The Wounds We Carry

Each of us carries wounds within us—some visible, many not. They are the quiet echoes of pain, disappointment, or loss that have shaped our lives in ways we often don’t realize. These emotional and spiritual wounds are not signs of weakness; they are part of what makes us human. Yet, when they go unacknowledged, they whisper old stories about our worth, our belonging, and our place in the world. Sometimes, without warning, those stories rise to the surface, triggered by a word, a look, or a moment that touches something deep inside.

I’ve noticed how these wounds show up in myself and in others—in self-doubt, perfectionism, defensiveness, people-pleasing, or withdrawal. They emerge as reactions that feel disproportionate to what’s happening now, because they’re not about now at all. They’re about a past moment when we felt unseen, unworthy, or unloved. That past moment still seeks healing.

Through my own journey—years of therapy, spiritual direction, journaling, and deep reflection—I’ve learned that the path to healing begins with awareness. The body often knows first: a tightness in the chest, a rise of anxiety, a rush of adrenaline. When I notice those signs, I try to pause, breathe, and ask, What part of me is hurting right now? That simple act of compassion toward myself can soften the story that my wound is trying to tell.

Henri Nouwen once wrote in The Wounded Healer, “Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people… The main question is not ‘How can we hide our wounds?’ but ‘How can we put our woundedness in service to others?’” I have come to believe that our healing is never just for ourselves. When we begin to transform our pain rather than transmit it, our wounds become openings through which love can flow. They teach us empathy. They allow us to sit beside another person’s suffering without needing to fix it.

Sometimes, healing looks like a gentle conversation with yourself: Yes, I have been hurt. Yes, I carry scars. But I am more than my woundedness. Sometimes it looks like community—finding others who can listen without judgment. Sometimes it’s silence, prayer, breath, or the written word that becomes the vessel for release.

What if we began to see our wounds not as flaws to be hidden, but as sacred spaces—proof of our resilience and invitations to love more deeply? What if the wound you carry is not a flaw to be fixed, but an opening through which love can flow?

May you hold your tender places with kindness.

May you be gentle with others who are carrying their own hidden pain.

And may you remember, always: you are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are.