This is a tricky one.

Pain shapes us. It softens the edges of ego and opens the heart in a way that only suffering can. I truly believe we become better for it—more open, more compassionate, more wise.

As Rumi said, “The wound is where the light enters you.”
And Leonard Cohen echoed it: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

For me, the most interesting, soulful, and wise people I’ve met are the ones who have walked through fire and lived to tell about it. They are also the ones who seem to carry the most joy. Not the fleeting kind of happiness, but the deep, anchored joy that’s earned. That’s embodied. That’s hard-won.

But when it comes to healing—especially when it comes to healing from chronic illness—we have to be mindful of how long we hold on to the pain.
There’s a point at which pain transforms us, and then there’s a point at which it begins to define us. That’s where we need to be careful.

Because what we focus on, expands.
And what we repeatedly speak and think and identify with… becomes our reality.

Language Matters

Even subtle shifts in language can carry enormous energetic weight. Here’s an example from my own life.

I don’t say:
“I have an autoimmune disease called scleroderma.”

I say:
“I was diagnosed with scleroderma.”

Why? Because I don’t “have” it.
It hasn’t taken permanent residence in my identity. I received a diagnosis—a label for a set of symptoms—and that’s all it is.
It does not define me. It’s part of my path, not the entirety of who I am.

This seemingly small difference is actually a massive one.
It signals to my brain, my body, and my energy field:

This is something I’m moving through—not something I’m married to.

 

Making Meaning Without Overidentifying

You are allowed to acknowledge your pain. You are allowed to honor the story. You’re allowed to grieve what’s been lost, changed, or challenged.

But you are not your diagnosis.
You are not your symptoms.
You are not your trauma.

You are the witness to those experiences. You are the meaning-maker. And you have the power to choose what you carry forward and what you lovingly leave behind.

That’s how we grow. That’s how we transcend.

We find the treasure in the pain.
We integrate the lesson.
And then—we move on to the next thing that’s waiting for us.

Because there is always something waiting.
Life continues to unfold.
Every day is a blank page.

Ask yourself:

• How am I better because of what I’ve gone through?
• What did this pain teach me?
  What parts of it am I ready to release?

Let yourself be shaped, but not defined.
Let the wound open you, but don’t build your house there.
Let the crack be where the light gets in—and then follow that light into the next chapter.

Because your story isn’t over.
It’s just getting more beautiful.