In a world where healing is often portrayed as a destination, we're sold messages that promise total transformation and freedom from our past pains. It’s easy to fall into the belief that with the right practice or program, we can fully erase the emotional scars left by our experiences. However, the reality of healing is far more complex and nuanced. In this reflection, I explore the idea of letting go of the notion of being completely healed, and instead, embracing a more compassionate and realistic approach to our emotional journeys. We are not defined by our wounds, but they do shape the maps by which we navigate life—and learning to coexist with them is a powerful form of growth.
We are often wounded in relationships, and these wounds become the map by which we navigate love and connection with others and the world around us. While we have the capacity to learn a new map, the old one never fully disappears. Sometimes it’s so dominant that it feels like the only way we know; other times, it’s so faint that we’re amused by the thought that we ever lived differently.
The dominance or subtlety of this map isn’t always within our control. Stress can push us into survival mode, causing us to revert to the old map. But with time and self-awareness, we can recognise these moments and say, “Oh, look at that—I’m using my old map right now.” And with that awareness, we can start to make more useful choices.
But I often notice that what we’re sold online is this idea that therapeutic practices can completely remove our pain and past hurt. I’ve seen programs that promise big outcomes around healing, and I wonder what happens when, after completing them, the same old patterns resurface. There’s a risk that we might start to believe the problem lies within us.
When information about somatic therapeutic practices first started circulating on social media, I thought of my trauma as something like a spot I could squeeze away. Even though I logically knew better, I was still lured by the promise of being fully healed.
Now, I like to think about healing in a way similar to Lois Tonkin’s model of grief: we grow and expand around the past pain, rather than the pain itself getting smaller.
I love the idea of growing and expanding, because pain has a way of making us feel small, shrinking our desire to take up space or be seen in the world. But understanding that the healing journey can expand your capacity to tolerate pain—and, in turn, create more room for joy and connection—is incredibly empowering. This pain has shaped who you are but it doesn’t have to define you anymore.
I wonder if finding a place of acceptance—where we live alongside our past hurts—can be liberating. Acknowledging that these old wounds have shaped some unhelpful patterns in how we navigate love and connection, and knowing that these patterns might still resurface at times. But with awareness, we can recognise them and choose a different path. In doing so, we can take up space, be seen, and embrace the world through joy and connection.
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