“Joy” is an Acronym

TW: This post contains mature themes, including religion, sex, abuse, and suicidal thoughts. 18+ audience is advised.

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I forget who said it first, but I remember hearing once that the word “JOY” is an acronym, standing for Jesus, Others, and Yourself. To truly experience joy, one must serve these three things, in this order — with Jesus and others being prioritized first.

Speaking for myself, I feel as though I’ve only recently begun to grasp this concept. Despite being raised in the church and calling myself a “Christian” since I was five years old, it seems that this simple yet impactful message just clicked a few months ago.

4 months ago, when God spoke to me and picked me up off the floor.

I’ve been surrounded by Christians since my early childhood, but my testimony is anything but a straight path. My story begins and ends with a scared, lonely girl — and for my first blog post in over two years, this is that story.

Part 1: “Others”

Contrary to common belief, I was super shy as a kid — definitely not the bubbly, outspoken person I am today. At home, I was a sassy little girl who yapped her parents’ ears off, but in public and at school, I was the quiet Asian girl in the corner.

I hardly raised my hand in class and was terrified of talking to unfamiliar people… so I used my art to connect.

I’ve been a creative person ever since I could hold a pencil. For me, drawing was a hobby, a distraction, and a tool. If I didn’t have the courage to start a conversation with someone, I’d just start doodling and wait for them to approach me first. It was a flawless strategy — it worked every time. Just draw a realistic eyeball, and boom… no more weird tension.

“Wow, that’s so good!”

Pretty sure that’s all that ever came out of it, but for little Naomi, that was enough.

I learned early on that making friends was hard. At that age, I had two best friends, but both of them were set to move away right before fourth grade.

That meant I had to start over — this time in a much bigger school. Fourth grade was the year all the elementary schools in our district combined, and being thrown into the fire without any common ground was tough.

From that point leading up to middle school, I had my fair share of empty connections. I made a conscious effort to fake confidence and perform well, but nothing stuck. I wound up in competitive friendships and suffered through bullying for years.

The old doodle strategy stopped working. As I became more known for winning art contests, the praise turned cold — just judgey eyes and backhanded compliments like “miss perfect.”

When I was young, playing the part and putting on a smile was perfectly adequate. But as I got older, it didn’t seem to matter whether you were good at something or not. People formed their cliques, and you were either in or out.

And I always felt out. Sometimes I still do.

I felt this ache start to form in my heart, and I didn’t know why. I just wanted to feel a sense of belonging. I just wanted to have somebody.

I just wanted to feel loved.

***

Part 2: “Yourself”

As I matured, I came to the conclusion that friendships couldn’t fill the loneliness I felt. I had plenty of acquaintances, but none of my friendships felt genuine. There was always some sort of drama or gossip, and as a floater who knew people from various groups, I couldn’t confidently say I felt close with anyone.

But then I met my first boyfriend.

My first best friend.

For the sake of his privacy, we’ll call him “B”.

At the time, I didn’t realize how unrealistic my expectations around love were. Growing up with parents who were middle school sweethearts, the bar was unintentionally set at an impossible standard.

B was the first boy I ever loved, and though we were only thirteen — just like my parents when they met — I knew his presence in my life was real and meaningful. We dated on and off for about three years and eventually called it quits due to COVID and simply growing apart.

I understand that we were young. Ridiculously and stupidly young. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault that it ended, it sorta just… did. And it had to.

But as quarantine, masks, and my newfound singleness became the new normal, the emptiness in my heart crept back in — only this time, it was ten times heavier than before. My mental health reached an all-time low, and it dropped so far down to the point where I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

B was the only person I’d felt a real connection with, and he was gone. I felt like I didn’t have any real friends and my family didn’t understand me either.

I hit rock bottom.

“You’re too much.”

“If he loved you, he wouldn’t have given up.”

“If anyone cared, wouldn’t you feel it?”

“Would anyone’s life be different if you were gone?”

I was stuck in a fog of chronic loneliness and couldn’t see any reason to keep going. I didn’t think I had a purpose, or a reason to exist.

So I tried to take my life. But obviously, that attempt was futile and I am very much still here!

(Thank you, Jesus).

I remember talking to my parents about my situation afterward, but it didn’t really help. My heart and mind felt detached from everything — from them, from my surroundings, and from myself. I slipped into a silent depression that wouldn’t be acknowledged until much later.

I felt so lost at the time. I couldn’t doodle or fake my way out of it. I had to face it, but I didn’t want to.

I was just too afraid.

Confronting my issues would require me to admit weakness, and the idea of admittance just made me feel even more hopeless.

So instead of getting the help and counseling I actually needed, I latched on to new people. New boys to fill the void, because healing alone just felt impossible. Forming friendships with girls was hard, but boys? Boys were simple. Dating was easy, so that’s what I did.

I tried my best to move on, and over time, B and all of my extreme mental anguish slowly faded into the past. I didn’t pray, I didn’t really reflect… I just kept swallowing the hurt, and pretending like it didn’t exist.

And surprisingly, that pretending was easy. I fooled almost everyone, myself included.

People at school called me a “serial dater” behind my back, but my grades were good, and I didn’t hate myself — so I didn’t care. My brain was set to survival mode, and in that mode, the suicidal thoughts couldn’t linger.

What still stuck around, though, was an ugly abandonment wound. What continued to control me was my fear of being left, and it wasn’t until I met my second boyfriend, “L”, that I realized the scar was still there.

In summary, L and I dated between our junior and senior year in high school. We had our fair share of problems — mostly because of my unhealed baggage, and the fact that I was his first girlfriend.

Being with him, I couldn’t pretend anymore. The more we argued, the more my cracks started to show — and he dumped me the day after our anniversary.

L held up a mirror and showed me all the flaws I tried so desperately to hide, so I ran. I went right back to faking my feelings away and running from truth.

And in that short period of running, I met “W” — my third and most significant boyfriend.

While B was my FIRST love, W was my first LOVE.

W and I connected on Instagram quickly after L broke up with me… and by quickly, I mean the day after.

(In my defense, bro was quick with it and I didn’t reach out first. God’s timing is weird, okay?)

At first, all of my feelings for W were purely platonic. L and I did date for a year, so remnants of attachment to him still lingered. W and I agreed to just be friends since, coincidentally, we both committed to Kutztown University and only lived 20 minutes apart at home.

But then we facetimed and caught feelings. Went on our first date, and spent the whole afternoon talking and laughing.

I thought I felt love before, but none of it compared to how I felt about W. Never had I ever bonded with someone so… instantaneously. Even to this day, I can’t say that I’ve clicked with someone more than I clicked with him.

But here’s what’s important to understand: if someone had asked me, “Would you be okay if God took W away?”

I would’ve answered no.

And that was my first warning.
The beginning of my fall — and my rise.

***

Part 3: “Jesus”

Though things felt perfect in the beginning, W and I quickly fell into the classic anxious-avoidant trap. I was anxiously attached, and he was avoidant. We communicated differently, wanted different things, and slowly, what once felt stable spiraled into chaos.

Love stopped feeling safe. Neither of us felt secure — just stuck, and deeply unhappy. My feelings for W were the most intense I’d ever felt, but also the most toxic.

When things ended, I didn’t just lose him. I lost myself, too.

And though I was already disconnected from God, I put the blame squarely on Him.

I wasn’t just angry with the Lord. I was furious.

I resented God so deeply that I cut Him out of my life entirely. The gospel no longer made sense to me. If God was such a loving Father, how could He let me suffer like this? How could He watch me break over and over and OVER again..

and do nothing?

I hit a new rock bottom. As unbearable as the aftermath of B once felt, this new mental space was even darker.

With that heartbreak, I mentally and spiritually walked away from Christ. I still went to church with my family, but I didn’t hear a word of the sermons. I sang worship songs with my dad, but the lyrics felt empty. The Bible in my Kutztown freshman dorm sat unopened, collecting dust.

I took all my pain and gave in to the voice in my head — the one whispering that I wasn’t valued, wasn’t important, and wasn’t seen. So why not do whatever I wanted? The love of my life was gone. My purity was, too. Did it even matter if I sinned anymore?

Being away at college, feeling more alone than ever, my days were long and hard. While everyone else seemed to be having the time of their lives at their new universities, I absolutely hated being in school.

Between the end of freshman year and the start of sophomore, I abandoned the version of myself who once cared about living biblically. I wasn’t honest. I wasn’t kind. Where younger me longed for connection, the new me craved control — and lust.

The streets welcomed me with open arms, and I started collecting men like Pokémon cards. I hooked up without remorse, emotionally withdrew from my family, and used people to fill the ever-growing hole inside me — the one that only God ever truly fit.

Snapchat, Tinder, and Hinge became the most used apps on my phone, and I slowly but surely began to attract the worst men I had ever met.

The first was a guy named “JT” — my first “situationship.”

JT was a skilled manipulator, and our communication was always sporadic. While things started with good intentions, they unraveled when I learned he wasn’t over his ex — and to be fair, I wasn’t over mine either.

Eventually, we fell into a friends-with-benefits arrangement — he would come over, use me, and then leave. We both knew it was toxic. We just didn’t care.

I still don’t drink and have never touched drugs, but the dopamine I got from making a bad decision with him? I imagine that’s what being high must feel like.

But the thing was, the sex wasn’t even good. It was actually terrible… unsatisfying and empty.

So instead of simply stopping, I went looking for attention elsewhere.

I matched with a guy named “JK” on Tinder, and after an hour of talking on the phone, I let him come over to my place.

At night.

Alone.

And I was raped.

The realization that I had let a random man into my home scared me the moment I saw him in person — but by then, it was too late. My pants were already off. He had his way.

I woke up with a huge bruise on my neck, and all I could do that morning was sob.

Where had things gone so wrong?

So for the first time in months, I prayed. Silently and quickly, I prayed to God to save me. I didn’t want to live in the hole anymore. I just wanted love. Real and gentle love this time.

About a month later, I met “D”. My most recent ex.

At the time, I thought he was the answer to that prayer. And despite him cheating on me, I still believe that he was.

D and I also met online, and on paper, this guy was everything I ever wanted. Tall, dark, handsome, funny… the list went on. He even labeled himself a Christian, which I also thought was a positive sign.

I knew this man for three weeks before he asked me to be his girlfriend. Three. WEEKS.

And the day after we became official, an anonymous Instagram account reached out to me and shared that D was spreading chlamydia at his school.

I freaked. I was at work when I read the DM.

And though the message was sent from a girl looking out for me, I now understand that it was also sent from God looking out for me as well.

After I forgave D and chose to believe him, the signs continued. My parents refused to meet him. My friends were very skeptical of him, too. I was sick all of the time, and suffered from recurring yeast infections and BV. My anxiety wouldn’t calm, no matter how much reassurance D would give me.

I always felt like something was off. But I couldn’t explain it — not to myself, and not to my new therapist.

But then, I found out he had still been messaging other girls behind my back.

We went long distance after starting our relationship over winter break, so for him, it was the perfect setup. Who knows what he was doing while he was away at school… he had an army of girls who hated him — and when we broke up, I finally understood why.

Everyone that warned me was right about him. My gut was right too, and though I initally felt a sense of relief in knowing that I wasn’t crazy, the pain from the betrayal kicked in soon after.

After I had found the evidence in his phone, he left my place and dumped me over text. We were only together for about three months, and yet, the fallout felt bigger than the relationship itself.

The day after he left, I didn’t eat. I barely moved. Morning became night, and I just laid there — crying and aimlessly staring at the ceiling. I was so hurt and confused… I couldn’t comprehend anything through all of my different emotions.

In complete and utter despair, suicidal thoughts creeping into my head again, I cried out to God again.

“God, why does this keep happening?”

“How could you let him do this to me?”

“How could he claim to love me, and just use me and hurt me like that?”

After I had asked the last question, my tears suddenly stopped falling. My restless mind went quiet. My heart sank.

And then I had a new thought. One that didn’t make sense to me right away.

A voice inside of me spoke, so softly yet so clearly,

“Is that not what you do to me?”

When I first heard that thought, I was immediately confused.

“Is that not what you do to Me?”

What does that even mean?

***

Realizing “JOY”

I sat up and really tried to process the question — until eventually, conviction hit me like a bus. It slapped me so hard across the face that I was left stunned… and humble for the first time in my life.

“Is that not what you do to Me?”

What D did to me, I had been doing to Christ.

I finally understood. I understood what was being said to me, and I understood that the new voice I heard wasn’t from within me — it was Jesus.

If it had been my own thought, something I conjured in my own brain, I wouldn’t have needed time to comprehend its meaning.

Slowly, the truth unfolded: I was so angry over D’s betrayal, when I wasn’t any better.

He had been disloyal, telling me half-truths and giving me just enough to keep me hanging on — yet I stayed. I stayed through the distance. I stayed through the discomfort. I stayed even when I sensed something was deeply wrong, because I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to believe it could still work.

But I had been doing the same thing in my relationship with God.

I wanted the blessings of closeness with Him… while still doing things my way. I wanted the peace of His presence, but only when it was convenient. I wanted Him to wait on me, to understand me, to accept my terms.

But God isn’t a genie in a bottle.

I had been using, lying to, and going against Him for so long that it had become second nature. I was disrespecting my Father, the One who created and saved me, by blatantly ignoring His voice.

God was speaking to me all along; I just didn’t want to hear Him. I put Him on a shelf, and let him collect dust — just like my bible.

I refused to heed the warnings, ignored the signs, and chose what felt good over what was good.

I see now that through all of my trials and tribulations, God wasn’t punishing me.

He was pursuing me.

The Lord wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to redirect me through all of the boys, failed friendships, and rejection.

My sense of belonging became my idol. And it completely destroyed me.

There’s a common misconception that pain comes from God. And speaking from experience, I can assure you that it doesn’t.

Pain results from our own decisions and the free will of other flawed human beings. We live in a world of hurt, shame, and misery — not because God intended it to be this way, but because we have all chosen to make it so.

Looking back on my life and my journey with Christ, I’ve learned the “JOY” acronym to be true — not just in theory, but in practice.

Jesus comes first.
When He is at the center, everything else aligns.

Others come second.
Healthy and meaningful connections aren’t built on seeking approval or acceptance, but on serving and uplifting the people around you.

You come last.
Not because you’re unworthy — but because biblical surrender brings peace that self-prioritization never could.

For the majority of my life, my priorities were off balance. When I was younger, I chased validation from others. In my late teenage years, I chased pleasure and self-fulfillment. But now, as a twenty-year-old who’s completely single, on a purity walk, and choosing Jesus even in the quiet moments, I can confidently say that my soul is no longer starving.

I’m not perfect, but I’m more anchored. I’ve learned that joy doesn’t come from performance, people, or feelings — it comes from being rooted in something eternal. From trusting the One who knows me deeper than I know myself.

My life isn’t suddenly a fairytale, though. I still have burning questions, weak moments, and days where I wrestle with doubt. But I’m no longer living for my own glory. I’m learning to live for His — taking responsibility for my actions and planting seeds of light in others.

While I said in the beginning that my story begins and ends with a lonely girl, this isn’t the true conclusion — it’s the start of new life. A life not built on sand, but on solid ground.

Everything changed when I finally opened my hands and heart. In my admittance of weakness, I finally saw Christ clearly.

And as I continue walking with Jesus, I’m learning that joy isn’t found in what the world can offer — it’s found in the confidence that I am fully known, fully forgiven, and fully loved. And you are too :)

Thank you so much for reading! New post next Sunday.

— NK