Broken Together: Thunderbolts*, Mental Health, and the Sacredness of Staying

Jun 02, 2025

Superhero movies often promise us the fantasy of invulnerability. Heroes leap from buildings, take punches from gods, and walk away from trauma with a witty quip. But Thunderbolts*—Marvel’s gritty ensemble of antiheroes—takes a different path. It asks: What if the real battle isn’t against a villain, but against the wounds we carry inside? And what if healing those wounds isn’t a solo quest, but something that can only happen when we risk being known by others?

The Messy Reality of Trauma

The Thunderbolts* are not the Avengers. They’re a collection of misfits, each with a history of pain, regret, and survival. Bucky Barnes is haunted by the violence he was forced to commit. Yelena Belova carries the ache of loss and betrayal. Ghost’s (who hardly anyone remembers) very body flickers with instability, a metaphor for her inner turmoil. John Walker, Taskmaster, and Red Guardian bring their own baggage—resentment, shame, and the desperate need to prove themselves…and to be loved.

What sets Thunderbolts* apart is its refusal to tidy up these wounds. As Screen Rant1 points out, the film foregrounds the psychological cost of violence and the difficulty of trust. These characters don’t just have tragic backstories; they’re living with the ongoing consequences of trauma. Their struggles with anxiety, guilt, and alienation are not just plot devices—they’re the heart of the story.

The Limits of Going It Alone

In our culture, we often imagine healing as an individual journey. We’re told to “find ourselves,” “work on ourselves,” and “overcome” our issues through sheer willpower or self-help. But Thunderbolts* quietly subverts this myth. Each character has tried, in their own way, to manage their pain alone—by hiding, lashing out, or numbing themselves. Yet, as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that isolation only deepens their wounds.

This insight is echoed in Psychology Today’s2 analysis of the film as an allegory for trauma recovery. Healing is not about erasing the past or “fixing” ourselves. It’s about learning to live with our scars—and that learning happens most powerfully in relationship

Community: The Crucible of Healing

So what does it look like to heal together? The answer isn’t sentimental. In Thunderbolts*, community is not a magical cure. The team is thrown together by circumstance, not choice. Their early attempts at collaboration are marked by suspicion, conflict, and old habits of self-protection. When Ghost’s pain becomes overwhelming, she withdraws. When Bucky’s past catches up with him, he lashes out. When John Walker’s insecurities flare, he doubles down on control.

But something shifts as the story progresses. The team’s mission falters, and their carefully constructed defenses begin to crack. In the aftermath of failure, they are forced to confront not just the enemy outside, but the wounds within. And it’s here—in the awkward, vulnerable moments—that the seeds of healing are sown.

There’s a quiet power in the way the team begins to show up for each other. Not with grand gestures or easy answers, but with presence. When Ghost admits she can’t control her powers, the others don’t judge—they listen, and they help. When Bucky’s guilt threatens to swallow him, the team doesn’t offer platitudes—they simply refuse to leave him alone in his pain. These moments are small, but they are revolutionary. They suggest that the real work of healing happens not in isolation, but in the messy, persistent act of bearing witness to one another’s struggles.

The Sacredness of Staying

One of the oldest truths in the Christian tradition is that healing is found not in strength, but in weakness shared. The church is called not to be a gathering of the triumphant, but a fellowship of the wounded—a community where we dare to bring our brokenness into the light, trusting that we will not be abandoned.

Thunderbolts* captures this vision, not in sermons but in the slow, halting work of relationship. The team’s greatest victories are when they choose to stay—when every instinct says to run or hide—that something new becomes possible. This is the sacredness of staying: the refusal to give up on one another, even when the work is hard, progress is slow, and looks insurmountable.

The “Tortured Hero” Trope

Of course, Thunderbolts* is not without its flaws. Some critics, such as The Conversation3 , have pointed out that the film sometimes slips into the “tortured hero” stereotype, especially with its male characters. There is a risk of glamorizing suffering or equating vulnerability with violence. But the film’s deeper message is more nuanced: true strength is not found in stoicism or self-reliance, but in the courage to be seen and supported.

The final scenes of the movie — simple, understated moments of the team not winning a fight, but rescuing a wounded friend —are a quiet rebuke to our culture’s obsession with spectacle. It’s quite literally a group hug! They remind us that the real miracle is not the defeat of evil, but the forging of bonds that make life’s burdens bearable.

The Church’s Invitation

For those of us who serve and lead in the church, Thunderbolts* offers a timely challenge. Too often, our communities mirror the world’s fixation on competence and success. We celebrate stories of victory, but struggle to make space for the ongoing, unfinished work of healing. We are tempted to offer answers when what is needed is presence.

But what if our churches became places where people could bring their whole selves—their doubts, their wounds, their unfinished stories? What if we measured success not by the absence of struggle, but by the depth of our commitment to walk with one another through it? What if we became known, not for our strength, but for our willingness to stay?

This is not an easy calling. It requires patience, humility, and the willingness to be changed by the pain of others. It means resisting the urge to “fix” and instead learning to listen, to bear witness, and to hope together. But it is in this crucible of community that the seeds of redemption are sown.

Hope in the Ordinary

Thunderbolts* doesn’t offer easy answers. Its characters do not “get better” in the way we might expect. Their wounds remain, their struggles continue. But there is hope—not in the erasure of pain, but in the forging of bonds that make the pain bearable. The film’s closing moments are a reminder that healing is found in the ordinary acts of presence, patience, and care.

This is the hope at the heart of the Christian story: that God meets us not in our strength, but in our need; not in our victories, but in our willingness to be known and loved, even in our weakness. It is the hope that, together, we can begin to imagine a different future—a future where our wounds become sources of compassion, and our failures become invitations to grace.

The Long Road Together

Thunderbolts* is not just a superhero movie. It’s a story about the long, slow road of recovery—a road that can only be traveled together. It’s a call to resist the lure of isolation, to embrace the gift of presence, and to trust that, in the company of others, even our deepest wounds can become places of unexpected healing.

We are, all of us, broken. But maybe, just maybe, we can be broken together—and in that togetherness, find the redemption we seek.

The Twists w/ Sean Palmer

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