In an era where affliction is paraded as identity and anguish is marketed for attention, choosing to transcend one’s wounds is an audacious act of rebellion. The world has normalized the theatre of pain, granting applause to trauma yet withholding ovations from those who transcend it. But true strength resides not in the echoes of our injuries, but in the quiet resolve to reimagine ourselves beyond them. “You are not what you’ve been through. You’re who you choose to become despite it”—a creed of liberation for the soul held captive by its past.
Pain, though piercing, must never become a domicile. The late Prophet T.B. Joshua asserted, “Your situation does not define you. Your reaction to the situation does.” This philosophy dismantles the monumentality of suffering, urging us to redirect focus from scars to strength. Similarly, Dr. Paul Enenche avers, “Let your scars become stars,” emphasizing that our woundedness should illuminate paths, not imprison potential. In truth, healing is not denial—it is defiance.
Social narratives increasingly glorify victimhood, yet the human spirit yearns for transformation. The Igala proverb, “Alu du k’Odu abailo Ineke kpona Ojo enwa n “- Though the night is fierce, it cannot hinder the dawn”—summons us to remember that despair, however deep, is not destiny. From the confines of prisons to the corridors of sanctuaries, stories abound of those who repurposed their pain into purpose. One inmate once wrote me, “Though I wear chains, my hope walks freely in Christ.” Such resilience should be our cultural anthem.
The celebrated revivalist Dr. Juanita Bynum once proclaimed, “I am not my trauma. I am the oil that came from the crushing.” Her words mirror a timeless spiritual truth: from pressure comes power, from pain comes purpose. In a society where many find identity in affliction, we must reintroduce the language of triumph. Pastor Chris Oyakhilome declared, “If you want a different future, speak a different language.” It is time to rewrite our lexicon—less rooted in lament, more anchored in redemption.
Let us no longer be vegetables in the soil of sorrow. Let us be trees—rooted deeply, rising defiantly. We owe the world a vision of post-pain nobility: not victims, but victors; not narrators of misery, but architects of meaning. Because in the final analysis, we are not the sum of our sufferings—we are the product of the strength we summon in spite of them.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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