The Wounded Healer

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars”?- Khalil Gibran

I have always been kind of A Crisis Man - a person people turn to when they need someone to listen, to comfort, to simply be there. I guess it is instinctive leadership. This rock like character started young - friends would come to me with their problems, hoping my magic wand (and words) would fix everything and make it better. It peaked in my twenties, matured in my thirties and continues in my forties - as I became the go-to person for those dealing with heartache and loss.?But what people did not see - and I rarely shared - was that while I was holding them together, it was chipping me away - slowly yet surely - little by little - marbles coming off my mosaic.

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Healing You, Healing Me

There is something almost contradictory about being a healer. On the outside, you are the steady rock, the one who provides strength and guidance. But on the inside? Sometimes, you are just as lost, just as hurt, just as unsure. I remember vividly one particular time in my life when I felt this duality so intensely that it nearly broke me.

It was a few years ago. I was grappling with anxiety and burnout. Work was overwhelming, and my personal life felt like it was unraveling. I struggled to find joy in the things I used to love, and the exhaustion seeped into everything. During that same period, a close acquaintance (I say acquaintance because I don't have friends) lost his father unexpectedly. He needed support - someone to talk to, someone to reassure him that the waves of grief would eventually calm. I wanted to tell him, “I cannot handle this right now,” but I did not. Instead, I showed up, as I always did, letting him pour out his sorrow while I quietly kept my own struggles tucked away.

After each conversation, I would hang up and just sit in the silence, feeling like I had nothing left to give - not to him, not to myself. But I kept answering. I kept being there, kept holding space, because somehow, seeing his pain helped me understand mine. His words of grief mirrored my own sense of loss - loss of energy, loss of patience, loss of purpose. And in the process of helping him process his emotions, I found myself slowly piecing together some of my own.

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The Paradox

This is the paradox of the wounded healer. It is the realization that sometimes, the act of healing others becomes your own lifeline. The broken parts of you that you hide away allow you to connect deeply with the pain of others. The very experiences that scarred you become your source of strength. And in moments when you feel most powerless, helping someone else navigate their pain gives you purpose and reminds you of your own resilience.

But being a wounded healer is not about having it all figured out or being some sort of stoic hero. It is about showing up with your own scars, not despite them. It is about embracing the complexity of feeling both broken and whole at the same time. The strength is not in being invulnerable -?it is in daring to be present with your own pain, and using that to guide others through theirs.

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The Cliché

There is an old saying that “time is the greatest healer and pain is the greatest teacher.” It is not just a cliché; it is a hard truth I have come to understand through my own journey. The times in my life when I was forced to confront my deepest wounds - moments of loss, heartbreak, and disillusionment - left marks that I will own forever. But they also changed me in ways I could not have imagined.

When I look back, I realize that these experiences (some painful, some painless but all priceless) did something remarkable: they gave me a kind of sight. Not the kind that is learned from books or classes, but a kind of emotional vision that sees past people’s defenses and right into the heart of their suffering. It is not a skill or a blessing (rather a curse); it is more like a knowing - a recognition that comes from having been there myself.

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Fear before Pain

Have you ever noticed that we always feel pain from the things we fear. The Fear of Rejection, The Fear of Failure, The Fear of Loss - all leading to unsurmountable pain.?I remember sitting across from a colleague, someone who had just experienced a sudden and devastating loss. He kept smiling, saying he was fine, insisting he just needed to keep busy. The words seemed right, but there was something in his eyes - a flicker of something too raw to hide. I knew what that look was. I had seen it in my own reflection years earlier. So, I did not let it go. I asked him, “What?is really going on?” He looked away, the smile faltering.

For a moment, he hesitated, his hands trembling slightly. “I am terrified,” he whispered finally, his smile breaking. “I am so scared of being alone.” It was a moment of truth that shattered the fa?ade, and in that small, brave confession, I saw myself - my own fear of isolation, my own struggle with loss.

In that instant, our roles shifted. I was not just a colleague offering support. I was a wounded healer, someone who could meet him where he was, not from a place of authority, but from a place of shared pain. I told him the words I wish someone had said to me back then: “It is okay to be scared. It is okay to not be okay.” And in saying them, I felt a tiny piece of my own fear loosen its grip on me.

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Powered by Scars

It is not the absence of pain that makes us effective healers - it is the presence of it. It is the fact that we have embraced our own suffering long enough to understand its language. Here is why that matters:

1-?Empathy Beyond Words

When you have faced pain yourself, you do not just hear someone’s story - you feel it. You know what it is like to choke on your words, to smile through the tears, to say “I am fine” when you are anything but.

2-?The Courage to Embrace Pain

Most people want to fix pain, to make it go away. But those who have been through it understand that healing is not about quick fixes. It is about allowing pain to breathe, to express itself, to simply be. Wounded healers do not rush others through their grief; they sit with it, unafraid.

3-?The Ability to Create Safe Spaces

Wounded healers know that true healing does not happen when someone feels judged or rushed. It happens when they feel safe - safe to break down, safe to rage, safe to let go. Because we have needed those spaces ourselves, we intuitively create them for others.

4-?Strength in Vulnerability

Paradoxically, the more open we are about our own struggles, the stronger we become. Vulnerability is not about being weak - it is about being honest. When we show up authentically, we give others permission to do the same.

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The Real Deal

But there is a danger in being a wounded healer. You can become so focused on helping others that you neglect your own needs. I know this firsthand. There have been times when I have given and given, thinking that I could somehow heal myself through healing others. It worked - until it did not. Until I found myself drained, burnt out, and struggling to hold it all together.

I have learned that being a wounded healer does not mean you have to be a martyr. It means knowing when to step back, when to ask for help, and when to tend to your own wounds. Because, in the end, the most powerful healers are the ones who understand that their own well-being is just as important as those they help.

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Burden

(By Adnan Chilwan:?written by me to the healer?within)

They come to me, their hearts in shards,

Their voices trembling, their souls scarred,

And I offer them words, a shoulder, my ear,

I give what I can to make hurt disappear.

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They think I’m strong, unshaken, and whole,

A beacon of light when they’ve lost control,

But beneath my calm lies a silent ache,

A pain I’ve carried for others’ sake.

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For while I heal and while I mend,

I walk with shadows I cannot defend,

And as I guide them, holding their weight,

My own burden pulls, a heavy freight.

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Yet still I give, and still I stay,

Because somehow, in this endless sway,

Of holding their pain, I find my own,

A mirror of all that I’ve never shown.

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It’s not just for them that I choose this fight,

Not only for others I light the night,

But because in their healing, I see a spark,

A glimmer of hope for my wounded heart.

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When I stitch their wounds, I stitch my own,

When I ease their cries, I’m less alone,

For every soul I help to restore,

I mend a piece of my broken core.

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So yes, I hurt, I struggle, I bleed,

But healing them fills a greater need,

For through this purpose, through each hand I hold,

My own pain softens, turns to gold.

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I learn that my strength is not in being whole,

But in bearing the hurt while fulfilling my role,

As a healer who heals both others and me,

Transforming my pain into empathy.

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So even as I carry this weight,

I choose to help,?I choose this fate,

Because by healing them, I find my way,

Turning my pain into power each day.

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Still Healing

Not all healers are whole. Some carry invisible wounds, scars that may never fully fade. But these are the very marks that make them powerful. The?wounded healer?understands pain not from a distance, but from a place of lived experience. They are able to sit with others in the darkest hours, offering a kind of comfort that comes not from expertise, but from empathy.

It is a quiet, steadfast form of strength - showing up, being present, holding space - despite the inner battles they themselves fight every day. A wounded healer’s power is not in being perfect; it is in being real. They know that healing is not about erasing scars, but about finding meaning and purpose in them.

To every wounded healer out there, remember: your pain is not your weakness. Your scars are not your shame. They are your story, your strength, your ode to resilience. Every time you offer support, every time you choose to listen, and every time you share a piece of yourself, you are turning pain into power.

You do not have to be fully healed to be a healer. Your greatest strength is that you are wounded and healing - walking the same path, just a few steps ahead.

Every time you offer a shoulder to lean on, a kind word, or a simple smile, you are showing that true heroism is not found in grandeur, but in the quiet, steadfast bravery of compassionate heart.

So, keep showing up. Keep being there. Keep turning wounds into wisdom.

Because after all - you are a?Wounded Healer.