You’re More Than Your Wounds


The Band-Aid might be huge but it doesn’t cover your whole body. There are well parts to you.

If I asked you to look at the well parts of yourself and not at the Band-Aid, could you do it? Or is the Band-Aid all you can see?

I thought of this today as I walked to my car after a meeting. It was, like so many of a person’s thoughts, unrelated to anything that had happened at the meeting. Nothing bad had transpired and I hadn’t been ruminating on anything sad or wrong during the long discussions about policies and allocations. I didn’t have any wounds de jour. I was actually just fine.

But still the thought stuck with me. I thought about friends who can’t live without their Band-Aids, who feel naked without them. And I thought about fellow bloggers who seem forever stuck in their wounds, never allowing them to heal really because they’re always writing about them from new angles, each time bringing up a new well of tears.

Feeling bad is both a reflex and a way of life, I think, because people have more practice feeling bad than feeling good. And feeling bad is a lot more interesting. There’s a lot more to analyze with a bad feeling than a good one, blame to place, nuances to measure.

It’s tricky being happy. Sort of a dead end in terms of introspection. Well, ok, so I’m happy. Now what do I think about?

Sometimes I worry that if I become free of angst, I’ll have nothing to write about. But then there’s always Auld Angst Syne.

I’m sorry. I truly am. I’ll do better.

4 Comments on “You’re More Than Your Wounds

  1. I have a lot of thoughts on this topic, but my morning coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. 🙂 I am 95% incredibly happy and enjoying life. Do people really want to hear about how happy I am as I sit here commenting on blogs I enjoy reading? My initial purpose for starting a blog was writing about living with chronic illness, but I soon found the chronic illness part boring and decided I liked writing about the living part more. I think it is possible to write about the shit that happens and how we cope without being a victim, stuck forever up to our nostrils in the brown stuff. I guess that is a paraphrase of what you said; shit happens but we don’t have to take up residence in it.

  2. Clarissa Pinkola Estes says we should bury the terrible things that happened to us at the roadside, erect a marker to honor them (and so we can return for a short visit if we need to), and then move on. I think that’s excellent advice.

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