Your Wounds Are Not Your Identity
Laurence H Johns
“You will be wounded, and you will recover. But the wound is not who you are.”
– David Whyte
At some point, every man must decide:
“Am I going to keep living out my pain – or am I going to start living beyond it?”
We all carry wounds. Some are obvious – grief, heartbreak, abuse, betrayal. Others are quiet—neglect, unspoken shame, the constant sense that we were never quite enough.
But the wound is not the problem. The real danger is when the wound becomes our identity.
When we start seeing ourselves through the lens of what hurt us. When we begin to believe that the pain is who we are. When we mistake a scar for a story we must keep repeating.
The Subtle Trap of Over-Identification.
It starts small. We experience a wound, and we find a way to survive it. We armour up. We adapt.
That’s resilience – and it matters. But over time, something else happens.
We start saying things like:
“I’m just not an emotional person.”
“I’ve never been good at relationships.”
“I’m the kind of guy who keeps to himself.”
“I always mess things up when I get close to someone.”
These aren’t facts. They’re adaptations. They’re strategies we developed to survive an environment that couldn’t hold our full selves.
But if we keep repeating them, they become our truth.
And eventually, we forget:
They were responses to pain. Not reflections of who we truly are.
Why We Hold On to the Pain.
As strange as it sounds, sometimes we cling to our wounds because they feel familiar. Safe. Known. Even when they hurt.
Here’s why:
1. They Give Us a Story
Our wounds explain why we act the way we do. They let us say, “I’m like this because of what happened to me.” There’s comfort in that. It means we don’t have to change—just justify.
2. They Give Us an Identity
Especially if we’ve never been seen fully, the wound becomes the part of us that got attention. It becomes the thing we build our personality around. But if that pain disappears—who are we without it?
3. They Give Us Control
Pain can become a shield. If we expect disappointment, we won’t be surprised when it comes. If we keep people at a distance, we won’t get hurt again. But we also won’t experience real connection, growth, or joy.
You Are Not What Happened to You.
Here’s the hard truth – and the doorway to something better:
The things that happened to you shaped you. But they do not define you.
You are not your trauma. You are not your past. You are not the story someone else wrote on your life.
You are the man who survived. And you are the man who gets to choose what comes next.
The difference between a wound and a scar is healing. And the difference between healing and being stuck is identity.
When we keep identifying with the wound, we keep re-opening it. When we stop identifying with the wound, we begin to heal.
What Healing Actually Looks Like.
Let’s kill the fantasy.
Healing isn’t about wiping the slate clean. It’s not about pretending nothing happened. It’s not about becoming some perfectly whole, forever-zen version of yourself.
Healing is about this:
No longer letting old pain dictate present behaviour.
No longer choosing relationships, jobs, or habits that reflect your damage.
No longer shrinking to fit the story someone else gave you.
Healing is when your past stops writing your future. It’s when you still carry the scar – but you no longer let it steer the ship.
The Man on the Other Side.
Imagine this for a moment:
You’re sitting across from the man you could become. He still remembers the pain. But he’s not run by it. He has integrated it. Made meaning from it. He has allowed it to deepen him, not harden him.
He’s honest. Clear. Rooted. Dangerous in the right way. Soft in the right way.
And he’s only one decision away from where you’re sitting now.
The decision to stop living as the wound – and start living from the lesson.
The Exercise: Drop the Label, Keep the Learning.
Reflective Exercise:
Write down the story you’ve been telling yourself that’s rooted in a wound. Example: “I always sabotage intimacy because I was abandoned.”
Then ask: “Is this belief serving who I am becoming?”
Next: Write a new sentence that honours the pain but frees you from the identity. Example: “I was abandoned, but I’m learning to trust love again.”
Real-World Task:
This week, act as if that new sentence were true.
One small step. One conversation. One shift in posture, presence, or honesty.
Not perfection. Just practice.
Conclusion: The Wound Is a Portal, Not a Prison.
We don’t get to choose what wounded us. But we do get to choose what we build from it.
Pain can be a teacher—or a tyrant. It can open us—or close us. It can sharpen us—or break us.
But whatever it is, let it end with teaching. Let it give you wisdom, not identity. Let it inform your path, not imprison your potential.
Because the wound? It happened. But it is not who you are.
And the moment you stop building your house inside, is the moment you finally start coming home.
Reading List.
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk
The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer
Healing the Shame That Binds You by John Bradshaw
When the Past Is Present by David Richo
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl
