I learned that there is an inner strength that blossoms when one

Dominique Jackson once confessed with raw honesty: “I learned that there is an inner strength that blossoms when one cleanses themselves by processing and attempting to comprehend their situation and/or experience. Writing became my therapy!” These words are born not of idle reflection but of lived hardship and the healing that follows when one dares to confront pain rather than bury it. They reveal the ancient truth that suffering, when transformed through reflection and expression, can become the very soil in which resilience grows.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Jackson’s own life, a journey marked by rejection, struggle, and eventual triumph. Like many who have faced deep wounds of identity and belonging, she found herself burdened with experiences too heavy to carry silently. To process them, she turned to writing, not as an art for applause but as a mirror for the soul. Through words, she gave form to what once oppressed her, and in doing so, she cleansed herself of its poisonous weight. What she describes as therapy is in truth an ancient act: the turning of grief into meaning, and of chaos into order.

The ancients, too, understood this. Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome, bore the endless weight of war and responsibility. To bear it, he wrote his Meditations, not for the eyes of others but for himself—a private scripture to process and comprehend his trials. In those pages, his inner strength blossomed. Likewise, the psalms of David are filled with lament and hope, a king pouring his anguish into song until it became prayer. Jackson’s words stand in this same lineage: the recognition that expression is not weakness but the alchemy that transforms suffering into wisdom.

Her use of the word blossoms is no accident. A blossom is the fruit of time, patience, and nurturing; it is the flowering of what once lay hidden within the seed. So it is with the human spirit. When one faces hardship and dares to examine it deeply, the soul does not wither but grows. This is the paradox of pain: if denied, it poisons; if embraced and understood, it transforms into growth. Jackson’s testimony reminds us that even the darkest experience can give rise to unexpected beauty when tended with honesty and care.

And yet, this blossoming requires courage. Many prefer to numb themselves, to silence the voice of pain through distraction or denial. But Jackson shows that it is only when we truly seek to comprehend our experience that we cleanse ourselves. To name suffering is to strip it of its dominion. To write it, to speak it, to face it, is to rise above it. In this act, one discovers the inner strength that was always there, waiting to be unearthed beneath the rubble of despair.

History offers us many who found healing in expression. Anne Frank, though confined in hiding, poured her soul into her diary, transforming fear into words that still move the world. Her writing was her refuge, her attempt to comprehend her situation, and through it she revealed not only her own resilience but the indomitable spirit of humanity. What was once her therapy became, for all generations, a beacon of truth. Jackson’s words remind us that each of us, too, can find strength when we dare to write, speak, or reflect upon the storms we face.

The lesson, then, is this: do not run from your suffering, and do not bury your wounds in silence. Instead, confront them, process them, give them form. Use writing, prayer, song, or any act of expression that allows your soul to breathe. In doing so, you will discover a strength within you that you did not know existed—a strength that blossoms not in spite of hardship, but because of it. For the deepest healing and the greatest wisdom are born when we dare to face the truth of our own lives and turn it into light for ourselves and for others.