On Wounds

Our brokenness spurs both conflict and beauty

We all have sore spots - memories of trauma past and present, failures, dashed hopes, griefs, fears, ways that we don’t quite fit in our environments. And we live in a time of exceptional pain and frustration in the world. It’s hard to look out at humanity and not notice that the wounds are showing.

Some of us have been taught to see our bruised places as discolored, malformed indicators of imperfection meant to be pushed down, covered over, hidden. Like me, perhaps you’ve built a personal narrative around successful moving on, patching up the painful misses and reframing difficulty and failure as learning experiences. It’s easier to show up in the world without the baggage of brokenness.

But that’s not the only way to spin it. While we can and probably should open our minds to the transforming perspectives of time and wisdom…first, things just hurt. And there is value in acknowledging and revealing that in our creative lives.

What might you do with your woundedness?

Wounds are raw, messy, in need of treatment. Like shambolic first drafts or ideas thrown against the wall to see what sticks. They bear witness to our conflicts - from toddler vs. sidewalk to man vs. man. But in their immediacy they compel attention and reveal visceral and elemental truths of our humanness. They invite sympathy, empathy, intervention, connection. When we share our wounds, others respond. And response leads us onward, perhaps to restoration or resolution.

Healing magic.

I’ve spend some time these past few weeks shouldering hurts both personal and in my environment. And they keep coming. In the midst of so much pain, I get tangled about what belongs to me and what is others’. Is it possible to truly bear all these feelings? What do I do with the roiling thoughts? How do I respond? Care? Lament? Where can I go to run away from the immediacy of it all? Conflict.

Sitting helpless in a broken world can’t help but raise our angst. Walking in woundedness stings. But owning and facing the hurts instead of pushing them aside or masking them can open some creative doors.

For me, uncertainty led to asking questions, which unlocked ideas. I took time to wonder and Notice. None of that took me all the way to healing, but it did lead to startling revelations - I didn’t expect the journey from stuckness or pain to go there. It helped me realize that a lot of what I interpret as magical is just that, surprise.

Leonard Cohen’s Anthem puts it so beautifully: “There is a crack, a crack in everything; that’s where the light gets in.”

Something imperfect or slightly broken jolts us to see more than the symmetry of the mold It can show evolution - perhaps the frustrating mistakes of a beginner, reimagined into something stronger and better - or intention. When skilled masters create around a flaw, they highlight it on purpose as a sign of character. As a fiction writer, I know that wounded characters center most great stories. Their messy context is what enables us to connect to them and their journey. In art and story, we get to share the hopeful surprises that emerge from brokenness.

Our broken places, and the world’s, are tender and awful and not the end.

Healed or healing wounds form scars, which in turn fix our journeys of pain into memory. They reveal the complexity of our “Capital L” Life stories. They assert a kind of loveliness, the beginning of something new.

In times of difficulty, that’s a magic worth hoping for. So when you receive advice to cover over your weak spots or hide your wounds, think again. Pain coexists with beauty. Let the light get into you and what you create.