She thought healing would mean forgetting. That one morning she’d wake up and the memories wouldn’t sting anymore. But years later, a song on the radio or a casual word from a friend still sent her heart racing.
At first, she believed this meant she was broken beyond repair. “If I were really healed, this wouldn’t bother me anymore,” she told herself. But slowly, through prayer, therapy, and the quiet presence of God, she began to see things differently.
Healing wasn’t about erasing her past. It was about learning how to carry it without being crushed by it.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147:3
When she read that verse again, she noticed what it didn’t say. It didn’t promise that God would erase the memory. It promised He would bind the wound. The scar would remain, but it would no longer bleed.
Her journals began to shift. Instead of asking “Why me?” she started asking, “What is God showing me about myself through this?” Instead of blaming herself for remembering, she began to honor the survival those memories represented.
Healing for her looked less like forgetting and more like learning to breathe again. The wound remained part of her story — but it was no longer the definition of her life.
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