Time May Heal, But It Also Scars

By LONNIE KING

They say time heals all wounds.  And maybe that’s true in the most general sense.

Time does move us forward. It dulls the sharp edges of pain. It creates distance from the moment something broke.

But healing and erasing aren’t the same thing.

Because sometimes what time really does is scar us. It marks us. It leaves evidence that something once hurt so deeply it had to mend itself the best way it could.  And that’s not a flaw.  Healing of a wound often includes the evidence of a scar.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately—not because I’m going through it, but because someone I care about is.

They’re in the middle of a painful separation. Not something they wanted. Not something they asked for. There’s a young child involved. One they love with everything in them.  And what they want more than anything is time—time to figure it out, time to heal, time to maybe make things right.

But sometimes time doesn’t cooperate.  It doesn’t pause long enough for reflection. It doesn’t grant space for resolution.

It just keeps moving—demanding decisions before the heart has caught up.

“Time Won’t Give Me Time…”

I heard that lyric in a Culture Club song the other day—“Time (Clock of the Heart).” A tune that sounds deceptively upbeat but, when you listen closely, feels like a quiet lament:

“Time makes lovers feel like they’ve got something real,
When you and me, we know they’ve got nothing but time.

That line resonated with me at the time a little deeper than I had expected.

Because sometimes love is real—but time refuses to cooperate.  Sometimes people just need space to breathe, to figure things out, to find their way back to each other.  But instead of giving them that, time offers ultimatums. Court dates. Custody arrangements. Changed holidays.

It becomes a ticking clock, not a healing balm.

That doesn’t necessarily mean it creates heroes and villains, protagonists and antagonists.  Maybe more often than not, it’s like that old Dave Mason lyric I’ve always loved:

“There ain’t no good guys / there ain’t no bad guys / there’s only you and me / and we just disagree.”

Sometimes that’s the hardest truth of all.  No one’s the villain…but it still falls apart.

Hope Without Pretending

I’ve never been through a divorce.  But I’ve seen people I love go through it. 

And I know what it feels like to watch someone you care about try to hold on to something that’s slipping away—while life keeps forcing them to let go faster than they’re ready.

I still believe time can bring growth. I still believe healing is possible.  But I also know that some losses leave permanent marks.  Scars that don’t ache every day, but never quite fade.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe those scars are reminders:

• That what was lost mattered.
• That the love was real.
• That the pain was deep enough to shape us—but not define us.

Signs of Survival

The primary takeaway for me is this: scars—whether physical or emotional—are ultimately evidence that healing has taken place.  As much as we may not like to see them, they’re proof that we’ve survived a serious wounding and recovered.

It doesn’t mean that we may not have to figure out how to live with that residue, but it is ultimately evidence that we made it through.

I’ve always believed music says what we’re sometimes too tired or too heartbroken to say ourselves.
And if there’s a soundtrack to grief and love and longing all wrapped into one—it’s probably a quiet mix of Culture Club and Dave Mason.

Songs that sound like acceptance, even when your heart’s not quite ready for it.  Even when there ain’t no good guys or bad guys.  Even when time won’t give you time.

Grace and grit to you! — LK