You Can’t Heal What You Won’t Name

“He is the refulgence of His glory, the very imprint of His being.” — Hebrews 1:3

Healing Is a Lifelong Invitation

Even after decades of walking with Jesus, I am still being healed.

For a long time, I believed healing happened once and stayed finished. I assumed that when God touched a wound, the work ended there. Over time, however, Jesus revealed something gentler and far truer: healing with Him unfolds over a lifetime.

Not because God withholds healing—but because love reaches deeper than we expect.

At times, areas still need healing because we fear naming them. In other moments, they remain hidden because we stand too close to see them clearly. Often, they lie buried beneath years of survival, faithfulness, and strength. Many times, we don’t recognize them at all until Jesus, in His mercy, brings them into the light.

Each time something new surfaces, I return to this truth: healing happens in layers, and Jesus remains patient with every one of them.

Healing Begins With Naming

Healing does not begin with fixing.
Instead, it begins with naming.

So many women live faithfully while quietly carrying wounds they never speak aloud. Along the way, we learn how to function. We keep moving forward. We show up to Mass, raise families, build businesses, and serve others—while carefully avoiding the tender places inside us.

As a result, those wounds do not disappear. Instead, they retreat into darker corners of the heart.

Yet Jesus does not heal what remains hidden.
Rather, He heals what we bring into the light.

Jesus Heals in the Light

Scripture tells us that Jesus is the radiant light of the glory of God. Light reveals—not to shame us, but to save us. By contrast, darkness is where the enemy thrives. Hidden wounds isolate us. Unnamed pain tightens its grip. Silence convinces us we must carry everything alone.

Jesus, however, redeems differently.

When we move toward Him, we move toward the light. As this happens, He begins to make us whole.

Wholeness does not mean perfection.
Instead, it means restoration.

Jesus heals the heart from lies we believed too young, from false images of ourselves, from distortions of who God truly is, and from wounds left by people who could not love us as God does. In His light, Jesus reveals the heart of the Father and gently draws us into reconciliation rooted in truth, light, and love.

Why Naming Matters

Naming matters because unnamed wounds never fully enter prayer. Consequently, they remain outside the conversation—outside the place where grace moves freely. Naming does not dramatize pain. Rather, it acknowledges reality without judgment or fear.

Often, naming sounds simple:

• This still hurts.
• I never processed that.
• I learned how to survive, but not how to feel safe.
• I forgave, yet something inside me still aches.

These words do not signal failure.
Instead, they open doors.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus asks questions He already knows the answers to. He asks not for information, but for relationship. In the same way, when He invites us to name what hurts, He invites us to meet Him there.

Still, shame often resists this step:

• You should be past this.
• Others had it worse.
• Why does this still affect you?

Yet healing does not follow a straight line.
And ultimately, time alone does not heal—truth does.

What we name loses its power to define us in secret. What we name can finally be held by God instead of guarded alone.

An Invitation to Begin

Through the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus gently reveals the very places where we need Him most. Sometimes awareness arrives as words. At other times, it comes as a feeling—a resistance, a heaviness, or a grief without language.

Even then, it still counts.

God honors presence before precision.

So, during this first week of healing, the invitation remains simple: bring what is hidden into the light.

Pray honestly. Ask Jesus to help you name the places where healing is needed. Trust that He loves restoring what the enemy meant for harm. Above all, remember that He delights in making all things new.

You are not reopening old wounds.
You are opening the door to wholeness.

And the light that meets you there is not harsh.

It is love.

YOU ARE loved,
Leslie