Yeah, I know that it’s actually “time heals all wounds” but does it?

I think we learn to live with the wounds to some degree. That some are just waiting for the right moment to rear their heads again.

Now, I’m in favour of the idea that we, as humans, are meant to heal. Our bodies work relentless to grow skin over cuts, to remove bruises, to knit bone back together. We don’t even have to think about it!

(Which, thank goodness, because if you’ve met me you’d know I’d be a mess of half finished healing and I’d probably be trying to grow feathers.)

Emotionally, and mentally, we are supposed to heal too. We are supposed to put our baggage down at some point and remove it from our stories.

I am shaped by events that happened to me but I am not those events.

But sometimes there’s a trigger and boom, the healing power of time is gone in a blink. And I’ve learned to catch myself in those moments. To mentally step back and question why I’m seeing red or why I’m suddenly feeling powerless and flailing about.

In our hurry up and be busy society, we forget that our bodies need permission to be tired, sad, hurt, angry or whatever. That catching our breath is not only important, it’s crucial to our well being.

Time may wound, but we can choose to heal.

(Now I just need to figure out how to grow feathers because since I wrote that, I’ve become obsessed with the idea. FEATHERS!)

Categories: Art