Some seasons in life leave marks.
Not the kind you can point to on your skin, but the kind you feel when a song comes on at the wrong time… when a familiar place suddenly feels heavy… when someone says something small and it hits something deep inside you that you didn’t even realize was still sore.
And if you’ve lived through enough of those moments, it’s easy to start believing that pain is the main character in your story.
That the hardest things you’ve faced are the headline.
That the hurt is the definition.
But here’s what I want to remind you today—gently, honestly, and without pretending it’s easy:
Your life is so much more than the things that have hurt you.
You are not just a collection of wounds.
You are not just what you survived.
You are not just the days you barely made it through.
And you are definitely not finished.
Sometimes we treat our pain like it’s a final verdict. Like it’s proof that something is permanently broken in us. Like the fact that we struggled means we’re destined to struggle forever.
But pain is not a prophecy.
Pain is a chapter. A real one. A heavy one. A chapter you didn’t ask for.
But it is not the whole book.
There are people who have walked through years of disappointment and still found joy again.
There are people who have been betrayed and still learned to trust the right ones.
There are people who have lost themselves and still found their way back.
Not because they “got over it” overnight.
Not because they stopped feeling it.
But because they decided their story was worth continuing.
And maybe that’s what you need today—not a big motivational speech, not a perfect plan, not a sudden burst of confidence.
Maybe you just need permission to keep going.
Because the truth is, healing doesn’t always look like feeling amazing.
Sometimes healing looks like getting out of bed when you don’t want to.
Sometimes it looks like laughing and then feeling guilty for laughing.
Sometimes it looks like being okay for a few hours, then breaking down again, and then coming back up.
Sometimes it looks like praying through tears.
Sometimes it looks like choosing not to give up, even when you’re tired of being strong.
And that still counts.
That is still progress.
That is still courage.
A lot of us don’t realize how brave we’ve been because we’ve been too busy trying to survive.
We forget that showing up after heartbreak is brave.
Trying again after failure is brave.
Letting yourself love after loss is brave.
Building a life after being shattered is brave.
And even if you don’t feel brave… if you’re still here, you’ve already proven something important:
You can make it through hard things.
Now, I’m not going to insult you by saying the painful chapters “happened for a reason” in a neat little bow. Some things shouldn’t have happened. Some things were unfair. Some things were deeply wrong.
But what I will say is this:
Your future can still hold meaning and beauty—even if your past held pain.
Even if you’ve made mistakes.
Even if you’ve been disappointed.
Even if you’ve been hurt by people you trusted.
Even if you’ve carried something silently for years.
You can still write a life that feels honest, grounded, and full.
And it won’t look like a perfect story.
It’ll look like a real one.
A story where you learn to breathe again.
A story where you stop apologizing for what you went through.
A story where you stop shrinking yourself to make your pain easier for others to understand.
A story where you learn that peace doesn’t mean “nothing ever hurts again.”
Peace can mean: I’ve been through pain, and it no longer controls me.
It can mean: I can remember without falling apart.
It can mean: I can carry the memory without carrying the weight.
And you know what’s beautiful? You don’t have to rush to the ending.
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.
You just have to keep writing.
One small choice at a time.
One day at a time.
One page at a time.
Because meaning isn’t something you wait for. Meaning is something you build.
It’s built in the way you love people even when it’s risky.
It’s built in the way you choose kindness when you could choose bitterness.
It’s built in the way you keep learning, even after life humbled you.
It’s built in the way you show up, imperfect but present.
It’s built in the way you keep believing—maybe not loudly, maybe not confidently—but quietly… that better is still possible.
And if today is one of those days where you feel behind, or broken, or tired of being the one who always “gets through it,” I want you to hear this clearly:
You are allowed to be a work in progress and still be worthy of good things.
You are allowed to be healing and still be loved.
You are allowed to have scars and still be soft.
You are allowed to have a past and still have a future.
Your story isn’t over.
Not because everything will suddenly become easy.
But because there is still more life left in you.
More laughter waiting for you.
More moments of peace.
More friendships that feel safe.
More love that doesn’t require you to beg for it.
More confidence that comes from knowing what you can survive.
More beauty that doesn’t erase the pain—but rises beside it.
So if your life has had painful chapters, I’m sorry. Truly.
But I hope you don’t hand those chapters the pen.
You hold the pen now.
And even if your handwriting is shaky today…
Even if the ink feels heavy…
Even if all you can manage is one honest sentence:
“I’m still here.”
That’s enough to keep the story going.
And that story can still be full of meaning.
It can still be full of beauty.
And so can you.
Kenrick Vaz 