In my recent blog "The place we keep avoiding" I wrote about the dragons we meet on the path of healing. The patterns of fear, shame, grief, or avoidance that rise the moment we move toward the very life our hearts long for.
In my experience of accompanying people in therapy and mentorship, one of the most precious insights that can unfold is the realisation that behind the darkness there is a deeper truth. Beneath every problem or ache or pattern that feels impossible to change, there is another story trying to be heard. It is subtle. It rarely announces itself. It often feels like a trace of hope rather than a clear picture of where we are going. But it is there. Desire hidden inside the ache. Goodness resting under the weight of pain. A preferred future stretching out quietly beneath the very places we wish would disappear.
In Narrative Therapy, this is described as “the problem story is the doorway to the preferred story”.
The divided heart
This is why the human heart can feel torn in two. One part carries old wounds and old fears. Another part keeps reaching for connection or steadiness or freedom or tenderness. Even after years of suffering, longing continues to move inside us. It may grow quieter, but it remains alive.
People often come to therapy or accompaniment hoping to eliminate their symptoms or escape their patterns or finally become someone who never struggles again. I understand that desire. I have carried it myself. But there is a gentler truth that slowly brings the heart back to life. Healing grows when we learn to meet the reality of our own hearts with courage and honesty. It grows in the middle of the very places we once avoided. It grows as we let grace hold what we once tried to fix on our own.
Saint Thérèse and the soil of wounds
I return often to something Marc Foley O.C.D writes about Saint Thérèse of Lisieux. He reflects that her emotional wounds were not barriers to holiness. They were the soil where holiness took shape. She did not wait to become unbroken before entrusting herself to God. She stood before Him exactly as she was and allowed love to settle into the fragile places. She understood that the point was never perfection. The point was trust. Fidelity inside her limits. Love inside the contours of her wounds.
In one of her letters she wrote, “I had no need to grow up.” Foley notes that Thérèse did not try to outgrow the effects of her childhood before serving God. She let her history become the very landscape in which God could plant holiness. Her wounds became places of communion rather than obstacles. They became invitations.
When we allow this truth to sink in, something inside relaxes. The pressure to become a different self softens. We begin to see that God is not waiting for a polished version of us. He is seeking the real heart we carry now. Healing becomes a journey of presence rather than achievement. The wounds remain part of our story, yet they no longer consume or confine us. They open into deeper humility and a deeper capacity for love.
The story written in your wounds
This is why I often say that your preferred story is already written into your wounds. There is a gentle invitation hidden there if we are willing to listen.
The grief that breaks your heart shows the depth of your capacity to love.
The fear that grips your chest shows your longing for steadiness and safety.
The loneliness that aches in you shows how deeply you desire connection.
The patterns that feel wrapped in shame show your yearning for integrity and wholeness.
Suffering speaks in the language of reversal. But it still speaks the truth.
When fear guards the door
As soon as we draw near to this hidden longing, the dragon appears. A familiar inner voice says hold back. Do not enter that place. Do not feel that memory. Do not risk that hope. Many people step away at this point and tell themselves they are failing or not ready. In reality, they have reached an important threshold. The ground beneath their feet has become sacred.
Avoidance often tries to protect us. It is usually the oldest part of the heart performing the role it learned early in life. Yet it can never lead us into the life we long for. Sooner or later we need presence beside us. Someone steady. Someone who is not unsettled by our darkness. Someone who can help us recognise what is happening, and who can say with sincerity I am with you here.
The grace of one honest moment
Often the path changes in a single moment. A moment when someone is willing to show the place where fear rises. A moment when another person reflects back what they see with tenderness. A moment when the pattern is named with gentleness and clarity. The confusion lifts. The shame softens. The next step becomes visible.
The wounds we share
There is another truth that belongs here. Those who accompany others carry their own dragons. I am no exception. There are places in me that grow quiet when they should stay present. Places that prefer detours. Places that hesitate. If I ignore them, I may step around another person’s pain because something in me is unsettled by what I see. This is why honest accompaniment asks for humility from both people. Healing grows strongest when both hearts remain open to grace.
Saint Thérèse understood this so deeply that her life has become a map for us. She trusted God inside her fragility, and her trust allowed love to take root in places she once feared. She offered Him the truth of her humanity, and God met her there.
A doorway before you
What if the same could be true for you. What if your wounds hold the seeds of the very life you hunger for. What if the dragon guarding your heart is not meant to be destroyed but understood. What if the doorway you fear is in fact the doorway through which grace is entering your story.
If you find yourself standing at that doorway now, unsure whether to step forward or step back, take heart. You are not required to conquer anything to begin. You are not required to tidy your fears or silence your wounds. You only need the courage to take one small step in the presence of someone who will not turn away.
Your longing is real. Your story continues to unfold. Your wounds hold more meaning than you know. And grace meets you exactly where the dragon stands.