The “Reconciliation” Phase
(sometimes called the “honeymoon phase”) is when the abuser attempts to repair the damage—not through accountability, but through charm, affection, or excuses. It’s the emotional reset that keeps the cycle of abuse in motion.
An Abuser’s False Promises vs. God’s True Ones
The other day, it rained — a rare event in Southern California.
Our usual golden skies turned gray, the air cool and still. When I pulled into my driveway, I looked up and stopped in awe: a giant rainbow arched across the clouds, perfectly framed above the telephone wires.
For a moment, I just sat there, taking it in.
A rainbow is more than a pretty sight — it’s a symbol of a promise kept.
In Genesis 9:13, God says:
“I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.”
After the flood, God gave the rainbow as a promise of peace — a reminder that He would never again destroy the whole earth by flood, and that we can trust peace will follow even the fiercest storm.
After my sighting, I decided to revisit how rainbows form—it even took me back to elementary school, when I could never pick a favorite color and decided my favorite was the whole rainbow. Scientifically, a rainbow appears because sunlight refracts, reflects, and disperses through water droplets in the air. It only shows up when light and perspective align just right—how beautiful is that?
Unfortunately, this also means there’s no real “end” to a rainbow—sorry, Irish lore, no pot of gold at the finish line. I actually find that comforting. A rainbow is a perfect symbol of God’s promises: they don’t have a physical endpoint. They continue faithfully, even when we can’t see them, steadfast, infinite, and true.
And as I sat there beneath that wide arc of color, I thought about how many false “rainbows” I’d once believed in — promises that looked bright for a moment, but faded just as fast.
Because not every promise is holy.
And not every calm is peace.
The Calm That Isn’t Peace
Every storm has a quiet after.
But in an abusive relationship, that quiet doesn’t mean the storm is over — it just means it’s changing shape.
If you’ve lived through the cycle of abuse, you know this phase well:
the apologies, the affection, the sudden calm that makes you question if things are finally okay.
It’s called the reconciliation phase—but it’s not true reconciliation. This is the part of the cycle when the abuser appears remorseful and affectionate, tempting you to believe that maybe this time, things will actually be different.
It feels like peace.
But it isn’t.
Because what’s happening isn’t genuine restoration—it’s a carefully crafted illusion.
It’s manipulation dressed up as love, a counterfeit of the real thing.
A False Rainbow
After his anger would subside, I’d feel the air shift. His voice would soften. He’d say things like,
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’re too sensitive sometimes. Let’s just forget about it.”
“You know I love you, right? We can get through this together.”
“I promise things will get better, you’ll see.”
And my chest would unclench just enough to let hope slip back in.
It was the hook every time — the promise that things were changing, that love had won.
But it was never reconciliation.
It was repetition.
He never said, “I hurt you, I’m sorry and I take responsibility.”
He never said, “You didn’t deserve that, I’ll never hurt you again.”
He didn’t bring flowers. He only brought false promises — temporary relief disguised as change.
When someone tears you down and then offers you comfort, in your desperation it feels like love. It feels like safety. But it’s not safety. It’s survival mode. And it teaches you to brave the next storm.
The Cost of Staying
For years, I mistook relief from the explosion for peace. Every tear he cried, every soft “I love you” he spoke — I wanted so badly to believe he cared. I truly believed his issues were circumstantial, and that if I proved my loyalty and love, things would eventually get better.
But with every cycle, I lost a little more of myself.
The girl who used to joke freely started questioning her every word.
The woman who once dreamed boldly now braced herself just to make it through another day. And now I feel exposed admitting that I fell for the bait, over and over again.
This is a hard truth for many survivors.
Some cry, beg, or shower you with affection and gifts—anything to remind you of the person you first fell in love with. And in those moments, they can seem heartbreakingly genuine.
That’s exactly what makes this stage so dangerous.
Just because someone says they’re sorry doesn’t mean they’ve changed.
And just because they show love doesn’t mean they know how to love—at least not in a way that’s healthy, safe, or real.
Abuse is a cycle.
“The honeymoon” is the reset button.
It’s the bait that keeps you holding on—just long enough to reach the next explosion, when the mask slips and the abuse starts all over again.
What True Reconciliation Looks Like
True restoration after any conflict is impossible without repentance.
And repentance isn’t just words of regret — it’s transformation.
Real repentance looks like:
- Full ownership of the harm caused — no excuses, no deflection.
- Listening without defense.
- Taking initiative to seek help.
- Accepting consequences, even painful ones.
- Following through with consistent, lasting change.
If those pieces aren’t there, it’s not reconciliation, it’s control.
And that means it’s okay to walk away.
You can forgive someone fully and still protect yourself.
You can wish them healing and still choose distance.
You can show grace and still choose peace.
The Author of Peace
If you’re in that confusing place where things suddenly feel calm again — where you start to second-guess your boundaries or your decision to leave — pause.
Ask yourself:
Is this peace, or is it pressure?
Because peace that depends on your silence, compliance, or shrinking isn’t peace.
It’s control.
Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). God’s peace doesn’t erase the storms you’ve survived, but it can calm your heart even when you’re picking up the pieces.
The God I know doesn’t tell you to minimize your pain or justify the one who hurt you.
He speaks truth, and in that truth, He invites you into freedom from the lies you’ve been told.
The Promise After the Storm
I keep thinking back to that rainbow outside my house. It wasn’t just a beautiful sight—it was a reminder that God’s promises don’t depend on my performance or life circumstances.
I can’t help but reflect on all the storms I’ve weathered, and all the false rainbows I chased before I finally saw the real one. The hard truth is that abusers make promises they never intend to keep. But God’s love endures forever (Psalm 136), and unlike the lies I was told, His word is faithful and true.
The elements that create a rainbow—light and water—are constant, always present, no matter the weather. We only see the rainbow after the storm, but its elements are always there: steady, gentle, and true.
So if you’re standing in the rain right now, unsure of what’s real, lift your eyes. You might not see the end of the rainbow, but you’re standing beneath its promise. And that is enough.
Let’s Talk
This week I have two questions for you my dear readers:
Have you ever confused relief for peace?
How has God reminded you lately that He is faithful?
You’re invited to share your reflections in the comments or in Community Voices — a private, faith-centered space for survivors and supporters.
This post is part of our Domestic Violence Awareness Month series at Taylored Grace, where we’re speaking honestly about each stage of the abuse cycle—and holding space for healing that is gentle, sacred, and real.
With love,
Madison Taylore
Founder, Taylored Grace