A lot of people say they want to get out of pain, and I'm sure

Hear now the words of Lindsay Wagner, a voice of insight into the hidden chambers of the human soul: “A lot of people say they want to get out of pain, and I'm sure that's true, but they aren't willing to make healing a high priority. They aren't willing to look inside to see the source of their pain in order to deal with it.” This teaching is a mirror, showing us that though men and women cry out against their sorrow, many shrink from the harder path—the path of self-examination, of facing the wound at its root. For pain is not banished by wishing, nor does it dissolve by the passing of time. Pain must be confronted, its source uncovered, its poison drawn out, if one would truly be free.

In the ancient tales, we hear of warriors who fell not by the sword of the enemy, but by the weakness within their own hearts. To deny one’s own wounds is to march into battle unarmored, hoping the foe will not strike again. But Wagner teaches us this: that healing demands courage equal to battle, for the fiercest struggles are not fought in fields of blood, but in the hidden recesses of the mind, where memory, regret, and fear dwell.

Consider the mighty tale of Alexander the Great. Conqueror of nations, master of armies, yet he could not master the grief that consumed him when his beloved companion Hephaestion died. In his anguish, he sought outward cures—lavish funerals, endless campaigns, the conquest of distant lands. But he did not turn inward to reckon with the true source of his torment. His empire stretched wide, yet his spirit lay broken. Thus we see that to flee from pain into action without inner healing is to build an empire of sand, destined to crumble.

Contrast this with the story of Viktor Frankl, a man imprisoned in the death camps of the Second World War. Stripped of freedom, family, and all comfort, he faced pain beyond imagining. Yet he looked inward, and in the depths of his suffering he found meaning. He did not escape his sorrow by denial; he made it a teacher. From that inner work came healing, and from that healing came wisdom that still nourishes generations. He endured not by fleeing pain, but by confronting its source, giving birth to hope where despair had reigned.

Wagner’s words strike at a truth often forgotten: many cry for deliverance, but few are willing to pay the price of freedom. They wish to be rid of anguish, but they cling to bitterness, to pride, to old wounds like sacred relics. They drink from poisoned wells while dreaming of sweet water. Yet the way is clear—one must look within, pierce the shadows, and name the source of suffering. Only then can the work of true healing begin.

What, then, must you take from this? First, do not fear to look within. The pain you avoid becomes the chain that binds you; the pain you confront becomes the teacher that frees you. Second, make healing a sacred priority. Do not bury your sorrow under noise, labor, or distraction. Sit with it. Ask it what it seeks to teach. Let forgiveness wash over old wounds; let truth uncover what denial has long hidden. This is the labor of the brave.

In your daily life, set aside time for reflection. Journal your thoughts, walk in silence, or meditate upon your inner world. Speak with those who bring wisdom, not merely comfort. When you find the source of your hurt—be it anger, betrayal, loss, or fear—do not recoil. Face it, and then take deliberate steps to heal: through reconciliation, through patience, through new habits that nourish the soul. Healing is not swift, but it is certain for those who commit to it.

Thus, O child of tomorrow, remember Wagner’s teaching: many desire escape, but few seek the cure. Be among the few. Do not ask merely to be spared from pain; ask to be healed at its root. For in the courage to look within, you will find not only freedom from suffering, but the birth of strength, peace, and wisdom that will endure beyond your days. To seek healing is to seek life itself.