Time Does NOT Heal All Wounds

Summary

Time isn’t a magical bandage – it’s more like that drawer where we stuff broken things, hoping they’ll somehow fix themselves. Spoiler alert: they don’t. While time can dull the sharp edges of pain, it takes intentional work, not passive waiting, to truly heal. This article explores why the “time heals all wounds” myth is not just wrong, but actively harmful to our growth.

Introduction

“Give it time.” “Time heals all wounds.” “This too shall pass.”

These well-meaning platitudes roll off tongues like prayers in waiting rooms, whispered over cups of tea when words fail us. But here’s the uncomfortable truth nobody wants to admit at 2 AM when grief sits heavy on your chest: time doesn’t heal anything. Time simply moves. It’s what we do with time that creates healing – or deepens the wound.

I’ve spent years as a storytelling coach watching people excavate their narratives, and I’ve learned that our most transformative stories aren’t the ones where time magically erased our pain. They’re the ones where we rolled up our sleeves, dove into the mess, and did the hard, sacred work of healing ourselves.

Let me tell you about Leonora Griffin.

The Story of Leonora Griffin

Leonora first came to my storytelling workshop on a Tuesday that smelled like rain and regret. She perched on the edge of her chair as if ready to flee, her fingers worrying the frayed edge of a manila envelope she clutched like a life preserver.

“I thought twenty-three years would be enough,” she said when it was her turn to speak. Her voice carried the particular hollow echo of someone who had been talking to herself for too long. “I thought if I just… waited long enough, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

The room grew still. Outside, autumn leaves scratched against the windows like memories trying to get in.

Twenty-three years earlier, Leonora had been eight months pregnant with her first child when everything went wrong. Not the dramatic, movie-theatre wrong of screeching tires and hospital scenes, but the quiet, devastating wrong of a routine appointment that became anything but routine. The baby – Emma Grace, they had already chosen the name – simply stopped growing. Stopped breathing. Stopped being.

“Everyone said time would heal,” Leonora continued, her thumb tracing the envelope’s edge. “My mother. The counsellor. Even the pastor. ‘God’s plan,’ they said. ‘You’re young, you’ll have other children,’ they said. ‘Give it time.'”

So she did. She gave it time the way you might give a street performer money – grudgingly, hopefully, expecting something in return.

She buried the tiny onesies in the back of her closet, where they gathered dust like deferred dreams. She avoided baby showers. She smiled when people complained about sleepless nights and teething troubles, tasting salt and silence on her tongue. She had three other children – beautiful, healthy, wonderful children who filled her house with laughter and chaos and sticky fingerprints on every surface.

But Emma Grace lived in the spaces between. In the pause before Leonora answered when people asked how many children she had. In the way she unconsciously counted to four when buying Christmas presents, then caught herself. In the phantom ache she felt every October 15th, when the leaves turned the exact shade of amber as her daughter’s nursery walls.

“I became an expert at carrying grief,” Leonora told us, opening the envelope with trembling fingers. “I thought I was healing because I could function. I could make dinner and help with homework and laugh at my husband’s jokes. But healing?” She shook her head. “I was just getting stronger at carrying the weight.”

The envelope contained a single photograph – a sonogram image, edges soft with handling. Emma Grace at twenty-six weeks, perfect and still.

“Last month, my youngest daughter asked me why I sometimes get sad when autumn comes. And I realised… I’d spent twenty-three years waiting for time to make this okay. I’d been passive in my own healing.” Leonora’s voice cracked like autumn leaves. “Time didn’t heal anything. It just gave me more years to practice avoiding the work.”

At that workshop, Leonora began to tell Emma Grace’s story out loud for the first time. Not in the sanitised, “everything happens for a reason” way that had been expected of her, but in all its raw, complicated truth. She spoke of the nursery that stayed locked for three years. Of the way her marriage nearly crumbled under the weight of two people grieving differently. Of the survivor’s guilt that came with her other pregnancies.

She joined a support group. She started writing letters to Emma Grace. She planted a garden in her memory – not roses or forget-me-nots, but herbs. Practical plants that would nourish other living things.

Six months later, when Leonora returned to share her progress, she looked different. Not healed in the fairy-tale sense – grief had left its marks like honourable scars. But transformed. She had stopped waiting for time to do the work and started doing it herself.

“Time didn’t heal me,” she said, touching the small pendant she now wore – a silver leaf with Emma Grace’s initials. “But it gave me the space to learn how to heal myself.”

The room exhaled collectively. Outside, winter was giving way to spring, and we could smell the promise of new growth in the air.

Five Key Takeaways

1. Time Is Neutral – It’s What We Do With Time That Matters

Time doesn’t actively heal any more than a calendar cures loneliness. It’s a container, not a remedy. Healing requires intentional action: therapy, support groups, creative expression, spiritual practice, or whatever form of work resonates with your soul.

2. Avoidance Masquerades as Healing

Getting “better at carrying grief” isn’t the same as healing. When we mistake numbness for progress or function for wholeness, we rob ourselves of genuine transformation. True healing often means feeling worse before feeling better.

3. Healing Is Not Linear or Predictable

Some wounds may never fully close, and that’s okay. Healing doesn’t mean erasing pain – it means integrating it into a life worth living. Some scars become sources of strength and wisdom.

4. Community Accelerates Healing

Leonora’s breakthrough came not in isolation but in community. Sharing our stories, witnessing others’ journeys, and receiving support creates the conditions where healing can flourish.

5. Healing Requires Honouring What Was Lost

We cannot heal by pretending our losses don’t matter. Leonora couldn’t move forward until she acknowledged Emma Grace’s place in her family story. Healing often means making space for our losses, not trying to forget them.

The Time Audit

Take a moment to consider a wound in your own life – perhaps one you’ve been “giving time” to heal. Get comfortable and ask yourself:

1. What am I waiting for time to fix? Write it down without judgment.
2. How long have I been waiting? Name the timeline honestly.
3. What would active healing look like? List three concrete actions you could take.
4. What am I avoiding by waiting? Often our “giving it time” is really “giving it distance.”
5. If time isn’t going to heal this, what will? Professional help? Creative expression? Forgiveness work? Community support?
6. What’s one small step I can take this week? Make it specific and achievable.

Remember: this isn’t about rushing your process or minimising your pain. It’s about reclaiming your agency in your own healing journey.

A Quote to Consider

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” – Rumi

I chose this quote because it reframes our relationship with pain entirely. Rather than seeing wounds as problems to be solved by time, Rumi suggests they’re portals to transformation. This ancient wisdom recognises what modern grief culture often misses: our deepest wounds can become our greatest sources of light, but only when we’re willing to tend to them consciously.

The quote doesn’t promise that wounds will disappear or that pain will magically transform into joy. Instead, it suggests that within our brokenness lies potential for illumination – but we must be willing to stay present to the process rather than outsourcing it to time.

Further Reading

1. “Option B” by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant

This book dismantles the myth of “bouncing back” and instead explores how we can build resilience and find meaning after hardship. Sandberg’s personal journey through widowhood illustrates how healing requires active engagement, not passive waiting.

2. “The Wild Edge of Sorrow” by Francis Weller

Weller argues that grief is not a problem to be solved but a necessary response to love. His work shows how our culture’s discomfort with sorrow actually prolongs suffering by discouraging the natural processes that lead to integration.

3. “Refuge” by Terry Tempest Williams

This memoir weaves together the author’s mother’s death from cancer and the flooding of a bird refuge. Williams demonstrates how witnessing and honouring loss – rather than rushing past it – creates space for new growth.

4. “The Body Keeps the Score” by Bessel van der Kolk

Van der Kolk’s groundbreaking work shows how trauma lives in our bodies and requires active, embodied healing practices. Time alone cannot address the physiological impact of wounds.

5. “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chödrön

This Buddhist teacher offers practical wisdom about staying present with difficulty rather than trying to escape it. Her teachings show how our attempts to avoid pain often increase our suffering.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Doesn’t time at least help dull the pain?

A: Time can create distance from acute pain, but dulling isn’t healing. Think of it like taking painkillers for a broken bone – the medication might reduce discomfort, but the bone won’t heal properly without proper treatment. Similarly, unprocessed emotional wounds often surface later as depression, anxiety, relationship problems, or physical symptoms.

Q: What if I don’t have access to therapy or support groups?

A: Healing doesn’t always require professional intervention, though it can be incredibly helpful. You might find support through religious communities, online forums, books, journaling, art, movement, or trusted friends. The key is actively engaging with your healing rather than passively waiting.

Q: Is it possible that some wounds really can’t heal?

A: Some losses and traumas leave permanent changes – and that’s part of the human experience. But “not healing” doesn’t mean a life sentence of misery. It might mean learning to carry certain sorrows with grace, finding meaning in your pain, or discovering that your scars have become sources of empathy and strength.

Q: How do I know if I’m avoiding healing or just processing at my own pace?

A: Healthy processing usually involves some movement, even if it’s slow. Signs of avoidance might include: never talking about the issue, numbing with substances or activities, explosive anger when the topic arises, or feeling stuck in the exact same place for years without any shifts in perspective or emotion.

Q: What about forgiveness – doesn’t that just happen over time?

A: Forgiveness is perhaps the perfect example of why time doesn’t heal wounds. Real forgiveness is an active choice that often requires tremendous inner work. Waiting for time to make you forgive usually results in resentment growing deeper roots, not in genuine letting go.

Conclusion

The myth that time heals all wounds is one of our culture’s most persistent and harmful fairy tales. It encourages passivity in the face of pain and suggests that healing is something that happens to us rather than something we actively participate in.

But here’s the liberating truth: once we stop waiting for time to save us, we can begin the real work of healing. We can seek support, tell our stories, honour our losses, and transform our wounds into wisdom. This doesn’t mean rushing the process or demanding quick fixes. It means showing up to our own lives with intention and courage.

Leonora Griffin taught me that healing isn’t about forgetting Emma Grace or pretending her loss didn’t matter. It was about learning to carry love and loss simultaneously, to honour what was while remaining open to what could still be.

Your wounds are not just waiting for time to pass. They’re waiting for you to tend them with the attention they deserve. The question isn’t whether time will heal – it’s what you’ll do with the time you have.

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If you’re feeling called to explore your own stories of healing and resilience, I invite you to consider my stress relief walking retreats on the Camino de Santiago in the beautiful southwest of France. Sometimes we need to literally walk away from our old patterns to discover new paths forward. There’s something magical about putting one foot in front of the other in ancient landscapes that have witnessed countless pilgrims’ journeys of transformation. These retreats combine gentle movement, storytelling work, and the healing power of community in one of Europe’s most peaceful settings. Because sometimes the best way to stop waiting for time to heal us is to start moving toward healing ourselves.