Yasir Abbas

When we’re in deep pain, it creates the crack a doorway through which transformation may pass if we allow it. Pain does not automatically lead to growth. Suffering alone does not make you stronger. Some wounds make you wiser, but others simply leave you bitter. When you remain in the same place after being hurt, whether emotionally, spiritually, or mentally, you do not stay unchanged. You begin to harden. The raw wound becomes a scab, then a scar, and eventually a shell. Over time, you are no longer protecting yourself from being hurt again. Instead, you are protecting the pain from ever being healed. Left unaddressed, that pain settles into your life as a quiet, bitter normal. It numbs you and shapes your habits. What once broke you becomes what defines you.

And if you do not transform that pain, it does not simply fade. It turns. It becomes bitterness. It leaks into places where it does not belong. Sometimes you retaliate against those who caused the hurt. But more often, and more painfully, the pain is projected onto those who had no part in it. Your family, your spouse, your children, your team, even yourself. The closer they are, the more innocent they are, the more likely they are to bear the weight of your unhealed wounds.

And yet, within that very wound lies a challenge. A dare. A voice that says, Now what?

That pain, that betrayal, that humiliation can become your fuel. Not just to recover, but to rise. To prove wrong those who thought you would break. Those who expected you to stay down. Those who wounded you and walked away, thinking the story was over. Pain dares you to change. It whispers, let us see what you do with this now. Suddenly, you are no longer just trying to heal. You are trying to become. To rewrite the script. To reclaim the parts of you they tried to reduce. That hurt becomes your fire. And every step you take toward growth becomes a kind of rebellion, a quiet and relentless refusal to remain what they left behind.

That is why sitting with your pain matters. Not drowning in it. Not denying it. Sitting with it until it teaches. Until it reveals. Until it fuels something greater. Because pain can do more than haunt you. It can sharpen you. Clarify you. Wake you.

It tells you what matters most. What can no longer be ignored. Who you are when the mask falls away. Growth begins not just when pain is felt, but when it is faced. When you stop asking, Why did this happen to me, and start asking, What can this make possible in me?

That is when your hurt becomes your honesty. Your brokenness becomes your blueprint. Your rage becomes your reason. And your scars become your armor.

You begin the slow and sacred work of becoming someone new. Not in spite of the pain. But because of it. And because you have something to prove, not to them, really, but to yourself. That you were never as fragile as they believed. That you are not just a survivor.

You are a creator. A builder. A force.

And they were wrong.