This is in response to This Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts – July 23, 2026, hosted by John Holton.
I chose options #1: Write a post inspired by the word obituary.
And #2: Write a post in exactly ten (10) sentences.
Obituary for a Wound That Isn’t Mine Anymore, in 10 Sentences:
Today I am writing the obituary for the pain that once lived in my chest like an unwelcome tenant.
It arrived without warning and settled in as if it had every right to stay.
For a long time, it shaped the way I breathed and the way I trusted.
It taught me how silence can feel heavier than words.
It taught me how betrayal can echo long after the moment ends.
I carried it because I didn’t know how to set it down.
I carried it because I thought releasing it meant forgetting what happened.
The truth is that it faded the day I realized it was only a shadow, not a companion.
I am grateful for what it revealed about my strength.
And now I let it rest, because I no longer need it to understand myself.
Thank you for reading, liking, lurking, and commenting. You are important!
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54 comments
A very touching piece.
Thank you so much, Sadje.
Oh, Kymber, this is so poignant. Just beautiful.
Thank you so much, Joy. Your words mean a lot to me.
I liked this a lot
Thank you, Jo-Anne.
Beautiful, Kymber
Thank you, John.
A very powerful and heartfelt poem. Moving on from betrayal and dissappointment takes strength and wisdom.
Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate that. Writing it helped me see how much strength comes from finally setting something down instead of carrying it.
Nice post Kymber.
Thank you, Di.
You’re welcome
🩷🌺
What a moving piece Kymber, one of strength, resiliency, and moving forward. Maggie
Maggie, thank you for this. I’m grateful it resonated.
As a life long silent trauma hoarder, I felt the relief in your post, Kymber. What saved me is my head elves got old and forgetful and also had too much junk stored in the memory warehouse to manage. Something had to give before the warehouse walls blew out. Now, I only concern myself with making sure I’m actually awake before I get out of bed because face planting on the furniture is the only painful memory that sticks with me.
Hyperion, I felt every bit of what you wrote, and your head‑elf warehouse made me laugh. I’m glad relief found you.
Thank you Kymber, Those rascally head elves sometimes think they run the show. Sometimes, I let them be in charge just to see what happens.
I love that you let them take over sometimes. I imagine the results are memorable.
Waaa haaa haa! Those are memories worth holding onto and retelling at Thanksgiving dinner. Remember when. . .😂
😂😂 I’d like to see one of those Thanksgiving dinners. They sound like the kind you remember long after the dishes are done.
My extended family are all a total hoot. We have to get all the laughing done before we get too full or someone will blow a gasket. I’ve laughed so hard I had to go hook up to grandpa’s oxygen tank to catch my breath. 🦃🥧😂
Anyone who needs to borrow grandpa’s oxygen tank after laughing is someone I want a seat next to. 😂
Waaa haaa haaa! I love my family, nobody makes me laugh that hard except them.
I understand that. I have a similar situation with my family.
Having an enduring good natured sense of humor can get us through a lot of challenges still intact.
I agree 100%! Truer words were never spoken.
Let’s keep it up and make it a tradition. 😁🕊️
Yes, let’s do that! 😊😂🌺
Mom has been going through something like this lately. She doesn’t want to forget but she doesn’t want it in her life anymore. She’s done some cleaning out of things and that has been really helpful.
That sounds really hard for her. Letting go without erasing anything is such a delicate balance. I’m glad the cleaning out has helped.
Hi Kymber, this is enlightening. I’m glad you were able to let these emotions go.
Thank you, Robbie. Your words mean a lot to me.
What a powerful and beautifully written piece. I was especially moved by the idea of writing an obituary for pain—a deeply original and healing metaphor. Each sentence carries emotional honesty, culminating in a message of acceptance, resilience, and freedom. My favorite line was, “It was only a shadow, not a companion.”
Thank you for sharing such a profound reflection on letting go and embracing inner strength. Truly inspiring. 🌿✨👏
Thank you, Vijay. I’m glad this piece spoke to you. Your words are very kind.🩷🌺
I’m so glad your pain is gone and you have rediscovered the joy of life! 💖 Beautifully written, Kymber!
Thank you, Debbie. That means a lot to me. 🩷🌺
I’m happy that God healed you and I pray daily for Him to heal me. This pain is excruciating.
Kim, thank you for sharing this. I’m sorry you’re carrying so much, and I hope relief comes soon.
Thank you, Kymber
🩷🌺
I am glad that you have released this burden, Kymber. ❤️
Thank you, John. Your words are so kind a appreciated. 🩷🌺
Brilliant. I’m so grateful that the wound is no longer yours anymore. Wishing you peaceful days 🙏☺️
Aptivi, thank you. I’ll gladly take those peaceful‑day wishes. I wish the same for you.
You’re most welcome, Kymber. Thank you! ☺️
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What a beautiful picture of God’s healing. I’m grateful the wound no longer defines you, and I pray the Lord continues to fill your heart with His peace.
Willie, I’m grateful for your thoughtful words. They mean more than you know.
amen! Bravo! Loved this Kymber! So relatable! xox
Carol Anne, your words mean a lot. I’m grateful it spoke to you. xo
Ohmigosh! That is utterly brilliant! Well-done you!
Pam, I’m blushing over here. I’m grateful for your kind words. 🥰😊