There is a quiet lie we tell ourselves when we are hurt: If I can just understand why this happened, I’ll finally feel better.
So we replay the moment.
We revisit the words.
We analyze the behavior.
We question our worth.
And without realizing it, we turn our pain into a lifelong investigation.
A monk once shared a simple but piercing lesson:
Imagine being bitten by a snake. Instead of focusing on healing from the poison, you waste your time chasing the snake—trying to understand why it bit you, to prove you didn’t deserve it, or to demand an explanation. Meanwhile, the poison spreads.
This story is uncomfortable because it is true.
Many of us are still chasing snakes while wondering why we haven’t healed.
The Obsession With “Why”
Pain has a way of hijacking our thoughts. When someone hurts us—betrays us, abandons us, lies to us—we instinctively search for meaning. We ask questions like:
- Why would they do this to me?
- What did I do wrong?
- Was I not enough?
- How could they say they cared and still hurt me?
These questions feel logical. Even necessary. After all, understanding feels like control. But there’s a point where seeking understanding stops being healthy and starts becoming self-poisoning.
Not every wound comes with answers.
Not every person is self-aware enough to explain their actions.
Not every hurt has a lesson neatly wrapped in clarity.
Sometimes, the truth is simpler and harder to accept: someone acted from their own brokenness, limitations, or selfishness—and it had nothing to do with your worth.
Chasing the “why” doesn’t always bring peace. Often, it keeps the wound open.
When Closure Becomes a Trap
We’re taught that closure is necessary for healing. That we need apologies, explanations, or accountability before we can move on. But this belief quietly gives our power away.
When healing depends on someone else’s words or behavior, we remain stuck. Waiting. Hoping. Reopening the wound every time we don’t get what we need.
The truth is, many people never apologize.
Some never understand the damage they caused.
Some don’t care enough to look back.
If your healing requires their participation, you may never heal.
Closure is not something someone gives you.
It’s something you decide.
The Cost of Chasing the Snake
While you’re chasing the snake, the poison works silently. It shows up as:
- Bitterness that hardens your heart
- Anxiety that keeps you replaying the past
- Distrust that spills into new relationships
- Emotional exhaustion from carrying unresolved pain
You may still function. You may even smile. But underneath, something remains inflamed.
The energy you spend chasing the cause of your pain is energy you could be using to rebuild yourself.
Healing doesn’t mean pretending the bite didn’t happen. It means acknowledging the wound and choosing not to bleed forever.
Redirecting Energy Toward Healing
Healing begins the moment you stop asking, “Why did this happen to me?” and start asking, “What do I need now?”
That shift is powerful.
Healing looks like:
- Setting boundaries instead of seeking explanations
- Processing emotions without self-blame
- Allowing grief without living in it
- Choosing self-respect over revenge
It’s understanding that proving you didn’t deserve the pain is unnecessary. You never deserved it. Full stop.
You don’t need to convince the snake you were worthy of safety.
Rising Without Becoming Hard
One of the greatest fears people have about healing is that it will make them cold. Detached. Hardened.
But true healing doesn’t make you numb—it makes you discerning.
You don’t stop feeling deeply.
You stop bleeding freely.
You don’t lose empathy.
You gain boundaries.
You don’t become less loving.
You become more selective with your love.
Strength doesn’t come from building walls. It comes from learning when to open the gate and when to keep it closed.
Living With the Scar, Not the Poison
Some pain never disappears completely. It softens. It settles. It becomes a scar rather than an open wound.
And that’s okay.
Scars don’t mean you’re broken. They mean you survived.
Healing is not forgetting what happened—it’s remembering without reliving it. It’s being able to say, “Yes, that hurt me,”without allowing it to define who you are or how you move through the world.
The Real Victory
The snake may never be caught.
The explanation may never come.
The apology may never arrive.
But you don’t need any of those things to heal.
The real victory is choosing yourself.
Choosing growth over fixation.
Choosing peace over proof.
Stop chasing the snake.
Treat the wound.
And let your life move forward—not untouched, but stronger, wiser, and still open to joy.
TheSpiritualExplorer 