How I stopped holding my pain like prayer and started holding myself instead
Every warrior gets wounded.
Every knight has scars.
Every lightworker walked through darkness.
The valley of the shadow of death?
It’s littered with bodies.
And still—many come out on the other side.
For a while, I didn’t believe I would.
It may look like an abyss where you throw your most painful experiences, or a box locked up tight in your head—scarier than Pandora’s—bolted shut, covered in chains, with more locks than Alcatraz. But the way into the light isn’t ignoring the abyss or keeping that box closed. It’s staring straight into it. It’s reaching in, pulling those things out, and looking at them. Really looking.
The abyss isn’t holy. But you are.
It’s not about throwing your pain away and then running back to pick it up again, tossing it around like a barrel of monkeys. It’s about swimming into the depths and recognizing how you’re still carrying it. Asking what that pain did to you. Who it made you. And deciding—am I happy with who I am now?
If the answer is yes: thank the pain for its work, and move forward.
If the answer is no: thank it anyway, and begin to change.
Step by step.
Scar by scar.
You walk through the things that built you and keep what you need while discarding the rest.
You thank and accept those old survival selves for doing their job.
That is where the real healing lives.
One day, the abyss won’t feel sacred anymore.
It will feel like compost—the place you laid down your grief and built something better on top of it.
Your trauma won’t need to be worshiped.
It will simply become another lesson.
And you’ll realize the dark was never your enemy.
That’s when you’ll notice the dark isn’t scary anymore.
And the light? It won’t feel distant or holy or too bright to hold.
You’ll realize… it’s where you belong.
When fear lost its hold, I learned to stand like a newborn fawn—shaky, soft, eternal.
When I embraced the flame, I became one with the fire.
And when I walked into the light, I didn’t come without scars.
I came holy.
You’ve already survived. Now it’s time to live.
If you’re still in it—if you’re lost in that dark place, clawing at old wounds or quietly fading—
know this: you do not have to walk through it alone.
My inbox is open. My heart is steady.
I will reach back for anyone who asks.
Whether you’re someone who once stood close to me or someone I’ve never met—if you’re ready to speak, I’m ready to listen.
You are not too broken.
You are not too late.
You are still becoming.
Let this be your light at the edge of it all.
Contact me anytime: charmingwhiteeyes@theluminousrealm.com