If a thoughtless person drives the iron blade of an ax into an ancient tree’s bark, it will tear a gaping wound. The wound may seep sap, which will grow sticky in the sun but will eventually heal. If a careless blade punctures soft skin, it will reveal the red meant to be hidden beneath. The wound may lose blood droplets, leave rust-colored stains on the floor, but will eventually heal. In the end, living results in wounds and healing those wounds is part of living. It’s as natural as breathing—as natural as a healing breath.

I lost a person once. He promised to stay, but, in the end, he left. The disappointment and anger and devastation that followed left me with a deep wound. In the beginning, I thought the pain of it would kill me. As time went on, I was sure I didn’t have to strength to heal it.

            Today, the pain makes sense to me. Loss comes with pain, and all you can do is feel it until it passes. But on top of the pain, I felt so much shame. I felt shame when a memory caused me sadness. I felt shame when I thought of it every day. I felt shame when he moved on, and I still wasn’t able. I didn’t understand why after months—years—I was still hurting. The pain was horrible, but, when combined with shame, was almost unbearable.

            At the time, I didn’t realize I was feeling shame. I just knew everything hurt. But now I understand that I was. Now I see that if I had just given myself the time I needed, everything would have been easier. While beating myself up for feelings I couldn’t change, I caused myself so much anguish. While I believe the shame was natural, it never should have been.

As the tree healed, it developed a thick knot where the open wound had once been, a protective barrier to keep the world from its vulnerable interior. The skin eventually knit itself back together, developing a soft layer of new, pink skin, raised and shining, more sensitive than it had once been.

My wounds were not physical—easier to hide but just as challenging to mend. But like the tree and the skin, I eventually did heal. I pushed aside the shame and gave myself the time I needed and deserved. Now I just have to wait and see if the scar tissue that protects me—invisible, but there—will allow me to open my heart again.

If it does, I’ll know this time that I am strong enough to heal. And I’ll allow myself all the time I need without beating myself bloody with shame. And to anyone out there feeling raw in the same way: You will heal. You are strong enough. Give yourself as much time as you need. Do it without shame.