Standing at the Start of a Rainbow – A Reflection on Wounds and Unexpected Comfort

Standing at the Start of a Rainbow – A Reflection on Wounds and Unexpected Comfort

Today, I experienced something I’ve never encountered in my life.
Right in my backyard, I stood at the beginning of a double rainbow.
I saw it rising, not far in the sky, but right before my eyes--
an incredible, quiet moment that gave me a sense of wonder I can't fully describe.
My son took the photo, and for a while I just stood there, breathless.
Before I saw the rainbow, my heart was scattered, full of noise and confusion.
We’ve all had moments like that, haven’t we?
This is a story about wounds.

Earlier today, a dear friend shared something that resonated deeply with me.
She once cut her hand while shaving with a small razor blade. The cut was minor, but the healing process was long.

Even after the skin had closed, any slight touch—washing her hands, gripping something too quickly—would send a sharp pain shooting through her hand.
The wound was old, yet the pain was still fresh.
That metaphor gave me great comfort.
Because some wounds are exactly like that.
They don’t bleed anymore, but they still hurt.
Suddenly. Quietly. Sharply.

When Words Wound

​I carry a wound like that.
Not a physical one, but one inflicted by words.
Words that were so far outside the bounds of kindness or decency that I froze when I heard them.
Even now, I remember them, and like my friend described, they still startle me.
That place in me—where the wound sits—still aches.
And sometimes, I wonder if the person who said those things meant to hurt me.
Maybe they didn’t know how to smile.
Maybe they were angry that I smiled.
Maybe they couldn’t bear to see someone still standing, still being kind.
Or maybe they just didn’t care.
Either way, they didn’t understand.
They didn’t realize that even people who smile can be hurting.
They didn’t know that sometimes, behind a calm face, someone is trying very hard just to breathe.

Kindness Isn’t Always Easy

That's why I believe the world needs more kindness.
That’s why, even after being hurt, I still try to be kind.
But the truth is, the world doesn’t always return kindness with kindness.
Sometimes it takes advantage of it.
And sometimes that makes me afraid to be kind.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve shut out good people without realizing it,
just trying to protect myself.
Life is full of contradictions like that.
And in the middle of all those thoughts,
I looked up--
and saw the double rainbow.

A Message From the Sky

It wasn’t just beautiful.
It felt personal.
The sky felt alive.
As if it had been watching all along.
As if it were saying: “I heard you. I see you.”
The light around the rainbow wasn’t just bright—it was radiant.
The rest of the world had been grey with storm clouds, but around the rainbow, it was as if heaven had opened.
For the first time, I understood why fairy tales say there’s gold at the end of the rainbow.

No camera could capture it.
Not really.
That’s why I want to paint it.
Because I want to share the feeling I had.
The comfort. The warmth.
The quiet message from nature that said,
"You’re not invisible. You’re not forgotten."

Art as Comfort

That’s the kind of art I want to create.
The kind that reminds people that even if the world feels cold,
even if your pain feels unseen,
something—someone—is still listening.
Still caring.
Even when no one else is looking.
And maybe, just maybe, a rainbow is already on its way to you too.

​After a long season of emotional exhaustion, I stood at the beginning of a double rainbow in my backyard. This post reflects on invisible wounds, the ache of unkind words, and how a moment of natural beauty brought unexpected comfort.