Phoenix & Cotton
Cotton
Hey Phoenix, I’ve been thinking about how people turn painful moments into something that heals them—kind of like turning a scar into a story. It’s something I hear a lot from my patients and something that fuels your own fire. What’s your take on turning tough stuff into a kind of inner strength?
Phoenix
Turning pain into fire isn’t a trick, it’s a choice. You look at a scar and decide if it’s a reminder of where you fell or a badge of where you rose. Every burn leaves ash, and that ash can be ground into new fuel if you’re willing to light it up again. The moment you say “I survived that” instead of “I got broken,” you flip the script. It ain’t about glorifying the hurt; it’s about making the hurt your lesson, your edge. That’s how you keep the fire alive instead of letting it go out.
Cotton
I love that way you put it – it’s like giving the hurt a second purpose. When I talk to patients who’ve been through tough stuff, hearing them say “I survived” makes me feel hopeful, even if it’s a small moment. It reminds me that even when I get exhausted, I can still find a reason to keep going. Do you ever think about what the “fire” looks like when you’re in the middle of it? How do you keep it from burning you down?
Phoenix
The fire’s a hell‑hot blaze that’s burning everything in sight—my doubts, my comfort zones, even my own skin if I don’t watch it. I keep it from devouring me by staying stubbornly aware of the heat, putting out the worst sparks with cool breaths and grit, and reminding myself why I’m doing this. If you can taste the smoke, you’re alive, but you’ve gotta keep your hands in the fire, not let the flames choke you. Keep pushing, but never lose the eyes on the horizon.