You Can't Heal Where You Were Hurt

This week I met someone who, like me, lived through Melbourne’s lockdowns. Instantly, there was a connection between us that said, “I see you”. There’s this kind of unique acknowledgement, a recognition, that they know. Even though years have passed, it’s a scar on our hearts – our souls – that connects us despite our new geographical location.

Lockdown in Melbourne was brutal. It was exhausting. Disorienting. And it quietly broke something in many of us.

As this woman and I swapped stories, it was evident that we had completely different experiences. And still, the pain was familiar. We were deeply hurt by what we went through. And we’re both starting fresh on the other side of the country.

No matter where your pain comes from, there’s something connective in finding people who have walked a similar path. Because it wants to be witnessed.

One thing that I’ve learnt in my life’s journey is this:

You can’t always heal in the place that hurt you.

Sometimes you need distance. New energy. A vast expanse between you and the people and places that are so intricately woven with those painful experiences.

Honestly, it was kind of a surprise to me. I’ve always been a big believer that “you take your baggage with you wherever you go”! And, yes, I still am. The baggage is still there.

But unravelling yourself from the past creates space to heal it. The distance, the newness, they bring a unique opportunity to deal with the deep core of your pain rather than living in a state of triggers or (worse) being permanently guarded, not facing it at all.

Leaving is hard; let’s not downplay what it takes to make a big life change (especially relocating somewhere new). And that courage deserves to be celebrated. But once you’ve made the decision, once you’ve made the move – then what?

I vividly remember the feeling of driving out of Melbourne, onto open roads, with the 3600km drive ahead of me. I felt truly free. I had no fixed address, I belonged nowhere, but I knew that I had me. My heart expansive, just me and my car (my partner and I drove our own cars separately), and the road ahead to the next adventure.

And when I arrived at our Perth home?

Peace.

A peace I had never felt before.

And now? The fear and trauma that kept me hauled up in my tiny apartment is gone. I love getting out and exploring, I’m learning to camp (that’s a whole other journey that you can read about here), and there isn't that collective trauma seeping through your pores.

On occasion, the pandemic comes up in conversation. And the people that went through it over here just don’t get it. Perhaps they saw the sourdough making and the puzzles completed and the picnics and the Facetime game nights but missed the daily pressers, the isolation, the fear that buzzed through the air.  

They just can’t possibly understand. And that’s okay.

But I see the allure of staying with those who get it. Planting yourself in a field of others who do get it. Just so that you feel seen, so that your pain is acknowledged. But that can keep you anchored in the pain rather than moving through it.

And don't get me wrong, not everyone will need to physically move or relocate in their healing journey. It may mean changing jobs, friendship circles, or distancing yourself from family. You'll know what that is (or was) for you.

Starting somewhere new isn’t a magic bullet. There’s still work to do, healing to move through. But if deep down you know your soul is calling for a new place to call home – even just for now – that’s worth listening to. Finding someone who says, “I see you” is powerful. Saying it to yourself? That’s freedom.

[Is your soul calling to start again somewhere new? Soul-Led Therapy can guide you there]