When Being the Victim Keeps You From Healing
- Barb Lownsbury

- 3 days ago
- 6 min read

There is a strange kind of comfort in staying wounded.
Not because the pain is easy. It is not. But because as long as we stay in the victim role, we never have to face the harder question of what God might want to heal, strengthen, or change in us.
That is not always an easy truth to admit.
I have learned that when being the victim keeps you from healing, it also keeps you from the freedom God is trying to lead you into.
There was a season in my life when my marriage was falling apart, and many of the people around me tried to comfort me by reminding me that none of it was my fault. They told me I had done everything I could do. In many ways, that was true. I really had done all I knew to do at the time. I had tried, prayed, hoped, waited, adjusted, and held on longer than many people realized.
But deep down, I also knew that was not the full story.
Not because I carried all the blame. And not because I had the power to fix another person. I did not. The only person I had any control over was me. I could not change someone else’s choices, someone else’s responses, or someone else’s willingness to work on what was broken. But I could ask God to show me what I needed to learn in the middle of my own heartbreak.
That is a very different posture.
It is one thing to say, “I was hurt.” It is another thing to say, “I was hurt, and I still want to grow.”
That kind of honesty can feel brutal at first because it requires us to stop using pain as a hiding place. It asks us to lay down the shield of self-protection and let Jesus speak truth into the places we would rather leave untouched. But as hard as that is, it is also where freedom begins.
As I looked back, I began to realize there were things I needed to face. Somewhere along the way, I had started working harder to save the marriage than to save the relationship. There is a difference. One can become about holding something together at all costs, while the other requires honesty, courage, and a willingness to address what is not working.
Over time, because so little seemed to change, I stopped fighting through some of the deeper things. Instead, I learned how to survive around them. I tried to be grateful for what was good. I tried to create joy in safe and healthy ways outside of the places that felt disappointing. And while that helped me cope, coping is not the same thing as confronting what is broken.
Maybe pressing in harder would not have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have. I will never know for sure. But I do know this: even if the ending had stayed the same, there were still things in me that needed attention. There were patterns, fears, and old wounds that Jesus wanted to uncover because healing was never only about the marriage. It was also about my heart.
That part mattered too.
When I was younger, I was deeply insecure. Attention that felt big and intense also felt affirming to me because it spoke to fragile places in my soul. It made me feel seen. Wanted. Chosen. But as God began to grow me, strengthen me, and root me more deeply in truth, I started realizing something important. Confidence built on another human being’s response will always leave us vulnerable. If someone else’s love, praise, pursuit, or approval is what holds us up, then we will always be unsteady when that changes.
I had to learn to become secure in who I was before God first.
And that journey meant facing some deeper wounds too. It meant dealing with some daddy issues from my past that had fed my insecurities in ways I did not fully understand for years. It meant realizing how easy it is to carry old pain into new relationships and then expect another person to heal what only God can truly touch. It meant acknowledging that no one else can make me feel less without my permission.
People can wound us. They can disappoint us. They can fail us deeply. But they do not get the final say over our identity unless we hand it to them.
That realization was both painful and powerful.
Because if I had the power to keep agreeing with lies, then by God’s grace I also had the power to stop.
That is where healing began to look less like blame and more like responsibility. Not shame. Not self-condemnation. Responsibility. The kind that says, “Lord, show me what is mine to own so I can be free.” There is something deeply strengthening about that prayer because it pulls us out of helplessness. It reminds us that while we may not control what others do, we are not powerless in our own lives.
Psalm 18 says, “By my God I can scale a wall” and “He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze.” Those words have always stirred something in me because they remind me that God does not call us to sit in defeat. God strengthens us. God trains us. God leads us. God gives us power for the hard work of facing truth and walking forward.
We are not meant to build our lives around our wounds. We are meant to let Jesus lead us through them.
That does not mean we deny what happened. It does not mean we minimize loss. It does not mean we pretend we were never hurt. It simply means we stop making our pain our identity. We stop nursing our brokenness as though it is the safest place to live. We stop telling ourselves that because someone else failed us, we are stuck forever.
We are not stuck.
Jesus does not ask us to live defined by what happened to us. He invites us to bring every wound, every lie, and every unfinished place into his healing hands. And while that kind of honesty is hard, it is also the very thing that sets us free.
FOR FURTHER THOUGHT
In 2 Corinthians 4:8–9, Paul reminds us that, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." In Christ, hard things do not have to have the final word.
So where in life has it become easier to stay hurt, disappointed, or stuck than to face what God may want to heal? Take a quiet moment to ask God to gently reveal one area where pain may have become a hiding place instead of a place of surrender.
Then choose one small step of courage.
Maybe it is owning a pattern instead of blaming someone else. Maybe it is having an honest conversation, setting a healthy boundary, asking for help, or finally addressing a wound that has been ignored for too long. Maybe it is writing down a lie that has shaped identity and replacing it with what God says is true.
Healing often begins with one honest step of obedience. Not all at once. Just the next right thing.
And finally, pay attention to where strength is needed today. Ask: What would it look like to live as someone who is hard pressed, but not crushed? Perplexed, but not in despair? Struck down, but not destroyed? Then act accordingly. Refuse to let pain define identity. Let this be the day to stop rehearsing what happened and start responding to what God is inviting you to do next.
PRAYER
Lord, help me be honest about the places where I have felt wounded, stuck, or tempted to let pain define me. Show me what is mine to face, what is mine to release, and what you want to heal in me. Give me courage to stop hiding behind hurt and to let you lead me into truth, growth, and freedom. Remind me that my identity is not found in what happened to me, but in who I am in you. Strengthen me to take the next right step, and help me trust that even the hard work of healing is part of your loving work in my life. In Jesus' Name, Amen.
ABOUT BARB LOWNSBURY

Barb is a speaker, author, and entrepreneur. She holds Bachelor's Degrees in International History and Education, as well as a Master’s Degree in Education. Barb has spoken at conferences and taught classes throughout the U.S. on topics including faith, relationships, leadership, and courage through trials. Her book, Using What’s Broken to Boldly Shine, is a powerful read on transformation through adversity. Her blog focuses on providing people with everyday encouragement and strength. Barb serves as the Executive Director and Editor for The Dented Fender Ministry and runs a successful real estate and development company. She and her husband currently reside in Lebanon, Ohio.
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