The Beauty in the Bruises

Some wounds don’t bleed they bruise. Quietly. Deeply. You carry them in the way your smile falters at the edge. In the way you hesitate before trusting. In the way you shrink, just a little, when someone gets too close.

I used to think healing meant hiding those bruises, pretending they weren’t there. But now I know: sometimes the most beautiful parts of us are born in the aftermath not in spite of the pain, but because of it.


There was a time I felt like a stranger in my own skin. Every morning, I woke up heavy, carrying yesterday’s sorrow into today. My smiles were borrowedmore a habit than a feeling. I laughed, but the sound rarely reached my eyes. People told me I was strong, but they never saw the battles raging beneath my calm exterior.

The loudest pain, I learned, is often the one that doesn’t make a sound.


It was on my birthday a day meant for celebration that something shifted inside me. I was scrolling through a bookstore app, numbing myself with distractions, when I stumbled upon three journals by Nina Madsen on sale. Ninety-nine cents each.

I bought them without thinking. Or maybe I did think maybe it was hope in disguise.



The first journal prompt stopped me cold:
“How might a painting of your life look?”

I stared at the blank page, unsure. Then, an image came slowly to life: a girl holding her head, surrounded by bruised blues, purples, and blacks. The background was a storm of pinks and blacks. Behind her, a phoenix rose streaks of gold and silver breaking through the darkness.

That girl was me.



For the first time, I didn’t try to erase the mess. I sat with it. I honored it. That painting wasn’t tragic it was true. It was survival in color.



Each prompt pulled more from me words I’d buried, truths I’d swallowed. I wrote not as a writer, but as someone learning to breathe again. The journal became my confessional, my sanctuary. The page never judged me. It held space when the world didn’t.



I wrote about how I treat others with softness now, not because I’ve never known cruelty but because I have. I know what it’s like to feel invisible, forgotten, alone. I promised myself I would never let another person feel that way if I could help it.



There’s a line from a song by HONESTAV that echoes in my mind:
"And I don’t want no new friends, my heart’s still got bruises."

That line hit me like a punch. I realized I’d built walls, not fences. I convinced myself I was protecting my heart but in truth, I was starving it of connection. Yet, even behind those walls, I tried to be kind. I tried to be loving. I treated others the way I once wished someone had treated me.


One afternoon, my neighbor someone I barely knew knocked on my door. She handed me a gift she’d won at her company’s convention: an expensive makeup set. She smiled and said simply, “You came to mind.”

I froze. My hands hesitated. My heart did too. But I took it. And, more importantly I let it reach me.



That moment taught me something crucial: healing isn’t just about self-love. It’s also about letting love from others in. It’s about allowing kindness to pour into the cracks like gold, filling the broken lines with light instead of shame.


Healing isn’t erasure. It isn’t perfection. It’s transformation.



I still have days when my silence feels louder than my voice. But now, my silence is different it’s full. Full of reflection, lessons, and hope.

I’ve become the woman who no longer hides her bruises. I wear them proudly not as scars, but as stories. Proof that I endured, evolved, and emerged stronger.



If you’re holding pain no one else sees, know this: you’re not alone. You don’t have to be flawless to be beautiful.

Sometimes, the most radiant light shines brightest through the cracks.



Thanks for Reading