The Storm Always Passes: Lessons from a Scarred Heart

One of the most universal truths I’ve come to understand is this: every human being, at some point or another, experiences pain. Not always the kind you can bandage with gauze or ease with ibuprofen—but deep, emotional pain. The kind that lodges itself in your chest and sits heavy, like a stone. The kind that leaves invisible scars, quietly etched into your spirit.

And though it may not feel like it in the moment, the truth is—all wounds eventually heal. But the scar remains. It stops hurting, yes, but it never completely disappears. Instead, it lingers as a soft reminder of where we’ve been, what we’ve felt, and what we’ve learned.

It’s kind of like burning your hand on the stove as a kid. You remember your mom or dad warning you: “Don’t touch that. It’s hot.” But curiosity has a way of convincing us we know better. So, you touch it. You cry. You nurse your tiny, red hand. Eventually, it heals, but even years later, you can still see the faint scar—a little whisper from the past reminding you not to repeat the same mistake.

Love is like that too.

You fall in love. You open your heart, wide and brave. And sometimes, it doesn’t work out. You break up. It hurts like hell. And in the thick of it, it feels like the pain might never leave. But if you give yourself time—and you’re brave enough to look closely at the pain, not just feel it—you’ll see that it carries a lesson. Every heartbreak has something to teach.

The thing is, we tend to romanticize love once it’s over. We remember the laughter, the late-night talks, the cute texts and inside jokes. We press rewind on the highlight reel and forget the bloopers. Rarely do we reflect on what wasn’t working or why the breakup happened in the first place.

I learned that the hard way.

I was dating this guy for about two years. We had a good thing—fun, connection, chemistry. We told ourselves (and everyone else) that we were in love. Eventually, we took a vacation together. On paper, it sounded like a dream: two people in love, jetting off to paradise. But in reality? It was a disaster—at least for him. He got sick, the trip was rough, and our differences, which had always been quietly simmering, finally bubbled up.

One night, in a quiet moment, I spoke a truth that had been waiting patiently in the background. I said, “I don’t think I’ll ever find my soulmate.”

He looked at me, confused, hurt. “What about me?” he asked. And I, without even thinking, replied, “We want different things.”

That was the beginning of the end. I didn’t realize it then, but that simple exchange cracked the foundation of everything we had built. Deep down, we both knew we were just passing time—enjoying the good parts, ignoring the misalignment. We parted ways not long after, and I was devastated. I cried and cried, as if the pain might fill a bathtub and drown me in it.

It wasn’t until a friend gently asked, “Brandy, what did you really want out of that relationship?” that the fog started to lift.

And my answer surprised even me: Nothing.

I didn’t want anything lasting. I wasn’t building a future. I was just living in the now, clinging to comfort. And once I saw that clearly, the pain slowly started to fade. The storm, though fierce, began to lose its thunder. It still lingered for a while—like most storms do—but eventually, the sky cleared.

What I learned is this: my love, my heart, my time—they’re not things to give away just to fill silence or avoid loneliness. They’re worth more. And settling for “almost right” is still settling.

So if you’re in the middle of a heartbreak, if the storm is raging and you’re soaked in grief, please remember this:

• Wounds do heal.

• The scar won’t hurt forever.

• And sometimes, pain is just the universe’s way of giving you wisdom you didn’t know you needed.

Look at your scars. Remember what they taught you. And keep going.

Because the storm always passes—even the ones in your heart.