09/24/2025
Once, back in 2019, I was zoned out driving seventy miles an hour on a two-lane highway when a loud thump snapped my attention to the front bumper on the passenger side.
A cardinal had flown straight into my car. In that split second, I caught the last flap of its wings before it drifted lifelessly back toward the shoulder. I gasped, tears streaming instantly, with an audible “No!” And then the only words I could find tumbled out: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
That small, tragic moment has stayed with me, and not because I could have done anything differently or because I believe it was my fault, but because of what it has shown me.
Our pain often works like that collision. When we're lost in unconscious wounds or protective patterns, we think we're only hurting ourselves, but pain never stays contained. It ripples outward. It touches the people around us—sometimes the ones we love most—even when we don’t mean for it to. Even when we don’t realize it’s happening. Even when we aren’t aware of the wounds at all, because numbing has become easier than noticing.
There comes a point in every healing journey when the veil lifts and we finally see the weight of our pain—not just on ourselves, but on others too. That realization carries its own kind of grief. And grief is necessary, because grief is how we honor impact.
But grief isn’t the end. Awareness also brings choice. Once we see clearly, we can choose differently. We can lay down the patterns that perpetuate harm and begin to move more consciously, more gently. We can cultivate practices that ripple outward as healing instead of hurt.
After that day on the road, I bought a bird feeder and a bird bath. Every morning since, I’ve fed the birds, giving gratitude to God and to them for the joy of watching them live. In some small way, that one cardinal’s death has gone on to sustain hundreds of others. And now, six years later, I feed them with my son, teaching him compassion, empathy, and stewardship of the living world.
We can't undo the collisions of the past. We can't stop our pain from ever having caused harm. We can't erase its impact. But we can honor it by how we move forward—by noticing instead of numbing, even when noticing stings. By choosing to stay awake and attentive to our inner life, and to the ways we affect others. By ensuring that what radiates out from us is not more pain, but the fruit of our healing.
~Abby
