The idea that our deepest emotional wounds are directly linked to our greatest gifts is as old as humanity itself. We see it in myth, in art, in psychology, and in the lived experience of men throughout history. It’s a central truth in men’s work and masculine initiation: that by facing our pain, we discover our purpose.

The Call to Purpose Often Begins With Pain

Joseph Campbell’s archetypal concept of the hero’s journey describes this precisely. It’s not comfort that initiates the journey—it’s crisis. Divorce, addiction, betrayal, burnout. A man finds himself face down in the mud of his life, unsure how he got there, but unable to keep living the way he has. The pain that’s been avoided, suppressed, or outrun finally demands attention.

This isn’t just about individual psychology. It’s a collective pattern. Many modern men spend decades avoiding their wounds, numbing their nervous systems with distraction or addiction. But when we finally turn toward the dragon in the cave, we often find not just our fear—but our power.

Wounded Healers and Initiated Men

Carl Jung described this process through the archetype of the wounded healer—a figure whose power to help others comes directly from his own suffering. This archetype echoes the story of Chiron, the centaur from Greek mythology. Abandoned at birth and later wounded by a poisoned arrow, Chiron could not heal himself—but became a revered teacher and healer to others.

In traditional shamanic cultures, this is how a medicine man is born. He gets sick or lost or mad—and through that breakdown, finds a path to wholeness. The wound becomes the doorway to medicine.

We see this again in the Celtic story of the Fisher King, wounded in the groin—a symbolic hit to his masculine power. He can only find relief through fishing, or inward reflection. And in modern myth? Think of Harry Potter, whose lightning bolt scar carries the memory of violence and loss, but also the destiny of his magic.

This theme even finds expression in Leonard Cohen’s song Anthem:

“There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

Or in the Japanese art of Kintsukuroi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold lacquer. These “scars” aren’t hidden—they’re celebrated. The object is more beautiful because it was broken. In myth, gold is the symbol of the soul’s true gift.

Initiation: Where the Wound Becomes a Rite of Passage

In nearly every indigenous culture, the passage from boyhood to manhood involved ordeal. Pain was not seen as something to avoid, but as a gateway to transformation. Often, this included literal scarring—permanent reminders of the confrontation with death that marks true initiation.

I first encountered this idea directly in my early 20s, when I joined a yearlong men’s initiation in Southern California. I was heartbroken, disoriented, and confused after the painful end of a relationship. That group of men helped me start disentangling from the unconscious patterns I was trapped in.

Under the mentorship of Francis Weller—a psychotherapist who integrates grief ritual and African wisdom—we were led into a powerful inner journey to meet our “medicine,” the sacred gift hidden beneath our pain.

What I found shocked me. In a guided vision, I descended into a stone cellar and found a hairy beast huddled in the shadows—something grotesque and shamed, that I wanted to turn away from. But as I looked closer, I saw my own eyes staring back. The creature was me—the parts I’d hidden, the wounds I feared others would see.

I was asked to lift him onto my shoulders. And as I did, I made a promise to care for him. To love what I had tried to exile.

Then a door appeared. On the other side, I found a golden land. Children laughed, birds soared, music echoed. It was luminous, alive, and full of belonging. I didn’t want to leave. And I was told: this is yours. This is your medicine.

The Wound Doesn’t Always Heal—But It Transforms

That vision changed my life. But making sense of it has taken 15 years.

At first, I believed that finding my gift meant I was healed. That everything would fall into place. It didn’t.

Michael Meade, mythologist and storyteller, teaches that our first wound is simply being born. The soul comes from the eternal and enters time—it hurts. Add to that the wounds of family, abandonment, neglect, or abuse, and we have a lifetime’s worth of material to work with.

Meade also says: as the gift grows, so does the wound. We don’t eliminate it. We learn to tend it, so our gift doesn’t become a tool of ego or self-destruction. We’ve all seen what happens when men rise in their genius without grounding in humility: celebrity crashes, public breakdowns, private addiction. It’s the wound, ignored.

For men, this is hard to accept. We want to fix what’s broken. But some things are not meant to be fixed. They are meant to be honored.

Devotion to the Wound Is the Path of Purpose

Over time, I’ve learned to approach my pain not as a problem—but as a teacher. My practice now is to tend it like a garden. Sometimes it’s just sitting with the “little me” who feels scared or sad. Sometimes it’s grief shared in community.

In fact, some of the most transformative moments of my life have come when I’ve allowed others to witness my rawness. In that vulnerability, people don’t turn away. They lean in. And something beautiful happens: my healing becomes theirs, and theirs becomes mine.

In this process, I’ve come to see that the unmet needs of my childhood—belonging, mentorship, intimacy—are the exact gifts I am here to offer others. My purpose didn’t come from a job title. It came from loving the very parts of me I once tried to escape.

And here’s what I know now: when we avoid our wounds, they run us. When we face them, we reclaim our power. When we offer them, we activate our gifts.

Final Thoughts: The Work Isn’t Linear—But It’s Sacred

Purpose doesn’t come in a neatly wrapped epiphany. It unfolds. Often through heartbreak, disillusionment, and loss. You may not ever fully heal your wound. But you can live in right relationship to it. And from that place, your medicine flows.

You don’t have to be fully healed to be of service. You only need to be willing. Willing to walk the path. Willing to face the ache. Willing to let your pain shape you into someone trustworthy.

So if you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to begin, let this be the sign:

Your wound is the gift.

Start there.