Run Towards Healing
Feb 12, 2026
Run Toward It
I used to think I was brave because I could run.
Not in the physical sense, I’ve never been the kind of person chasing finish lines or medals, that’s my husband, and he’s good at it! But I was a runner in a different way. When things felt overwhelming, when conflict surfaced, when emotions rose higher than I knew how to manage, I ran.
I ran from hard conversations. I ran from disappointment. I ran from my own pain.
Avoidance can feel like protection when you’re young. It feels safer to shut down than to speak up. It feels easier to stay busy than to sit still with what hurts. And for a while, I convinced myself that distancing, minimizing, or pretending was strength.
But maturing has a way of revealing what coping mechanisms actually cost us.
Over time, I began to recognize the danger in running away from hard things. Avoiding pain doesn’t erase it, it buries it. And buried pain has a way of resurfacing; in impatience, defensiveness, anxiety, strained relationships, and misplaced anger.
One of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard is this:
“If you don’t heal your hurt, you have the potential to hurt others.”
That sentence made me pause.
Because when you become a parent and then watch your children grow into full adults, you begin to understand that your unaddressed wounds don’t stay contained. They echo, ripple, and shape the emotional climate of your home and the tone of your responses.
And I didn’t want my hurt to be their inheritance.
So I began learning how to run toward hard things instead of away from them. Somewhere along the way, I realized something simple but life-altering:
The only way out is to go through.
You can’t shortcut grief.
You can’t outrun insecurity.
You can’t avoid conflict and expect intimacy.
You can’t numb pain and expect healing.
You can’t outrun insecurity.
You can’t avoid conflict and expect intimacy.
You can’t numb pain and expect healing.
Healing requires courage-the kind that stays in the room when every instinct says leave.
For me, that courage looked practical and imperfect.
It looked like apologizing when I got it wrong.
It looked like sitting in a counselor’s office and saying out loud what I had tried to manage silently for years.
It looked like taking ownership of my triggers instead of blaming others for activating them.
It looked like acknowledging pain instead of minimizing it.
It looked like giving myself grace for the ways I coped when I didn’t know better.
And it looked like making a daily choice not to stay stuck in my story of hurt.
It looked like sitting in a counselor’s office and saying out loud what I had tried to manage silently for years.
It looked like taking ownership of my triggers instead of blaming others for activating them.
It looked like acknowledging pain instead of minimizing it.
It looked like giving myself grace for the ways I coped when I didn’t know better.
And it looked like making a daily choice not to stay stuck in my story of hurt.
Healing wasn’t one dramatic breakthrough; it was a thousand small decisions to stay present.
I’ve learned that avoidance is reactive, but healing is intentional. When you live life on purpose, you begin asking different questions:
- What is this situation teaching me?
- What is this pain revealing?
- Where do I need to grow?
- Who do I need to forgive?
- What responsibility is mine to carry?
Purposeful living requires self-awareness. It asks us to pause before reacting. It asks us to examine the roots, not just the fruit. It asks us to choose long-term wholeness over short-term comfort.
And here’s what I’ve discovered: running toward hard things doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you freer.
A God Who Runs Toward Us
One of the most powerful visuals that reshaped my understanding of courage is this: God runs toward us.
In the story of the prodigal son, it is the father who runs. He doesn’t wait coldly. He doesn’t cross his arms. He runs toward his child in love.
That image changed me.
If the Creator of the universe runs toward brokenness instead of away from it, then maybe I can learn to do the same. Maybe I can trust that facing what hurts doesn’t mean I’ll face it alone.
God does not avoid our mess. He enters it. He redeems it. He walks with us through it.
If He is not afraid of our pain, maybe we don’t have to be either.
As I watch my children step into adulthood, my greatest hope is not that they avoid hardship but rather that when life gives them challenges, they stay in it.
Stay in the conversation because apologizing is strength.
Stay in therapy because counseling is wisdom.
Stay in the discomfort because acknowledging pain isn’t a weakness.
Stay in the process because giving yourself grace is necessary.
Stay long enough to grow because we can choose to not stay stuck.
Stay in therapy because counseling is wisdom.
Stay in the discomfort because acknowledging pain isn’t a weakness.
Stay in the process because giving yourself grace is necessary.
Stay long enough to grow because we can choose to not stay stuck.
Because the only way out is to go through and sometimes bravery looks like showing up again tomorrow.
Surround Yourself With Courage
None of this is meant to be done alone.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that healing accelerates in community. Find people who tell you the truth gently. Find friends who pray with you, not just for you. Find mentors who have walked through fire and come out refined, not bitter.
Surround yourself with those who will remind you who you are when you forget.
Running away isolates but running toward invites connection.
And connection heals.
What would it look like to lean in instead of back away?
Every time we choose to stay, something inside of us grows stronger, softer, and wiser.
If you’re facing something difficult right now, run toward it.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s comfortable.
But because on the other side of facing what hurts is freedom.
Not because it’s comfortable.
But because on the other side of facing what hurts is freedom.
And freedom is always worth the run.
