The Process: When Hope Becomes the Pathway to Healing
What does healing really look like?
In Just Before Dawn, the chapter titled “The Process” offers a raw and reverent look at the journey of healing—especially for survivors of deep, complex trauma. Rather than presenting recovery as linear or tidy, the chapter reveals something far more accurate: healing is long, often painful, and profoundly sacred. It’s not something most choose to enter voluntarily. As the author notes, “Were it not for the intense internal pressure and desperation for relief, most would seek no help at all.”
And yet, even here—perhaps especially here—hope becomes the driving force.
“The point in entering into the process is all about hope—
finding it if you’ve lost it, discovering it if you never had it at all.”
When God Becomes the Process
A foundational truth emerges from this chapter: God is not just beside us as we heal—He is the healing process. The God who took His time in creation—who formed light and darkness, day and night, one step at a time—also honors our slow, layered becoming. In Genesis, He prepared the ground before sending the rain. He waited until there was a person to care for the earth before calling it fruitful. Likewise, in our healing, He waits for us. He prepares us. He grows us. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is wasted.
“There is meaning and value and wisdom and purpose in our life processes.”
This section becomes an encouragement for those who feel “stuck” or behind in their journey. God is not in a hurry. He is not surprised by setbacks. He sees each layer, each struggle, and He continues to work.
Dissociation as Mercy: A Gentle Look at Survival
The chapter courageously addresses Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), offering a tender and informed explanation of what dissociation is, and why it often becomes a life-saving mechanism for survivors of severe childhood trauma. It does so without shame, honoring dissociation as God’s mercy in the life of a child with no other escape.
“For some, that means of survival is dissociation...
Often, for a young child trapped in a traumatic environment, dissociation is the only way of escape.”
This insight is particularly important for those supporting survivors. Healing from DID is not about eliminating alters or forcing wholeness—it’s about honoring how those survival systems formed and trusting that integration will come as safety is established. Healing is possible—but only in the presence of compassion.
The Jewel Box: What We Wear to Hide Our Wounds
One of the most haunting yet relatable metaphors in the chapter is the jewel box—a dusty chest tucked in the corner of the heart, filled with worn-out emotional “jewelry.” Each item represents a way of coping, hiding, surviving. There are earrings of self-contempt, a necklace of inadequacy, rings of emotional detachment and perfectionism.
“I have used lots of polish over the years and rubbed really hard,
but I just cannot get the luster to come through.”
The imagery is striking. So many carry these same pieces—things worn not for adornment, but for defense. The story invites the reader to ask: What am I still holding onto? What false protection have I kept tucked away in my own soul?
The process of healing, then, becomes an invitation to let the Master Jeweler gently clean out what no longer protects and begin the slow, redemptive work of restoration.
The Diamond: Pressure and the Making of Something Precious
Perhaps the most powerful metaphor in the chapter is that of the diamond. Formed from black carbon under intense pressure, a diamond cannot become what it was meant to be without the cutting, the shaping, and the waiting.
“It’s pressure that makes a diamond.
Prolonged periods of extreme pressure are what transform coal.”
This reflection reframes pressure—not as punishment, but as purpose. Healing hurts. But the pain is not pointless. The One who holds the tools is a Master Craftsman. He knows how much to cut. How long to apply pressure. And when to release.
“The secret is not in and of the diamond itself,
but in the sovereignty of the Creator of the diamond.”
Testimony of Endurance: “Even Me, O God, Let It Be Me”
Woven throughout the chapter are testimonies of those who entered into the process—often reluctantly—and found that God met them in the dark. One survivor shares:
“Am I healed? I am scarred.”
“I bear the effects of abuse in my mind and in my body.”
And yet, she speaks of being better. Of no longer living as a victim. Of remembering pain without being consumed by it. Her story echoes the Gospel itself—death to life, sorrow to strength.
Another powerful voice shares the story of No Hope, a dissociated part that formed during abuse so intense, the mind had to flee. The trauma described is staggering. And yet, the narrative doesn’t end in despair.
“Unless survivors and those who come alongside them recognize and own these things,
neither can they fully recognize and own the healing that is possible.”
It is not the trauma that defines the testimony—but the healing that follows.
When the Healing Feels Harder Than the Hurt
Many underestimate how difficult the process of healing really is. The chapter wisely addresses this, comparing it to the aftermath of a disaster—where survival required strength, but recovery requires surrender. Patience is needed, both for survivors and those walking with them.
“May we never underestimate the incredible cost involved in such an undertaking.”
Too often, trauma survivors are rushed through healing by well-meaning friends or leaders uncomfortable with pain. This chapter calls for something better: gentleness, grace, and the space to go slow.
Balm for the Hopeless
The chapter closes by anchoring the reader once again in the truth of Scripture:
“Why are you cast down, O my inner self?... Hope in God.” (Psalm 43:5 AMP)
“Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing…” (Romans 15:13)
Hope is more than an emotional lift—it is a steady, anchored trust in the One who sees all, knows all, and loves completely. Healing is hard, but it is not hopeless.
“God is the God of hope. He will not abandon His people to hopelessness, not ever.”
Final Thoughts: The Slow Glory of Becoming Whole
This chapter is not just about surviving trauma. It’s about the sacred, slow undoing of false identities and the even slower rebuilding of truth. It’s about the God who meets us in darkness and patiently forms something beautiful—something whole—through pressure, tears, and time.
“Even diamonds are formed in dark and hidden places.”
For anyone walking through the process—or walking alongside someone who is—this chapter offers more than empathy. It offers vision. A vision of what healing can look like when held in the hands of a faithful God. A vision of scars that become testimony. Of sorrow that births strength. Of darkness that breaks, just before dawn.
If you or someone you love is in the middle of the healing process, know this: the path is long, but it is not empty. God is in every step. Let this chapter be a reminder to trust the slow work of His hands. And when it gets hard, remember—the light always comes… just before dawn.
