WOUNDS

The Gifts Hidden in the Wounds: The Wounds didn’t Break Me

The wounds you were given slowed you down just enough so you could not take the path that everyone else took. You watched as they ran ahead, and you wondered why you couldn’t follow. You found yourself alone, isolated, and frustrated. You were angry with the people who put you on this path and the ones who wounded you.

What seemed to come so easily to everyone else came so hard to you. This was frustrating and made it difficult to be in this world. What made it even more difficult was that I had to pretend I was like them. But I knew I wasn’t. If only they knew what was inside of me, the pain, the suffering, the sadness, the low self-worth.

These wounds put me in survival mode and made me embrace my reality and separate viewpoint. I had to overachieve. I had to steal. I had to lie. I created a false self as well as a false reality. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I didn’t know any other way to protect the fragile parts of me that were left. I built walls so high and so thick that no one could get close, not even myself.

For years, I hated those walls. I hated the person I had become. I blamed my wounds for everything that went wrong in my life, for the ways I sabotaged myself, and for the pain I caused others. The anger was consuming, and the shame was suffocating.

But then, something began to shift. Maybe it was grace. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was just exhaustion from carrying all that pain for so long. I stopped running from the wounds and turned toward them. I started to see them not as evidence of my brokenness but as invitations to heal.

The wounds forced me to look inward and ask questions that most people avoid: Who am I really? What do I truly want? What’s underneath all this pain? Slowly, I began to see the wisdom in my struggles. The wounds that had slowed me down had also kept me from walking a path that wasn’t mine. They gave me the space and the stillness to find my own way.

I realized the false self I had created wasn’t a betrayal of who I was, it was an attempt to survive. I made peace with that person and thanked them for getting me through the hardest times. But I didn’t need them anymore. I didn’t need the lies, the masks, or the walls. I started to let them go, one by one.

Healing didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t linear. There were moments when I felt like I was falling apart, but those moments taught me how to put myself back together in a way that felt real. I learned that I wasn’t alone, that many people carry wounds they’re too scared to face. And I learned that the pain I once thought was my curse was actually my teacher.

Now, I don’t see my wounds as something to hide or fix. I see them as reminders of how far I’ve come. They’re proof that I’ve lived, that I’ve loved, that I’ve fallen and risen again. They’re not scars of shame, they’re marks of resilience.

Making peace with the wounds I was given didn’t just set me free, it gave me the courage to show up as my authentic self. I stopped pretending I was like everyone else because I’m not. And that’s a good thing. The path I’ve walked may have been harder, but it’s also been richer, fuller, and more meaningful.

The wounds didn’t break me. They woke me up. And for that, I’m grateful.