There are a great many hurting people around.

Recently I reheard the saying,
“Hurting people hurt people.”

And it got me wondering.

You see, for the first years of my life, I didn’t grasp that my family was made up off hurting people, like me. I picked up on emotions, but not necessarily what was the driving source behind them, as a child and preteen.

Somehow, the year I turned thirteen, I got it.

We moved a year earlier from one province to another, and like my brother, we had to start over with a new neighborhood, friends and school. We had lived in a great place our last few years before moving, and life was good.

We moved mid school year, an awkward time for anyone to move, so I wasn’t quite 12, an gawky all legs no tushie French speaking preteen who was in her ugly duckling stage.

It wasn’t until grade 8, when I turned 13, when I understood how hurtful my peers could be.

There was a writing assignment we had to complete where we described a fellow classmate, which was read allowed for the class to guess which of us the description described. One of my best friends described me as the homeliest girl in the school.

The written word can hurt, I learned that day. A lot.

Our mutual friend tried to play peacemaker, but the writer didn’t care that she had hurt me, and as result I withdrew. Which I found out, years later from the mutual friend, was due to her insecurity and jealousy over my friendship with the peacemaker. The writer wanted her for herself, and succeeded by wounding me in the process.

Fast forward to my first fight with my husband. Neither of us had been taught how to fight in love.

The spoken word can hurt, I learned that day. A lot.

I had wounding in my past that needed to be addressed, forgiven and released so I could heal and move on. So did my husband.

Hurting people hurt people.

I believe that almost every time someone hurts me, they are likely hurting too.

I know quite well that every time I hurt someone, I am hurting within.

Thirteen was the year where I grasped this concept.

It took thirteen more years before I understood how big a role grace plays in soothing our hurts, those of the wounders and the wounded.

That’s why I refer to that year as ‘t-hurt-een’, the hurt teen.

I had been hurt before, but it took me until thirteen to comprehend why.

Hurting people hurt people.

Bind up your wounds before you wound another. If more of us did so, we would have less wounders and wounded hurting.

Less hurt sounds pretty good to me. How about you?


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Published by Karla Lees

sharing Hope on the hard days for the hurting, the broken and the lonely.

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