(And Why That is a Gift)
We’ve all heard the clichés:
Time heals all wounds.
Let it go.
Move on.
But when you’ve lived long enough—and loved deep enough—you know that wounds don’t truly close.
They deepen. They echo. They ask for more than time.
What if post-traumatic growth isn’t about healing…
What if it’s about tending?
🔥 The Fire We Carry
Tending doesn’t aim to erase nor to suture.
To tend is to abide. It’s the daily act of honoring what still burns. Like the careful hand that stokes embers at dawn—not to extinguish them, but to keep them alive without consuming the house.
Wounds are like that.
We don’t heal from them. We live beside them. We learn their rhythm.
And if we’re very attuned, meaning is borne of the soul.
🌞 The Solstice as a Mirror
June contains this paradox in perfect form.
The sun reaches its peak at Solstice—bright, abundant, triumphant—
And in beholding this moment, days begin their slow, methodical retreat toward the dark.
Light and loss arriving together.
And so it is in post-traumatic growth.
Emergence. Becoming.
Remembering that which endeavored to be our unmaking.
🕊 Soul Work: There’s no Getting Over.
Don’t chase the light as if it erases the shadow.
Welcome both.
Sit with what still hurts—gently, faithfully—whispering:
You don’t have to be over it.
Just abide with it.
Simply tend.
💬 A Question to Carry
As we cross into the long light of June, ask gently:
What in me still longs to be tended—Not fixed, but felt?
What chapter of my story still needs space in become sacred?
Leave a Reply