People all around you and me are hurting. I talk with some of them on a regular basis.

And I’m hurting, which I’m sure you’ve figured out if you’ve read at least one of my recent blog posts. And as someone who publicly shares much (but certainly not all) of my life, I feel the need to share a few things about people who are in the hurting/healing process:

There’s no set time limit on how long people are allowed to hurt, or when they should be healed. Deep wounds require deep healing, and sometimes, that takes a while.

Hurting people build tall, strong walls for a reason: to keep out more hurt. I’m not saying that’s how it should be, but that’s usually what happens. It’s the same as the idea of protecting a wound so it doesn’t get hurt even worse or get infected from exposure. Our trust is in limited supply.

As long as our walls are standing, we are in protective mode. So when you jump the wall and reprimand us for expressing our hurts, you’re not likely to receive a warm welcome. Hurting people often hurt other people. It’s not an excuse. It’s not usually even intentional. It’s reality, though.

Hurting people need you to listen, to validate their pain, to offer compassion and/or understanding. If you can’t offer any of those, silence is golden.

We especially don’t need a three-step plan on how to forgive those who’ve inflicted our wounds. Forgiveness is usually a daily choice for us, and sometimes, we don’t choose well. And pointing out that we’re bitter and angry doesn’t encourage our healing process at all; rather, it adds to the hurt. In addition, it’s not helpful to trivialize or mock people’s very real hurts just because you’ve not experienced those same wounds.

I don’t think too many of us saw the arrows coming that wounded us. And when there’s more than one, and they all seem to hit at the same time, the ache is unbelievably intense.

I didn’t see mine coming…or maybe in hindsight I did, but chose to ignore them. I didn’t expect the slamming force of the effects of abuse and trauma and religion to hit without warning. I didn’t expect to walk away from church. I didn’t expect a close friend to practically disappear. I didn’t expect most of my theology to be uprooted and tossed in the garbage. And now I’m in the wake of all those things wondering how to stay afloat.

Am I cynical? Yes. Am I bitter? I don’t think so…not yet. Am I hurting? Absolutely. Am I dealing with those hurts? I’m trying in the best way I know how (and am considering going back to counseling). I think any other hurting person would answer those questions in much the same way.

The protective walls can come down brick by brick, or with one crashing blow. I don’t know what that looks like or when it will happen. So far, mine are still standing and growing taller after a couple of years. I suppose things could change overnight.

Am I airing my dirty laundry by writing about my hurts? Perhaps. Am I desperately trying to explain myself? Probably. Should I keep quiet and give it all to God? Maybe. But you know what? If there’s one person who reads these words and feels a little less alone in their journey, it’s worth sharing my story…bruises, brick walls, and all.