Who Am I Beyond The Pain?

Finding My Identity Beyond Pain and Embracing a New Me.

Have you ever felt like it was your trauma and pain that gave you purpose? That because of it, you are the person you are today—the writer, the mother, the corporate mogul, the speaker, the athlete, the activist? All these identities, shaped and driven by your pain, are valid reasons to start something and even keep going. But what if you’ve become so attached to your pain that it now makes it difficult to heal?

Healing can feel like a betrayal of the pain. Maybe identifying as something other than hurt, broken, damaged, or traumatized doesn’t quite give us the edge. We feel the need to constantly revisit the pain, to sit in it a little longer so it can fuel us and remind us of our 'why.' Perhaps it makes us more relatable or admired for being where we are with the accomplishments we now have.

But what if we’ve taken it too far and have no room to be anybody else outside of our pain?

If you’re on this side of heaven, you’ve experienced pain of some kind. Like many people, I’ve used mine and turned it into something that has helped me on my healing journey. Whether it’s through community, exposure, making money, or growing, I’ve found positive ways to channel my pain. I speak openly about my daily struggles with physical pain related to endometriosis, fibroids, PCOS, and similar conditions. I’ve shared my experiences as a rape survivor, my losses of friends and loved ones, my heartbreaks, and my battles with depression, self-harm, and suicidal ideations. These experiences have steered me towards my purpose.

Because I simply refuse to believe that all these things happened for nothing, right? Delusional, perhaps, but that’s how we keep going and find meaning in “all things work together for good…” [Romans 8:28] and in the everyday things we used to do or be before the pain. Sometimes I’m not sure if I can even tell the difference between celebrating the pain and trauma for giving me material for my writing or celebrating the strength and courage to heal and keep going every single day.

Don’t get me wrong, sharing what we’ve gone through is important. I tell myself that by sharing my testimony, someone else might heal. But sometimes I get scared and wonder if I will matter if I don’t keep sharing what I’ve been through. I wonder who I would be outside of all the trauma. And at times, I’m not sure. Surviving, sharing my story, and healing have been mostly all I’ve known for the past few years. If I stop, will I still be me?

The answer to that may not be simple, but in short, yes, I will still be me. I am every version of myself, with and without the pain. I am allowed to let go of the pain without feeling like I’m betraying what I’ve been through. I’m allowed to let go and not feel guilty. You know how your mind reminds you, “Remember all those years you cried…” and takes you back, but somewhat keeps you there? As soon as you experience peace, something takes you back—whether it’s triggers, habits, the natural lows that come with healing, people, or whatever it is—it wants you there because, without it, you’re nobody. Well, that’s not true.

You CAN experience a peace that surpasses all understanding [Philippians 4:7].

You are allowed to be okay.

You are allowed to enjoy good things without always enduring, simply because you now advocate for all people who have suffered the same things, or because you’ve found your purpose.

You don’t have to be in survival mode all the time.

Resting unapologetically is not abandoning your resilience.

You are still you, beyond what you’ve been through.

I had to remember that my identity is not in the fact that I am a strong black woman who has survived a long list of traumas and pain. Even if it has contributed to why I started writing again and advocating, my identity is in Christ, the same God who is in the business of the greatest rebrands of all time throughout the Bible. He can transform you and me.

Part of me is made up of everything I’ve been through that has caused me pain, but there is good in there too. And although blurry at times, I am more than just the pain and all the things that have hurt me. I am comfortable with that. I embrace me, all of me. I’m still discovering her, but I know that it’s okay to be the version that enjoys rest, that loves love, that loves to eat, to travel, to sing, that writes about random things like whales breaching or the rain—not because I’m operating in survival mode but just because. There is power within me to be a healed version of myself and to be the me beyond the pain.

I am me, but more importantly, I am His.