By Tabitha Bozeman
Some of the most beautiful prose is that which is most infused with poetry, and some of the most beautiful lives are those that have been shaped by pain. Although the past does not have to define our present or determine our future, it is often the very thing that enables us to connect most authentically and deeply with those we encounter along life’s journey.
June is not only Pride Month, it is also National PTSD Awareness Month. On my trip last month, I kept seeing big purple flowers graffitied on walls, particularly in regions where there has been relatively recent political and social unrest. After the second or third time I saw the same flower, I looked it up and realized it was a PTSD awareness image. This made a lot of sense especially when our tour guides were telling us stories about having to hide in basements as children while their cities were under siege. In a world where people are often judged for sharing stories like this, having “awareness” months is important because it highlights the possibilities of growing from being a victim to a survivor.
All survivors have been victimized at some point in their lives by someone or something. Yet not all who have been victimized reach the survivor stage. The distinction lies not in what happened to them, but in what they do with what happened.
A victim remains primarily focused on the injury itself, and the power it continues to hold over the present. The wound becomes a lens through which every relationship, decision, opportunity, and disappointment is viewed. A survivor, however, acknowledges the wound without allowing it to become the entirety of their identity. A survivor has been there, experienced that, and often becomes willing to share hard-earned wisdom with others who find themselves walking a similar path.This acknowledgement and sharing of the past does not indicate someone is choosing to see themselves as a perpetual victim. Instead, it is often a kind of redemptive act where trauma becomes transformed into a tool for good. Pain is not just something to be endured. It is often the source of our deepest understanding of both ourselves and others, and this understanding is what can lead to connection and even the intimacy of true friendship.
Kahlil Gibran captured this truth beautifully when he said “Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say, ‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’ But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.” This quote reminds us that we truly cannot appreciate the good days if we have no bad days to compare them to. Many writers have written on this topic, each describing it in their own unique way. Ernest Hemingway expressed the way brokenness can become a boon in A Farewell to Arms, writing that “the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places,” and Fyodor Dostoevsky observed that “suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.”
Many of literature’s greatest survivors take a path of not forgetting, not pretending, but growing larger than their wounds. They speak openly and honestly about being hurt,naming betrayal and refusing to pretend everything is ok. They establish boundaries, and they express grief. These actions in the aftermath of trauma are not signs of victimhood, they are signs of honesty because memory is not victimhood.
Many of literature’s most enduring characters carry their wounds throughout their stories, from beginning to end. For a survivor, identity expands beyond what was perpetrated and becomes self-constructed and dynamic. We see this in The Color Purple, as Celie spends much of her life waiting for others to validate her worth. Her transformation begins when she refuses to make her dignity dependent upon someone else’s recognition.She does not stop being affected by her trauma, but she stops letting it define her worth. Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter allows public shame to deepen her compassion for others rather than diminish her humanity. She never magically forgets her humiliation, but she does not accept it as the only definition of her identity. These characters allow their suffering to become part of their depth rather than the entirety of who they are. Through hardship they develop empathy, discernment, resilience, and compassion. They teach us that survival is not the absence of pain; it is the refusal to allow pain to have the final word.
Survivors remember, learn, share, and grow. In doing so, suffering is transformed from a source of limitation into a source of wisdom.
Tabitha Bozeman is an instructor at GSCC. Email at tabithabozeman@gmail.com.
