Strength Redefined: Discovering Purpose After Pain

One thing that most people who have overcome something profoundly traumatic likely have in common is a shared experience: when you’re in the throes of pain, you don’t immediately see a way out of it.

I don’t believe that’s because a way out isn’t present. I think it’s because we become far more focused on the pain than on finding a way to solve it.

Pain has a way of occupying space. Just like aerosol sprayed into the air, it spreads—and it spreads quickly. It can be so jolting that it disturbs your entire existence and sense of inner peace more radically than anything else I can think of or have personally experienced.

I’m not particularly speaking about physical pain. Though physical pain is not without impact, physical wounds tend to heal faster than emotional ones.

I remember a conversation I had with a girlfriend back in the ’90s. Some of you remember the ’90s—the best of everything existed back then, especially the music. The air was cleaner, values were different, the clothes were fly, and life had a special kind of flair then. Wow! To be a kid in the ’90s. Anyway—that’s my experience! Don’t come on my blog trying to argue, but you can agree… lol!

Now that I’ve paused to give reverence and respect to the best era of my life—back to my friend.

She was sharing details about a breakup with her boyfriend. Her pain was so raw and seething from her. The hurt she was feeling was palpable. I had not yet experienced that kind of heartbreak myself, so I could only sympathize with her and try, as best I could, with my limited frame of reference and experience, to comfort her.

I distinctly remember her saying through a flood of tears and jagged speech:

“I would rather be punched dead in my face than experience this kind of pain.”

That statement let me know there truly was a difference in the kinds of pain we experience—and that emotional pain seemed far more impactful and lasting than physical pain. Otherwise, why would anyone choose to be punched in the face?

It would be many years before my sympathy for her situation turned into true empathy. And in that moment of realization, I too would have rather been punched in the face.

Funny how things can come full circle.

It became increasingly apparent to me, the older and more mature I became, that pain has the ability to shape and define you in ways that can be difficult to come to terms with—and for some, nearly impossible to overcome.

And while it may feel impossible, I am here to tell you that it absolutely is not.

The old cliché that says, “Time heals all wounds,” couldn’t be further from the truth. Ask any adult still carrying around childhood trauma. Time doesn’t fix it.

So what does, you may ask?

Well—it ain’t time.

There are plenty of examples of that. Just like age doesn’t automatically equate to maturity.

Since you’ve made it this far into the blog, I know you’re waiting for the revelation—and I’m ready to share it.

Let’s start with the first and most obvious truth:

You can’t resolve, fix, or repair anything you don’t believe is in need of repair.

If you can’t see the issue, how do you fix it? If the issue exists, but you refuse to even entertain the possibility that it’s still an issue—how do you fix it?

So yes, the first requirement is self-awareness—or at the very least, not being averse to the idea that perhaps you aren’t as self-aware as you think.

Next, you absolutely have to be willing to face uncomfortable truths about how you ended up with the wound in the first place.

What was the root or source of the pain?

Did you cause it directly or indirectly?

Or was it simply a matter of circumstance?

My girlfriend that I referenced earlier, for example, knew well before entering into a relationship with the “source” of her pain that he was already in one when he started flirting with her.

Now let’s be clear—I am not judging her.

I’m simply saying that sometimes pain can’t enter through your door unless you open it and let it in.

Now that we’ve dealt with the fundamentals, let’s bring this conversation to life with a real-world example: me.

I graduated from the School of Hard Knocks with High Honors. I definitely did not travel the path of least resistance. I have always lived life on my own terms.

What’s the problem with that, you might ask?

Well, I often did it with reckless abandon and without regard for facing truths or learning lessons—mistakes on repeat.

Even though there are pros and cons to this approach that I could highlight, this blog will quickly morph into a book if I start unpacking all of them.

So let’s wrap this up.

Here’s the bottom line:

We—and I do mean we as in all of mankind—have all been through something in life that has caused us pain. Different kinds of pain. Different degrees of pain. Different durations.

But what exists for all of us is an opportunity to turn our pain into purpose.

Pain—both physical and emotional—caused me to lose my hair. All of it.

From those wounds, I no longer carry the pain, but I still carry the scars.

Those scars serve as purposeful reminders. And even though, when I look at them, touch them, or think about the emotional pain I felt during those seasons, I no longer connect to it in quite the same way I once did.

It’s almost like I’m standing outside of myself—remembering versus reliving.

There’s a distinct difference between the two.

One is memory. The other is reconnection to pain.

The good news is that once you reach this point in your own story, you can do what I’ve done: turn your pain into purpose.

How?

By sharing your story.

Your testimony.

Your lived experiences.

Without filters.

Without rose-colored glasses.

People need to know they aren’t alone. They need to truly feel that. Because we aren’t.

If only for a moment, think about the billions of people who populate this earth and the cumulative value of our experiences. Sharing them through meaningful storytelling, refusing to hide from our truths, and choosing to use our pain as a vehicle to help someone else navigate around theirs—that’s powerful.

We all have the ability to do this, don’t we?

While some of us already are, I believe there is still so much more we can cultivate in this area.

So why not use your pain productively by figuring out how it is tied to your purpose—and then use it as a vehicle to help heal the world?

That sounds pretty amazing, doesn’t it?