coping mechanisms — makeshift gear I pieced together just to survive. After I finally escaped the storm, I realized that the equipment I had relied on was heavy, worn‑out, and no longer useful. I had to set it down, unlearn those habits, and find new tools to redefine what I thought I knew about love, success, and even myself. One of the first things I did was give myself the gift of healthy emotional regulation by committing to treatment: medication, counseling, and reconnecting with the community I’d lost during my marriage.

Redefining everything is terrifying but exhilarating. Now I have a chance to become the woman I needed back then. I’m learning to be a better version of myself. I’m redefining success as peace, fulfillment, and surrounding myself with people who bring light instead of darkness. And I’m learning that being alone is not the same as being lonely. Silence, once deafening, has become cleansing.

We can’t truly appreciate the sun without knowing the darkness. Life requires balance — and when I look at it that way, every experience becomes part of the good. Romans 8:28 reminds us that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. That’s why I chose to call this space All the Good Things — because even the painful moments have shaped me. This process has been about taking both the light and the dark and allowing it to make me whole.

I can’t wait to share more of this journey with you — to call out all the good things that helped me become whole after the hurt. My hope is that as you read, you’ll find encouragement for your own path, and maybe begin to see how even hurt can lead to healing.