When One Verse Made Me Cry (In a Good Way)

I never thought one verse would make me cry on a Tuesday night. But it did.

Let me back up a bit.

I’m Mark. 27. On paper, I’ve got a pretty stable life—decent job, gym three times a week (give or take), and a great group of people I hang with on weekends. But behind the curated Instagram stories, I’ve always carried this invisible weight.

People talk a lot about “daddy issues,” but not many talk about what it’s like to grow up with a mom whose love felt like a landmine—unpredictable, conditional, and emotionally exhausting.

She wasn’t physically absent. She was always there.
But never really present.

Growing up, I felt like I had to earn her affection—through grades, accomplishments, obedience. If I didn’t match her expectations, I’d be met with silence, cold disapproval, or those carefully worded jabs that sounded like advice but felt like arrows.

I learned early on that love wasn’t safe. It was something you had to qualify for. And affection? It always came with fine print.

Over the years, I became really good at compartmentalizing. I’d show up at work like I had it all together, charm my way through dates, crack jokes with my friends. But inside, I was always on edge—afraid that if someone saw the “real” me, they’d lose interest... or worse, withdraw like she did.

Every relationship I had felt like walking a tightrope. I’d either shut down emotionally or over-explain every little thing, terrified of disappointing someone. I didn’t realize it then, but I was still that little boy hoping, just once, to hear my mom say, “I’m proud of you, just because you’re mine.”

I never had a dramatic breakdown. Just a Tuesday night, scrolling in the dark, mindlessly tapping through posts—until I landed on one that stopped me cold.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

I don’t know why it hit me the way it did. Maybe it was the fact that I had spent most of my life convincing myself I was fine. That my pain wasn’t “big enough” to count. But something about that verse... it shattered the dam.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.”

It felt like someone finally acknowledged the grief I never knew how to name.
The grief of being emotionally unseen.

That night, I cried for the first time in years. Not because I was weak. But because I was tired.

A few days later, I reached out to a friend—someone I trusted enough to be real with. I told him bits and pieces, and instead of trying to “fix” me, he just listened. Then gently suggested I try talking to a coach. Not a therapist in a suit and clipboard, but someone who could sit with me in the mess and help me untangle the patterns I’d never questioned.

That was the start of something new.

Coaching didn’t magically erase years of emotional conditioning. But it gave me space to breathe. To ask hard questions. To name what I felt without being told I was “too sensitive.”

And it reminded me of something sacred:
That God doesn’t love like people do.
He’s not unpredictable. He’s not disappointed.
He’s not waiting for me to prove anything.

He’s just close. Always was.

I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still healing.
But for the first time in my adult life, I don’t feel like I have to perform to be loved.

That verse didn’t fix me.
It freed me.

HopeBegins exists to walk with people like Mark—those quietly carrying pain from the past, especially wounds they didn’t know had names. Through Christ-centered coaching, accountability, and honest conversations, we help people trade silent survival for steady healing. One verse, one conversation, one day at a time.

Visit hopebegins.today
Because healing doesn’t have to be lonely.