I Want to Help Heal Wounds in Others Because I Know What Those Wounds Feel Like

 I Want to Help Heal Wounds in Others Because I Know What Those Wounds Feel Like

I don’t want to help people because I have it all figured out.

I want to help because I’ve been hurt.

I know what it feels like to wake up with a heaviness in your chest that you can’t explain.

To smile in public and unravel in private.

To carry wounds you didn’t ask for but somehow still feel responsible for.

I know what it’s like to feel unseen.

To feel like you’re too much for some people and never enough for others.

To question your worth, your timing, your place in the world, especially when everyone else seems to be moving forward while you’re stuck holding pieces of yourself together.

That’s where this comes from.

Not ego.

Not superiority.

Not some savior complex.

Empathy.

There are wounds that don’t show up on X-rays.

Abandonment.

Rejection.

Being chosen last.

Being loved conditionally.

Being present for everyone else while quietly neglecting yourself.

Those wounds shape you.

They harden some people.

They break others.

For me, they did something different.

They taught me to pay attention.

When you’ve sat in pain long enough, you start recognizing it in others.

You hear it in their pauses.

You see it in their eyes.

You feel it in the way they joke about things that clearly still hurt.

And once you recognize it, you can’t unsee it.

I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to go through life alone just to prove they’re strong.

I don’t want men to believe silence is strength.

I don’t want anyone thinking they have to earn love by suffering quietly.

I know what it costs to carry everything by yourself.

Helping others heal doesn’t mean fixing them.

It means sitting with them.

Validating what they feel.

Reminding them they’re not broken for hurting.

Sometimes healing is just having someone say,

“Yeah, that makes sense. I’d feel that way too.”

I’m still healing my own wounds.

Some days I’m steady.

Some days I’m not.

But I’ve learned this.

Pain doesn’t disqualify you from helping others. It qualifies you.

Your scars can become someone else’s proof that survival is possible.

Your honesty can give someone permission to breathe again.

Your presence can be the thing that reminds someone they’re not invisible.

I don’t want the world to be softer because it spared me.

I want it to be softer because I refused to let my pain turn into bitterness.

So if I help you heal, know this.

I’m not above you.

I’m walking beside you.

And I’ll keep going,

not just for myself,

but for anyone who’s ever felt the weight of wounds they never deserved.