Free. Whole. Loved. Finally.
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” — Rumi
I learned as a boy, no one was coming to save me. So I saved myself the only way a child could. I prepared for everything.
If fear showed up, I rehearsed my escape. When danger came near, I built a plan before it could touch me. If an old wound stirred, I threw up walls so fast I could outrun the panic.
That’s how a gentle, sensitive five-year-old boy survives in a world too chaotic and harsh for his protectors to notice the danger creeping toward him. He learns to stay ready for anything at all times. The man I have grow into lived for decades as if that same terrified little boy was tightly gripping the controls of life.
Preparation was my shield. My oxygen. My way of keeping the world from breaking me again. So when I recently stepped into a situation that carried all of the emotional weight of my childhood fears, my instincts kicked in before I even had time to think.
I tried to prepare. But something in me knew preparation would not be my means of salvations this time. So instead, I leaned on my faith to try something terrifying.
Surrender.
I walked into that room empty-handed. No script. No plan. No rehearsed lines to pull me through. I Just brought a belief that whatever strength God chose to give me would be enough. That day, He sent some very powerful forces to be with me in this moment.
From the very first question, I felt a steadiness rise in me that I cannot fully explain. Not detachment from my feelings. Not numbness from what I felt. Not a fake, forced calm. I felt something else. Something deeper. A force beyond my capabilities. It felt like a hand rested on my back and whispered quietly and gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Rest here. I will protect you.”
For almost four hours, words came out of my mouth with a clarity, calm and precision that I never could have accessed. No matter how much preparation or intellectual firepower I thought I possess, I was unshakeable and confident in ways that move my soul.
My whole life, I’ve believed in grace. But that day, I felt it move through me. I didn’t shrink from the moment. I didn’t tremble inside. I didn’t over-explain or apologize for existing.
My answers were clean. Direct. Honest. Unflinching.
Opposite the table at which I sat in the room, there was a mirror on the wall.
Every so often, as my eyes took in my surroundings, I’d catch my reflection. It felt surreal. It was my face, but not the version of me I’m used to seeing in stressful moments. The man I saw in the mirror looked measured, strong, and anchored in a way I didn’t know possible. In that room, I transformed into a warrior made of calm. A man who finally knew his own worth.
And in that moment, I realized: This wasn’t me doing it. God was doing it through me.
The questioner was trying to get a reaction to help his cause, something he could twist, something he could use to question my character. But when he pushed into the most vulnerable parts of my life, I felt no panic. Just calm. I didn’t scramble for footing. I didn’t lose myself. I stayed right where I was. The words came on their own.
My questioner aimed straight at the places in me where fear used to live—my childhood, my marriage, the scars I’ve spent a lifetime untangling.
And I felt nothing break. No panic. No rush of old instinct. Just steadiness.
A certainty I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t until later, walking alone afterward, that the truth crashed into me. I stopped on the sidewalk and actually said out loud:
“How did I do that?”
The man who answered those relentless questions wasn’t the boy who learned to survive. Not even the man I thought I was. The man in that room was someone stronger, clearer, unafraid than I’ve ever been. Realizing fear is gone was its own kind of miracle. All I did was keep breathing and whisper inwardly:
“If this is mine to carry, help me.
If it is Yours to speak, speak.”
And He did.
When it was finally over, I walked out of that room more whole than I have ever been in my life. Not because I fought something. Not because I conquered anyone.
Not because I proved anything. But because I finally stopped fighting alone.
My wife and children had surrounded me with support so fierce it felt like armor on my heart. Their strength met God’s grace, and for the first time in my life, the five-year-old boy inside me stood safe and surrounded by love beyond measure. He was held. He was protected. He was finally free.
And that’s when I understood the truth I had been circling around my entire life. The Trauma in my family did not end because I was strong. It ended because, for the first time ever, I allowed God be stronger in my heart than my fears.
Author’s note:
I share this moment not to revisit old pain. Simply I seek to honor the grace that carried me through it. If you’ve ever have been called to face down the echoes of a painful childhood wound, may this remind you: You do not ever need to walk into those moments alone. God is always with you.
#Trauma Recovery #Spirituality #Faith #Healing #Personal Growth #Transformation #Inner Work #Breaking Cycles #Surrender #Grace