Sometimes we leave our wounds open for a bit before we even reach for the first aid kit. Sometimes we let them fester.
That blow that we took, that fall that we fell, that slash that cut us open, sometimes it’s worth bleeding for, at least for a little while.
Sometimes we honor the blow and let ourselves hurt, because ibuprofen only masks the pain. We say Yes, that hurts. Oh, how it hurts. LET IT HURT. I HURT. I HURT. because it’s the only way to eventually heal.
Because if we weren’t wounded, then we can’t heal, can we?
No one needs a band-aid when there was no paper cut. You don’t put a cast on an unbroken arm. You keep your antibacterial ointment sealed when there are no gashes.
We have to acknowledge our wounds, to say you’re here. You hurt. I ache because of you. Something about validating the hurt, of feeling deeply the pain of an open sore helps us accept treatment and heal properly the first time.
You can’t treat a wound that you won’t say you have.
We have to feel our wounds, to cry into them and hold it where it hurts, to see our lives spilling out and want to keep it inside of us. We have to want to heal, don’t we?
We do. It’s the process of healing. We hurt, acknowledge the depth and magnitude and effect. We get sick of hurting. We seek treatment and dutifully apply ointment and shower with a plastic bag over our casts. We use our crutches and lean on our friends. And, in time, we heal.
All because we hurt.