There are wounds that follow us our entire lives. Some we can trace back to a moment–a word, a betrayal, a loss–that still echoes years later. We can either ignore how those wounds shape our impulses and decisions, or we can face them head-on and begin to heal.
For men, that’s especially hard to admit. Because it can feel like weakness. But it’s not. It’s human.
A few nights ago, I rage-quit Clash of Clans. (Yes, the mobile game.) After more than a decade of playing, someone in the group started calling me names. I snapped back, quit the clan, and instantly felt frustrated–less at him, and more at myself for letting some stranger ruin my night and push me towards isolation.
I’ve been here many times before.
I was bullied a lot as a teenager. Those scars made me defensive, avoidant, and quick to cut people off before they could hurt me again. I run from conflict. I struggle to stay when things get uncomfortable.
Now in my 40s, God’s been doing slow, steady work in those places. I’m learning to root my identity in what He says about me—not in old wounds or careless words.
Do I still get triggered? Absolutely. Do I still want to run sometimes? You bet. But the difference now is this: I know where to run. Not away from pain–but into the safety of the One who heals. What God offers isn’t temporary validation. It’s security. It’s safety. It’s peace.
And maybe that’s where healing can take place. Not in avoiding the pain, but in allowing God to redeem it. One cut at a time.
