Like an old growth forest, trauma, especially sexual violence, can act like a saw cutting everything down. What once stood tall, lush, and was home to a thriving ecosystem is suddenly gone, leaving us in the aftermath. And yet, with intention and work, even forests can begin again. The work and intention become ours: to replant, to tend, to trust that something can grow back, different, but still alive.
Nature doesn’t only show us how things are lost, it shows us how they return, in forms we might not immediately recognize. Regrowth is not separate from the storm; it depends on it. What feels like disruption is often part of a longer cycle of renewal, one that asks for patience, trust, and a willingness to see beyond what is immediately visible.
As I walk in the rain, I am reminded that we need it for the earth to remain healthy. Many of us complain about it, but it is a kind of magic in action. Rain doesn’t just fall, it forms over time, through changing conditions, through invisible processes we rarely stop to notice. And when it arrives, it nourishes and cleanses. Some days, it even gives us a rainbow.
It is not through perfection that beauty arrives, but through process, through the same rain that nourishes. Rainbows are full circles, though we only ever see a portion of them. It depends on where we stand, the angle of the light, the moment we are in. Each of us is seeing a slightly different part of the whole rainbow.
People are like that too. We are constantly changing; we are not static creatures. We see others, and are seen, as we are in a moment in time. When someone misunderstands us, or holds a fixed idea of who we are, they are only seeing one part of the rainbow. And we do the same to others.
Recognizing this can create space for understanding and compassion—for ourselves and for each other. No person is only one thing. No one is always angry, or always joyful, always kind, or always unaware. We move through these states; they are moments, not identities.
The people we encounter are often meeting just a small segment of ourselves, a passing expression, a single version shaped by that moment. And we are doing the same with them.
We can remind ourselves: this is who I am right now, in this moment. And this moment is not infinite. It will shift, as all things do. Or inversely, I am not this person all the time. It’s only one part of my rainbow.
Change is inevitable.
This can help us move through experiences with more compassion, without excusing harmful behaviour, and decrease our own suffering.
Rainbows often appear on rainy days, and in unexpected moments. They are what happens when light moves through a transparent object, slows down, and reveals its component parts. Maybe we are like that too. As we move through pain, we can slow down and begin to see the component aspects of what makes us who we are, all the colors, all the pieces coming into alignment.
We were never broken. But we can learn to feel whole again.
Reflection Questions
- When you think about the “storm” in your own life, what parts of you feel like they are beginning to regrow, even in small or quiet ways?
- What is one “part of your rainbow” that you wish others could see or understand more deeply about you right now?
- How can you offer yourself the same patience and compassion that nature shows in its cycles of rain, rest, and renewal?
