You Are Not What Hurt You

This 30-minute guided meditation invites you into a gentle process of release and self-return. Through slow breath awareness, grounding sensations, and spacious reflection, the practice helps the body soften out of holding patterns shaped by past experiences. Rather than analyzing or revisiting what happened, you’re guided to stay present with what’s here now, allowing clarity and steadiness to emerge naturally. The journey unfolds gradually, supporting a deeper sense of safety, inner quiet, and reconnection with who you are beneath the pain.

Transcript

Before we begin,

Take a moment to find a position that feels steady.

Whether sitting or laying down,

Choose what your body needs.

A position where you can stay supported,

Comfortable,

Relaxed.

Let your spine soften.

Let your shoulders drop.

Let your breath begin to arrive just as it is.

You don't need to change anything yet.

Just notice what's already happening.

Take a breath in through your nose,

Not too deep,

Just enough to feel.

And as you exhale,

Let your eyes close softly.

Let the exhale be a signal to your mind,

To your body,

To your breath,

That it's okay to settle now.

You don't need to hold anything together right now.

There's nowhere else to be,

Nothing to carry forward,

Nothing to figure out.

Begin to notice what your body is already doing.

The breathing,

The breath rising,

The chest expanding,

The body receiving each inhale,

And letting go just a little more with each exhale.

And if there's a part of you that's unsure,

A part that doesn't want to let go,

That's okay too.

Let it be here.

Let it watch.

Nothing needs to be forced.

Now,

Let's move slowly from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes,

Noticing,

Inviting,

Letting go where the body allows.

Begin at the top of your head.

Let your forehead soften.

Let your eyes settle deeper in their sockets.

Let your jaw relax just a little.

You are not being asked to hold anything here.

Move your awareness into the neck,

The back of the head,

The throat,

The top of your shoulders.

Let the tension slide down and out.

Now,

Move into the arms.

Let your biceps,

Elbows,

Forearms,

And hands feel a little heavier.

No effort,

No tension,

Only rest.

Now,

Return to your chest,

The ribs expanding and softening,

The heart not needing to be strong right now,

Just here.

Feel the movement of your breath into the belly,

The belly loosening,

The lower back softening,

The hips settling into their weight.

Bring your attention now to your legs.

Let the thighs grow heavier.

The knees soften.

The calves release.

The ankles and feet rest without needing to move.

Your whole body,

From the top of your head to the soles of your feet,

Is being given permission to release what it was holding.

Not all at once,

Just breath by breath.

If any parts of you wants to hold on,

You don't have to push it away.

You can just say,

I see you.

You are safe.

You don't have to do anything right now.

Let that message echo through the body,

Through the nervous system,

Through the spaces that needed to hear it.

And if your mind wanders,

That's okay too.

Just come back to the breath,

To this moment,

To this steady descent into yourself.

You're not drifting away.

You are arriving,

Arriving deeper into your body,

Into your breath,

Into the part of you that's always been listening.

This is the space between sound and silence,

Between holding on and letting go,

Between what was and what is about to begin.

Stay here with the breath soft and the body heavier,

Quieter than before.

Notice how the silence between your breaths begin to expand like space is growing inside of you.

And in that space,

Nothing is asked of you.

Nothing is required.

You are simply here with yourself in a moment that belongs to no time,

Not the past,

Not the future,

Just this breath,

This stillness.

And if something begins to stir,

A gentle flicker in the heart,

A soft ache behind the ribs,

You don't need to name it.

You can just allow the body to speak in its own way,

Without explanation.

If no image appears,

That's okay.

If a memory floats forward,

You can meet it with breath.

You're not going anywhere.

You are not trying to fix anything,

Only allowing,

Allowing what is ready to be seen.

And whatever rises will not rise alone.

And now,

As you rest in the breath of softness and the body continues to soften beneath you,

Begin to gently notice,

Are there any places in you that still feel held?

A shoulder that hasn't quite let go,

A jaw that stays just a little tight,

A breath that feels shorter in one space than the other.

Let your attention drift there,

Not to fix,

Not to force,

Just to notice.

What does this part of your body feel like right now?

Is it still?

Tense?

Numb?

Restless?

Is the breath smooth through that place,

Or does it catch,

Or hesitate,

Or disappear entirely?

Don't try to explain it.

Let your body speak for itself.

And if it's quiet,

That's okay too.

Sometimes the body holds things long before we ever understand them.

Sometimes it remembers before the mind can name the memory.

Maybe something stirs,

A sense,

A flicker,

A presence.

You don't need to go toward it,

But you can let it know,

I see you,

I feel you,

I'm here.

There may be a part of you waiting,

Not ready to speak,

But ready to be seen.

Maybe this is something recent,

Or something from long ago,

A moment your body didn't get to finish,

A feeling that wasn't safe to feel,

A breath that got trapped somewhere deep.

Just be here,

Breathing with it,

Nothing more to do,

Just enough space for noticing.

Let the breath meet these places gently,

Not to change them,

But to witness.

You are still safe,

Still grounded,

Still here.

As you rest in the body,

And the breath continues its gentle rhythm,

You begin to notice something,

Or someone,

A part of you,

A presence nearby.

Maybe it's an image,

Maybe it's a sensation.

It might arrive as a younger you,

A version of you who still holds something that was too heavy to carry,

Or perhaps it's not a child at all.

Perhaps it's a shadow,

A symbol,

A gesture,

A quiet figure you've met before in dreams.

Let it be what it is,

No pressure to make sense,

No need to define,

Just breathe,

And let that space between you soften.

You are not pushing anything away,

You are not pulling anything forward,

You are simply allowing.

This part of you,

If it is there,

May not speak in words,

It may not want to speak at all,

But you can feel its presence,

And you can let it know,

You are safe now,

I'm not here to fix you,

I'm just here to know you.

Let the breath move between you,

Slow,

Gentle.

If this part could say something without speaking,

What might it want you to hear?

Not to overwhelm you,

But to be known as it really is.

Just stay here,

Witnessing,

Breathing,

Trusting what comes and what doesn't.

The story is not rushing,

The story is unfolding from the inside.

Good.

Now,

If you feel ready,

Or even just a little more open,

You might begin to notice this presence.

The part,

The image,

The version of you,

Begin to shift.

Maybe it looks at you,

Maybe it turns away,

Maybe it stays completely still.

All of that is okay.

There's no pressure to talk,

No need to dig,

But you're allowed to notice.

What does it feel like to be near this part of you?

Just be honest,

Curious,

Without judgment,

Do you feel protected?

Do you feel distant?

Do you want to comfort it or run away?

Breathe.

Inhale like you're creating a little more space.

Exhale like you're softening the edge between you.

And if it feels okay,

You might gently ask this part of you,

With your heart,

Not your words,

What are you holding that I've been afraid to feel?

Just ask,

And then just be there.

Not to fix,

Not to force,

But to stay,

To stay with the part of you never got to be felt all the way through.

If any image arises,

Let it be.

If tears rise,

Let them.

If nothing comes,

Trust that too.

You are not broken.

You are in a moment of truth.

The breath can carry you.

The space can hold you.

Just be with what's here.

You've already done something powerful.

You showed up,

And you stayed.

You've been here long enough for something to soften,

And maybe that part of you begins to shift.

Not because you've pushed,

But because you stayed.

And maybe now you begin to hear something new.

A truth rising not from your mind,

But from the space you have just made.

Like a whisper from your cells,

Like a ripple across your memory,

I am not what hurt me.

Just pause.

Let that move through you.

Maybe you say it again,

Not as a statement,

But as a remembering.

I am not what hurt me.

The pain happened.

The wound was real.

But that is not who you are.

That is not the final shape of your being.

Let the breath come in as if you're breathing in your own becoming.

Let the exhale be released like smoke leaving an ancient fire that no longer needs to burn.

And now,

If you feel safe,

You might ask that part of you one more thing.

What do you need now that I'm here?

Not to fix the past,

But to walk forward together.

The moment you listen,

The rewriting begins.

Let it be simple.

Let it be sacred.

Maybe all they needed was your breath,

Your presence,

Your promise that they don't have to carry this alone anymore.

And when you're ready,

You might whisper something back,

Something only your heart would know how to say,

A new story,

One that begins right now.

Let all of this settle.

No need to hold on to what shifted.

No need to chase what hasn't.

Just breathe as if your breath is tucking the new memory into the fabric of your nervous system.

Inhale gently through the nose.

Long,

Soft exhale through the mouth.

Again,

Inhale presence.

Exhale peace.

Now notice,

Is your body holding anything now that no longer belongs to you?

If so,

Let it melt down your shoulders,

Down your spine,

Down your legs,

Into the ground beneath you.

Let the earth hold what you no longer need.

And slowly begin to feel yourself more here.

Not back in the past,

Not pulled into pain,

But here,

Whole,

Present,

Still becoming.

You might even place a hand over your heart now and thank yourself for choosing this,

For coming back,

For remembering who you are beneath the wound.

Let one final breath seal this in.

Inhale gently.

Exhale fully.

Let the silence now speak what no words can.

And when you're ready,

We will begin to return.

You are not what hurt you,

Not their fear,

Not their silence,

Not the moment they broke you.

You are the breath that returned,

The fire they could not extinguish,

The light that outlasted the dark.

You are not what happened to you.

You are what rose from it.

You are the truth that could not be erased,

The scream that became a song,

The knowing that always remained,

The burning,

The amber that never stopped burning.

They could not destroy you because you were never theirs to break.

You carry scars,

Not shame,

Power,

Not pain.

You are not healing.

You are remembering.

You are reclaiming.

You are returning.

Breathe in this truth and hold it at the top.

Feel it in every cell.

And as you exhale,

Let everything else fall away.

And now,

Just rest here.

Nothing to do,

Nothing to fix.

Let what was felt echo.

Let what was seen soften.

Let what was remembered settle.

There's no need to make sense of it.

The body understands.

The breath remembers.

In this moment,

You are whole.

You are not trying to become anything.

You are simply returning,

Returning to what always was true.

Feel the quiet rhythm beneath your skin,

The gentle breath still moving through you,

The soft pause of life.

This is you.

This is you.

Let the new knowing move through your body,

Not as a thought,

But as a quiet truth,

One that does not need to be spoken because it's already living inside you.

Now,

Just rest here for a few more moments.

Let it anchor.

Let it root.

Let it become you.

And when you're ready,

You can bring the smallest breath back into the body,

The tiniest movement,

A stretch,

But only when you feel it.

No rush.

You are already home.

And now,

Now,

Just notice what it feels like to be here,

To be the one who remained,

The one who remembered,

The one who chose to stay.

Feel the echo of the breath that returned to you like a steady pulse reminding you that you belong here,

In this body,

In this moment,

In this life.

You are not what hurt you.

You are what rose.

You are what remembers.

Let this be your anchoring now,

Not in a wound,

But in the space that opened when the wound let go of you.

And slowly,

Gently,

Take one breath in through the nose and hold,

Letting the new story settle into your bones.

Then release through the mouth with sounds,

If it comes.

Again,

Breathe it in,

Into the version of you who has always known they are whole.

Hold it,

Feel it,

And exhale softly,

Feeling the body come back into the now.

Begin to feel the shape of your body in space,

The weight of your limbs,

The ground beneath you,

The breath as it rises and falls,

You might move a finger,

A toe,

Or a simple breath,

Letting the integration unfold in its own time.

There's no rush.

You are already here.

And when you're ready,

You may gently begin to open your eyes carrying this knowing with you.

You are not what hurt you.

You are the one who came back.