Scribed In Light

Today I am starting my blog piece with a whisper of raw honesty – something quiet, yet heavy…because some pains don’t roar. It doesn’t scream or sob or shake the walls. It just sits beside you, day after day. It doesn’t demand center stage…it just lingers – eventually consuming you.

Pain can cause a slow erosion – not through loud grief – but the kind of grief that seeps quietly into identity. It will sit beside you in the quiet, in the ordinary, in the doing-what-you-have-to -do. It folds the laundry with you, It follows you to the grocery store, it waits at the bottom of your coffee mug. Sometimes…it whispers softly that this is who you are now. Not because you chose it. Not because you’re weak. But because pain, when carried long enough, starts to feel like home.

Pain comes in more forms than we like to admit – and sometimes, it changes people.

• There’s physical pain so unrelenting, it carves away someone’s joy until only irritability and sorrow remain.
• There’s mental pain that fogs the mind and distorts reality.
• There’s emotional pain that replays old traumas and heartaches.
• There’s even self-grief over who we used to be…and who we no longer recognize.
• Then there’s the pain of watching it happen. The pain of a mothers love witnessing suffering. A loved one. A friend. Trying to reach someone who’s locked themselves inside their suffering, and watching them refuse every hand offered.

Some people shut down. Some lash out. Some pretend they’re fine while their spirit quietly erodes. They are riddled with aching not just for what’s happening – but for who they used to be, and the helplessness they can’t shake.

I’m not writing about how to get over the pain. I’m writing about how to carry it, without letting it change you, or consume you. I know this ache. The one that makes you forget who you were before it arrived. The one that tricks you into thinking you’ll never be more than what hurts.

You still laugh. You still love. You still show up for everyone and everything…but somewhere deep inside, a part of you is silently being rewritten. Pain will try to rewrite your identity. That’s the real danger – not just the ache itself, but the way it tries to shape you – and if we’re not careful, we start to introduce ourselves by our struggle…even if we never say it aloud.

Here’s the truth I am holding onto – Pain can sit beside you, but it doesn’t get to drive. It doesn’t get to rename you. It doesn’t get to define your worth. It absolutely does not get to dim the light inside of you.

So, how do we do it? How do we carry what hurts – without letting it consume us? The truth is, you don’t have to conquer pain to find peace. You just have to stop letting it steal what makes you you!

Here are the truths I have had to learn, sometimes the hard way:

1. Name it but don’t claim it.
   • You can feel sorrow without becoming sorrowful.
   • You can walk with grief without letting it own you.
     • “I feel it” is different than “I am it”.
2. Let it sit, but don’t let it speak for you.
   • Pain can ride beside you in the car, but it doesn’t get to touch the wheel. It doesn’t get to choose your direction, your responses, or your future.
   • Let it be a witness, not a narrator. You are the storyteller now. Not the wound. Not the memory. Not the ache.
3. Create something – even if it’s small
   • Pain thrives in silence and stillness. But even one act of creation weakens its grip.
     • A scribbled sentence. A whispered prayer. A flower planted in soil. Creation reminds you that you still have power. You still have a voice. You still have beauty within you.
4. Remember what still exists outside the pain.
   • Even when the ache feels total, it’s not all there is.
   • Light still creeps through blinds. Coffee still warms your hands. Someone still laughs loudly in the other room.
   • Make a list of what’s still here. Touch it. Name it. Let it tether you to the present…
5. Helps someone else carry their load.
   • When we help others we reconnect to the part of us that still shines, even in the middle of our own mess. It gives us a sense of meaning, purpose, and movement.
   • Sometimes, the heaviest part of our own pain is how inward it turns us – how isolated we feel inside of it. Yet, something sacred happens when we step out of our own pain, even for a moment, and help others with theirs.
     • Volunteer. Listen. Dropping off a meal. Even just sitting with someone who’s struggling. It reminds you you’re not powerless. You still have something to give. Generally, what you give ends up healing you too.
     • You don’t have to be fully healed to show up with compassion. Sometimes, the most powerful healers are the ones still healing. Helping others isn’t a denial to your pain – it’s a gentle rebellion against letting it own you.

We don’t have to fix it all in one day. We don’t have to understand it, or justify it, or turn it into something beautiful just yet. We just need to remember that just because there is pain, doesn’t mean it gets to name you. Let it rest at your side if it must, but don’t hand it the pen.

You are still becoming – not despite the pain, but through it. Becoming someone even more rooted in grace, more alive in truth, and that …is more powerful than pain will ever be.

My momsheart is absolutely shattered right now. It’s heavy, and thick, and dark. I have been allowing it to sit…just simply to be…while drawing quiet lines in the sand so that it won’t consume me. So please know, I don’t write any of this from a mountaintop. I write it from within the ache. I understand how hard it is to carry pain and not let it become you. I truly understand how difficult it can be. I remind myself that it’s not who I am…but just a response to something I’m walking through.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."  - John 1:5

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you...the rivers will not sweep over you."  - Isaiah 43:2

If pain is sitting beside you today may this remind you – it doesn’t get to tell your story. You do.

Love and grace,

Tina Campbell | Scribed In Light