Why Healing Sometimes Looks Messy

I once had a ministry session with someone who had been abused by their father. As we prayed, the Lord took us back into a memory where I saw a little boy being beaten—but he was always being beaten because he was trying to be the voice to stand up for the rest of the family. Any time he would try to speak, he'd be beaten. So he believed the lie that speaking his voice wasn't safe.

When we asked the Lord what the truth was about that situation, He said something that stopped me in my tracks: "Weak men can't stand strong ones."

That phrase has shaped how I think about healing, strength, and the sometimes messy process of people finding their voice after years of suppression.

The Return of Sensation

When parts of your heart have been numb for years—maybe decades—the return of feeling can be excruciating. It's like when your foot falls asleep from sitting in one position too long. That pins-and-needles sensation when circulation returns is uncomfortable, but it's also a sign of returning health.

But imagine if it wasn't just your foot that had been numb. Imagine if parts of your soul had been cut off from feeling because of trauma, abuse, or systematic suppression. When God begins to heal those places and sensation returns, it can feel like you're dying even though you're actually coming alive.

This is what happens to people who have been dehumanized, belittled, or silenced for years. When they start to find their voice and step into their power, the healing process can look pretty messy. Sometimes, it looks like anger. Sometimes it looks like overreaction. Sometimes, honestly, it looks like breathing fire everywhere.

The Dragon Phase

I've watched this pattern countless times: women finally finding their voice after years of suppression, people of color stepping into spaces they were previously excluded from, anyone who has been marginalized beginning to claim their rightful place at the table. There's often a phase I call "becoming the dragon."

During this phase, people who have been powerless for so long sometimes swing to the other extreme. They breathe fire everywhere because they finally can. They speak with an edge because silence is no longer safe. They may even use some of the same tactics that were used against them—not because they're bad people, but because they're learning to navigate power after having none for so long.

Here's what I've learned: there's a difference between someone finding their voice and someone finding their way. The dragon phase is often necessary, but it's not meant to be permanent.

The Wisdom of Safe Spaces

This is why safe spaces matter so much. People who are learning to use their voice after years of suppression need somewhere they can practice—somewhere they can be a little imprecise, a little too loud, a little rough around the edges while they figure out who they are when they're not being controlled.

In my marriage with Gregory, I sometimes say to him, "Just say it. Just say whatever you want to say. I don't care if you're not perfectly polite. Just be a dragon for a minute. Let it all come out. You're safe here."

That safety creates room for authentic processing. When people know they won't be shut down or punished for expressing their hearts—even when it's messy—they can work through the pain and anger instead of burying it deeper.

But here's the key: safe spaces are meant to be healing spaces, not permanent dwelling places. The goal isn't to stay in dragon mode forever—it's to process the pain so you can step into authentic strength.

The Difference Between Processing and Staying Stuck

I've seen people get stuck in victim mentality, and I've also seen people rush past their pain too quickly. Both are dangerous.

When someone has been genuinely abused or oppressed, there's real trauma to work through. The anger is legitimate. The sense of injustice is valid. The need to speak truth about what happened is important. Trying to rush someone past these feelings or telling them to "just forgive and move on" can actually cause more harm.

But there's also a danger in setting up camp in the pain. When being a victim becomes your identity instead of being a survivor who's becoming whole, healing stops and bitterness takes root.

The difference between processing and staying stuck often comes down to direction. Are you working through the pain to get to the other side, or are you circling around it indefinitely? Are you using your voice to speak truth that brings healing, or are you using it to inflict the same wounds you received?

Trauma-Informed Healing

What we need are trauma-informed approaches to healing that understand this process. Good therapists know that someone who's been silenced needs space to speak. Inner healing prayer ministry recognizes that God sometimes leads people through the valley of the shadow of death before bringing them to green pastures.

The church, unfortunately, has often been terrible at this. We want people to be nice and neat and polite. We want them to skip past the messy parts and get to the "forgiveness and blessing" stage as quickly as possible. But that's not how healing works.

Real healing requires:

Acknowledgment that what happened was wrong. You can't heal from trauma by pretending it wasn't traumatic.

Space to feel the full range of emotions that come with processing pain—anger, grief, fear, and yes, sometimes the desire for justice that looks a lot like revenge.

Safe relationships where people can practice using their voice without being shut down or controlled.

Time for the process to unfold naturally rather than being rushed toward someone else's timeline.

Wisdom to know when processing is becoming productive versus when it's becoming destructive.

The Invitation to Authentic Strength

Here's what I've discovered: the dragon phase, when navigated well, leads to something beautiful—authentic strength. Not the brittle strength that comes from never being challenged, but the deep strength that comes from working through pain and choosing love from a place of wholeness rather than woundedness.

People who have done this work become some of the most powerful advocates and healers I know. They can spot abuse and oppression quickly because they've experienced it. They can create safety for others because they know what it feels like to be unsafe. They can speak truth with authority because they've walked through the fire.

But they've also learned to wield their power responsibly. They know the difference between protection and control, between justice and revenge, between strength and domination.

Weak Men Can't Stand Strong Ones

That phrase the Lord spoke in the ministry session—"weak men can't stand strong ones"—applies to more than just gender dynamics. Weak people of any kind struggle with strength in others. Insecure leaders shut down emerging leaders. Wounded people often wound others. Those who haven't done their own healing work are threatened by those who have.

But here's the flip side: truly strong people aren't threatened by strength in others. Secure leaders develop other leaders. Healthy people create space for others to become healthy. Those who have worked through their own pain become safe harbors for others who are still in the storm.

This is why the healing journey matters so much. It's not just about our own wholeness—it's about creating environments where others can become whole too.

Creating Healing Environments

So how do we create environments that support healthy healing rather than enabling destructive patterns?

We make space for the process without making it permanent. We don't rush people past their pain, but we also don't let them build monuments to it.

We set loving boundaries. Being in a healing process doesn't give someone license to abuse others. We can hold space for someone's pain while also protecting ourselves and others from harmful behavior.

We focus on direction, not perfection. The question isn't whether someone is handling their healing perfectly, but whether they're moving toward wholeness or away from it.

We offer both grace and truth. Grace without truth enables dysfunction. Truth without grace crushes the wounded. Both together create the conditions for genuine transformation.

We get our own healing. We can't give what we don't have. If we want to create safe spaces for others, we need to do our own work first.

The Beautiful Outcome

When this process is done well, what emerges is breathtaking. People who have been silenced find not just their voice, but wisdom about how to use it. Those who have been powerless discover not just strength, but the character to wield it well. The wounded become healers, the oppressed become liberators, the marginalized become space-creators for others.

This is the heart of God's redemptive work in our lives. He doesn't just want to fix what's broken—He wants to transform it into something more beautiful than it ever was before. But that transformation requires going through the fire, not around it.

If you're in the dragon phase right now, be patient with yourself. Feel what you need to feel. Say what you need to say. But don't set up camp there. Keep moving toward wholeness, toward love, toward the authentic strength that can only come from working through pain rather than avoiding it.

And if you're walking alongside someone in their dragon phase, extend grace for the journey. Create safe space for their processing. But also hold hope for their healing and gently point them toward wholeness when they're ready for the next step.

Healing is messy, but it's also holy. And sometimes, the most beautiful butterflies emerge from the messiest cocoons.

Blessings,
Susan 😊