After years of trauma, misdiagnosis, and deep emotional suffering, Nichole experienced a life-changing encounter with Jesus that brought total healing and deliverance. From that moment, Fullness Of Joy Ministry was born—a ministry dedicated to helping others heal, break free from bondage, and walk in their true identity in Christ.
Founder of Fullness Of Joy Ministry, Author, Speaker, and Teacher
***Nichole's testimony is being transcribed and will be available soon.***
These are Nichole's favorite scriptures...
Can you share about your childhood, and then walk us through the moment that things changed, because you had an incredible transformation?
Absolutely. It really started at the beginning of my life because I was born into a family with domestic violence. My biological dad was very violent toward my mom. They were young when they got married, and the violence started pretty much from the beginning. I was born learning to fear him, but when I was around three, my mom left him. And when she left him, she went back to Indiana, where her family was, and he stayed in Florida.
I started visiting him during the summers and every other Christmas after the divorce. And when I was around seven, I went down there for the summer, and I knew things were completely different. I’d always feared him, but that is when things got really, really dark. He was getting ready to marry a new woman, and she had some kids of her own. When I first walked into the home, dragons and wizards decorated it, and my biological father was very different. He was into the occult, into Satanism, and just flat-out witchcraft. I didn’t know the words to put to it then, because I had never been around for anything like that. I did not grow up around such things. And that’s when I remembered the sexual abuse starting when I was around seven, and it went on for a few years. When I was around nine, he divorced that woman and left.
More than sexual abuse was the mental torment that he inflicted on me, because he told me he could read my mind, and that no matter where I was, he knew what I was thinking. And if I ever thought badly about him and told anybody about the abuse, he would kill me and my mom both, and I believed him. As a small child, I watched him do rituals. I watched him harm animals and do really dark things. When he said he had power, I believed he had power, and I believed he could read my mind. Even when I would be back with my mom’s side of the family, I would be terrified all the time because I thought he could read my mind. And so, I learned from a young age to suppress everything–I had to suppress my emotions and thoughts. It’s hard to put into words, but imagine not having one safe space, not even in your mind. And that’s exactly how I felt. I was always afraid. All these symptoms stemmed from the abuse, the satanic rituals, and him telling me he could read my mind. To say the least, I was a mess. When I was around 12, he shot himself, but he didn’t die. He lived through it. When he did that, I got so much worse, because when he hurt himself, he was his favorite person in the entire world. And I knew if he could hurt himself, he could harm my mom or me. So that really is when I started having suicidal ideation for the first time.
While sitting in my upstairs bedroom, I remember considering whether I could tie the blind cord around my neck and jump out the window, and that's also when I first started cutting. I recall that the fear of only being injured and not ceasing to exist scared me from ending my life. I didn’t want to go through life crippled or whatever the outcome would have been. Now, I know God was saving me. I never really felt like I had access to a way to harm myself. We didn’t have the internet back then. Praise the Lord. But that really is when a spirit of suicide attached to me. And it followed me throughout my life until a few years ago.My teenage years were very tumultuous, to say the least. I was very interested in men twice my age. When I was 14, I was in sexual relationships with men in their mid-20s. My body meant absolutely nothing to me. I always felt like I was born into an old soul. The reality was that I couldn’t relax or have carefree fun like my peers, as I was always on alert to avoid saying something wrong.
I got saved at 18. I got married to my first husband at 16. That marriage was full of domestic violence. It was a very volatile relationship. And I felt like I deserved it because my biological dad had already trained me that those who are supposed to love you can hurt you. And that’s just part of life—it was my whole mindset, so I told nobody. I covered the abuse. It actually was more of a self-harming behavior because I would push and push until he would finally explode. Then we could have peace in the home for a little while. Looking back, it was a way for me to continue punishing myself because I never felt worthy, good enough, or loved. I never felt like I fit in with anybody or anywhere. And so we got married, but then I got saved at 18. My parents—my mom and stepdad—went to church and invited us along. And I got saved and gave my heart to the Lord. And, you know, I had this idea that whenever I started serving God and living for him, everything would get better. My grandparents were Christians. I grew up in a Christian household, but I didn’t understand Christianity clearly. I knew who God was, but I didn’t really know Him for myself. And then I got to know Him for myself. But the problem was I had a wall up because I didn’t trust Him because of the childhood abuse. I couldn’t reconcile the God of the Bible, who could do anything, with the God who allowed that to happen to me. And so I always kept Him at arm’s length. I loved Him, and I wanted to submit fully to Him, but I didn’t trust Him. And, you know, you’ll never fully submit to somebody that you don’t trust. God did these massive miracles—He split the Red Sea, and people walked through it. But whenever I was going through abuse, it felt like He wasn’t there. He didn’t stop it, and I knew He could. The only sensible conclusion I can draw is that He chose not to. This led to inward hatred, as it fostered the belief that I was so bad, damaged, and broken that even God would not save me. So not only did nobody physically save me, but even God saw me going through that and chose not to save me.
I continued serving Him throughout my 20s, and life was very bleak. Doctors eventually diagnosed me with severe depression, PTSD, and dissociative identity disorder when I was in my mid-20s. At this time, I went back to college to become a mental health professional myself and am practicing as a clinical mental health professional. I was a family and child therapist and a mental health therapist. It was a terrible idea because I was still very unhealed. And so, I would go and listen to children all day long, telling me about their trauma. And then I would go home and have to cut. I have scars all over my body where I used to cut to make it through the evening with my family. And so that’s what caused me to go back into therapy for myself, because I realized quickly that it was not a good thing and it was not helpful to me to be practicing at all. I went back into therapy for myself with a Christian counselor. And after a few weeks, she and I had a serious conversation about it not being ethical for me to practice any longer. I had a heart for people and wanted to help them, but I was not healthy enough to help anybody. And so, I resigned with the idea that I would come back in a few years and then be back in the field after I had healed.
I continued with therapy for a while, and I got worse. My therapist was the one who diagnosed me with a dissociative identity disorder. The idea behind DID is that when you have trauma, especially early childhood trauma, it can cause the personality to split into separate parts, so you can have parts of yourself split, and it’s like having many people living in the same body—one body, many people. My therapist told me I had to encourage myself to allow each part to express itself, to allow it to coexist with them, so I started doing that, and I would let them talk through me. I had different voices, and they were very distinct, and I knew their personality traits and knew when each one was around or speaking—I knew who they were. I knew many of their names. I wasn’t surprised when doctors diagnosed me, but I felt very ashamed and didn’t tell anyone. Nobody knew as much as my husband. He knew more than anybody but still shared little with him. I wasn’t ashamed of the PTSD or the depression. In a way, I wore them like badges of honor because of everything I had walked through. But the DID brought a deep sense of shame, and I hid it as much as I could. My family knew I had drastic mood swings and could switch in an instant—I was volatile and struggled with intense anger.
In addition, I was extremely ill. I had tons of diagnoses. I was on a lot of medication, and my health and mental health continued declining each month. The suicidal ideation was constant. The voices—I always call them the voices. They would tell me to just kill myself. My family would be better without me. I could go rest and be with Jesus. Wouldn't it be better to just rest? But then they also hated God. They were constantly saying, "If God loves you, why won't he heal you?" Why is He leaving you like this? Why doesn't He care about you? If He's a good father, what father would let their child go through this? I was very protective of the voices because I thought they were protecting me. I thought they loved me. And that's what I had been told, and I believed it.
The diagnosis of DID wasn't surprising to me; I had it, and it got worse because I gave in to it and validated it. Because of this, I thought everybody just needed to leave me alone and let me be who I am because I've suffered, and I would even tell my husband, "If I had heart disease, you would give me a pill, and you would feel compassion for me." So mental illness is no different—just get off my back, basically, and let me be. But the problem is I was incredibly hard to live with. I was very critical, manipulative, hateful, judgmental, wrapped in pity, and in pits of despair. "Oh, woe is me" was every single day, day in and day out, and I allowed that to become my identity—I allowed it to become a very integral part of who I was. Because I had the idea that the trauma had helped shape my character and that there was nothing I could do about that. The trauma changed me so drastically that it changed the neurotransmitters and chemicals in my brain—it changed my body. And I was basically helpless to how it had changed me, so I thought I just needed coping skills to cope with it the best I knew how. I prayed God would heal me, but in the meantime, everybody just needs to deal with it. And so that's where I was in 2019. It had gotten extremely dark. I was still serving God to the best of my ability in that moment. Was it great? No, because I didn't trust God. My anger and bitterness grew, and I failed to recognize my declining health and worsening mind. There were times I thought I was going to slip into insanity and not remember who I was at all. The voices would beg me to let them take the driver's seat, and I knew if I let them take the driver's seat, I, the core of me, would be gone. It was a constant battle to stay alive and not kill myself.
My son reached out to me in 2019. And he said, “Mom, I think there's this ministry you need to listen to.” And I said, "Okay." By that time in my life, I knew I was going to die, or God was going to have to do something. I've tried to think about how many specialists; there's no way for me to even remember how many treatments I had and tried—I went the natural and pharmaceutical route, and I was getting worse. Even after engaging in inner healing prayer ministry, my condition worsened. Life had brought me to a crucial crossroads. Either I'm going to get better, or I'm going to die. And so, not that I was going to kill myself. I mean, that was a constant threat, but my body just physically would not maintain this much longer. And so, when my son reached out to me, I knew I should listen to what he encouraged me to listen to, so I listened to a sermon. It was one sermon. And in that sermon, the preacher was talking about how even as Christians, we can need deliverance. I had never heard of deliverance. I had been in spirit-filled churches, and I had never heard the word "deliverance." No one had really taught me anything about spiritual warfare. We learned that demons were real, but no one taught us how to combat their tormenting influence.
My whole life, from the time I was young, I would see things. I would see dark shadows walking through my house. It would be nothing to see full-on people walk through the house and peek around corners at me. The lights would turn on and off. My bed would shake and vibrate all night. Sometimes I would wake up with bite marks on my body or bruises shaped like a handprint. My husband had never experienced stuff like that. And then once we got married and lived together, he was like, “How do you deal with this?” And I'm like, “Well, what do you want me to do about it? What am I supposed to do?” And then he started getting afraid because he started seeing things and hearing things, like the doors opening and different things happening in the house. He told me, “I don't know how you live with this," and now he had to live with it too. We had received no instructions on how to handle it. So, I heard that sermon, and I reached out to the minister, and I said, “Do you have anything that you can recommend? I know nothing about what you're teaching, but I think I need it.” Then he recommended a few books. I put them on the shelf, and I lost a year. That year, I got sicker. I had this weird thing going on where if I tried to talk, I would cough, and I couldn't even get a full sentence out without coughing. We lived in Arizona then and made frequent trips to the Mayo Clinic. They weren’t nailing down a diagnosis, and I was on breathing treatments.
Then, at the beginning of May 2020, the Lord said to me, “Set aside a week for prayer and fasting for healing and deliverance.” So, I set aside a week and put it on the calendar. I scheduled the week of May 24th so that I would have time to prepare. Then He said, “Make it public.” And I respond, “Lord, people don't care. Nobody wants to know. Why would I do that?” But I did it. I was at this point in my life where I was ready to surrender everything. If He legitimately told me to burn my house down, I would say, "Where's the match?" I knew I was at the turning point, and I knew I was going to get free, or I was going to die. I was finally ready to surrender everything. So, I made it public, and people started. The outpouring was absolutely amazing. People were sending me scriptures, saying they would stand with me in prayer. And then God told me to have my parents come over midweek to pray for me in person. And I said, “Lord, I don't want to because they live two hours away.
If you really want them to come, will you please tell them to come? They’ll listen to You.” Shortly after that prayer, my mom messaged me and said, "Nichole, I really feel like the Lord is saying we need to come to visit you mid-week." That was my confirmation.
Before our prayer session, I had sent them a few videos on the basics of deliverance ministry. I had read a few books and watched several teachings, so I sent them some foundational material because I knew deliverance would be part of what I needed. But going into it, I still didn’t know if I had alters. Some ministries teach that people have different parts, and those parts can have demons, and that you need to do a lot of inner work to address it all. I didn’t know what was what. I knew I needed some level of deliverance, but I didn’t know to what extent. I thought maybe I had one or two demons and the rest were alters that God would need to heal—but truly, I had no idea.
Leading up to that prayer time, the Lord took me through a deep, deep surrender. He showed me a vision of two paths. On one path, I could keep questioning why those things happened to me—why He didn’t intervene, why bad things happen to children—and if I stayed on that path, I would simply continue living the way I was. Or I could release all of that and walk down a new path of total faith and total surrender. And I knew when He showed me that, surrender meant I would never ask again. It wasn’t just surrendering in that moment; I was choosing to let go for the rest of my life.
It meant reconciling the fact that walking by faith requires not having all the answers—and being okay with that. That was hard because those questions had lived in me my entire life. I often asked Him, “Lord, why do You let these things happen?” I knew all the Christian explanations—we live in a fallen world—but I still couldn’t reconcile it in my heart.
As I prayed and released it, something massive happened. God flipped my entire perspective. I had always viewed God through the lens of my abuse and everything that happened to me. That was my filter. But when I surrendered, I chose—intentionally—to walk by faith. It wasn’t Him forcing me. It wasn’t Him doing everything for me in that moment. It was my choice. I realized I’m not owed any answers. God already did everything for me on the cross. So I laid it all down.
I didn’t fully realize what happened until much later, looking back over the past several years. He truly transformed my lens. Now, I view Him through the truth of His Word, not through my pain. I walk through things I don’t understand. I walk through situations that make absolutely no sense—but they don’t have to. I view Him through faith.
The Word of God says He is good. He is a good Father. He is gracious and kind. That is the truth I stand on—not what my circumstances tell me. Circumstances can lie. My emotions can lie. The enemy absolutely can lie. But the one thing that will never lie is the Word of God. That is my lens now. I view life through the truth of His Word—not my emotions and not whatever I’m walking through in the moment.
Fullness Of Joy Ministry Site
Nichole's Books
Nichole shared her testimony on Truth, Talk & Testimonies
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