Ignore the Hurt?

Growing up only 18 months younger than one of my brothers, I’d pal around with him more than any of my three older sisters. As a result, I was more of a rugged, tough and robust girl than I was a gentle, tender, and refined one. 

If I wanted to belong to the boys’ club, which I did, then it was imperative that I keep up with them. Consequently, I raced my bike through the streets, smashed pumpkins on Halloween, climbed trees and played flag football just like they did. One time, my brother even won a bet that had to do with me.

 In the alley behind our house, an argument broke out among some of the boys who said that I was not tough enough to punch anybody. My brother told them to put their money where their mouths were. Next thing I know, my brother is tying a pair of boxing gloves onto my hands and I am face to face with my opponent; a chubby boy whom I’d never seen before. 

Without hesitation, I slam my fist smack dab into his  belly. He doubles over, falls to his knees. I’m declared the winner. My brother collects the money he won and I am happy; I’d not disgraced my brother or myself.

The rule I learned from being in that boys’ club during my formative childhood years was to never cry. Crying was a sign that you’d been hurt and showing that you were hurt did not bring any sympathy, pity or mercy your way. Instead, it only encouraged others to inflict more hurt in the way of ridicule, mockery or scoffing. 

Saying “Ouch” When It Hurts

Though belonging to my brother’s gang was fun, I formed a particular habit that did not serve me well. I’d learned to not say, “ouch” when it hurts. As a result, my father’s suicide was immensely painful for me, but I did not know how to say, “I’m hurt bad and I need help.”

By not acknowledging my wound, I was impaired in more ways than one. First, there was the pain from the trauma, then there was the agony of trying to ignore it. 

Recently, I heard someone say a rather simple, and yet, radical statement that reminded me of me; hurt people, hurt people. 

While trying to give my traumatic wound the cold shoulder, it bled out all over everybody else by way of anger. Being angry made me feel less vulnerable. Anger, it seemed, kept people from seeing that I was hurt, but anger is not known as a remedy that heals wounds. 

Several years after my father’s suicide and me trying in vain to disregard my pain, God showed up in a way that I could not refute. 

He showed up as Jesus, with consolation, compassion and an intimate understanding of my situation. Ignoring my pain no longer worked and ending my life was the only solution I could think of. 

Hearing the words, “I can change your life if you want me to,” I did not hesitate to agree, my life certainly needed changing. 

I think one of the most interesting things about that particular encounter with God is that I did not have to tell him anything about me. He was already fully aware of what I needed and that I was ready to receive it; his immense and personal love for me.

    Why Bother?

Why bother acknowledging our hurt? Hurt people hurt people. But, when we acknowledge our hurt to Someone who personally loves us,  then we might be able to say, healed people, help heal people.