My writer name is Kaylie Night. Check out my other works at

I'm a married woman in my twenties in California.

Thoughts on Hurt/Comfort

Hurt/comfort is the genre of hugging and crying. It’s bleeding wounds bandaged, bruises iced, and tears wiped away. It’s waking up in the middle of the night when screams fill the house, and talking the dreamer through their nightmares until they can sleep again. It’s waiting for the ambulance with a self-harmer and praying it arrives in time, while holding back the scolding words that wouldn’t help. It’s rescuing a friend from torture, bullying, or abuse, and taking them home, where their favorite foods await them. It’s that moment of conviction that the abuse isn’t their fault, that they never deserved it.

Hurt/comfort the genre of adoption. It’s the child who grew up in an abusive household flinching the first time her adoptive parent reaches out to show affection, and slowly learning that she is safe and loved. It’s the parent who scolds their child to tears for endangering himself, and the child learning his life has value. It’s the awkward first steps of learning what fair discipline is, the parents deciding they’re willing to put in the work to raise their child right, the child realizing someone cares what kind of person he grows up to be.

Hurt/comfort is the genre of blankets and hot chocolate. It’s ice cream sundaes and home baked cookies and pies. It’s clean sheets and thick pillows. It’s stinging antiseptic and soothing ice. It’s surprise birthday parties and first-ever Christmas presents. It’s coming home to family after a long, long day. It’s consistency and kept promises, sincere apologies and clear communication. It’s forgiveness and redemption and happy endings. It's “I love you,” and “I’m proud of you,” and “I will never hurt you,” and “I’ve got you."

Hurt/comfort is the genre of the good shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to search out the one who wandered away and bring it home. It’s the good father who welcomes his son back with open arms despite all the damage his child has done. It’s the language in which the voice of God whispers softly into the flawed souls of the broken world, holding tightly to his lost-and-found children and promising never to let them go.