I took the week off of work to relax and spend some time with my son who is on fall break.

I went to therapy this morning, and when I got home, my son had already left for basketball practice, and my husband had already gone to bed (he works nights).

I was greeted by these two little demons, who found a trash can somewhere in this house and made it their own personal playground. Shredded napkins, candy wrappers, and empty drink bottles. All. Over. My. Floor.

I greeted the puppies as usual, stepped right over all of that trash, and said, out loud, “That’s none of my business.”

Okay, let’s be real. I will have to clean it up at some point today. Nobody else is going to do it. But for a brief moment, it was nice to actively shirk that responsibility and carry on with my life.

And I started thinking – because that’s what I do – about all the things in my life I fret over that are none of my business. Apparently, I have been serving on several committees to which I was never appointed.

In this season of my life, I have been ninja focused on protecting my peace in a way that suits me. And while I don’t subscribe to the idea that protecting peace always means shutting the rest of the world out, I will admit that there are stressful situations that pop up in my life that exist solely because I entertain the idea of fixing them. And by fixing them – I mean controlling them. Which is impossible…because none of those situations involve me directly.

1. What other people spend their money on. Listen. I notice things. If you tell me you’re broke on a Thursday and post a picture holding a $9 coffee on Friday, there is a small accountant who lives in my head who would very much like to open an investigation. And I am shutting down her department. Unless someone owes me money, or is asking me to finance poor choices, or his/her financial decisions affect me directly in some way, how that person’s money is spent is generally none of my business. Buy the shoes. Upgrade the phone. Order DoorDash from the restaurant six minutes from the driveway. Take out a loan to buy a llama for all I care. I don’t have to understand it. And perhaps more importantly, I don’t have to perform the mental gymnastics required to figure out how someone else is affording any lifestyle.
   (Side note – to that end, please don’t ask me for money and lie to me about why it is needed. I pay attention in that regard, too, and it makes me less inclined to help in the future – which sucks – because I am an incredibly generous person.)
2. Whether someone likes me. It would be nice if everyone liked me. And I’d also prefer to eat my weight in Cool Ranch Doritos and not gain weight. Some dreams have to be surrendered. There are, in fact, people who do not like me. Lots of people. There are people who probably have legitimate reasons not to like me. There are people who don’t like me because of something I’ve done. There are people who don’t like me because of something they’ve heard. There are people who decided they weren’t going to like me a long time ago and have decided to ignore noticeable changes in me so that I still fit into whatever picture they have painted of me in their minds. Fair enough. I am learning that my responsibility is my behavior – not someone else’s conclusion about it. If I’ve done something wrong, I can address it. If I owe an apology, I can give one. If there is something legitimate that I need to change, I can change it. But after that? Their opinions belong to them.
   (And if I hear through the grapevine that someone doesn’t like me, but I am never confronted? Meh. That’s none of my business either.)
3. What my hair looks like in the back of my head. My younger sister used to make fun of me because I was famous for straightening every piece of hair I could actually reach and leaving a crease in the bottom layer of my hair in the back. I have high hopes that my current hair straightener doesn’t miss anything, but the truth is that I never really know. Best just to not think about it.
4. How someone parents his/her children. There are obvious exceptions here, as abuse and neglect are not “parenting differences.” If a child is genuinely unsafe, adults should intervene appropriately. But normal parenting decisions like bedtimes, screen time, whether the kid eats organic blueberries or dino nuggets. The homeschool v. private school v. public school debate. Breast or bottle. Vaccines or no vaccines. I have had enough difficulty raising my own. Families are different. Circumstances are different. And despite the confidence of the internet, there does not appear to be one universally acceptable method of taking care of a human being. If that were the case, someone would’ve already written the “Parenting for Dummies 101” handbook. It is neither my burden nor my place to advise other people how to raise their kids.
5. The weather. Rain, shine, snow. Hot, cold, or anywhere in between. I don’t care. It is my assumption (and probably an incorrect one) that most people – most women, anyway – look at the weather report to plan ahead when it comes to fashion choices. And since I wear some combination of leggings, yoga pants, and sweatshirts all year long, it isn’t necessary for me to check the weather app.
6. Someone else’s relationship. This one is difficult for me, especially when I love one of the people involved. I can see things that concern me. I can think they’re making a mistake. I can want better for them. I can pray for them. And when appropriate, I can – in grace and truth – let someone know that I care about what I see. But there is a line between offering wisdom and trying to manage someone else’s life. Adults get to choose their relationships. They get to stay, leave, forgive, try again, mess up, and learn lessons I desperately wish I could teach them without their having to experience them. That is hard. But love doesn’t give me ownership. And sometimes it’s best to say, “I’m here if you need me,” and then step back.
7. The prices of necessities. Everybody is struggling financially in some way, it seems, and the economy is less-than-helpful these days. When my husband and I flew to Atlanta over the summer, we rented a car because we had to have one to get around the city. An Uber would’ve been too cumbersome because of my husband’s wheelchair. Four days. Four hundred bucks. I remember when you could rent a car for a whole weekend for $19.99 a day! Gas is nearly $4.00 a gallon. My last box of tampons was $12.00. Milk. Bread. Eggs. Diapers. Formula (which I have recently purchased – and I nearly fainted). Those little government elves know that consumers will buy certain things because we need them, regardless of cost. And since there are things I have to have – as a car owner, as a woman, as an American citizen, it’s just easier for me to ignore the dollar amount and “add to cart.”
8. Why someone hasn’t texted me back yet. One of the biggest differences in Yesteryear Me and Now Me is the way I handle a lack of response. It used to send me in a panic. Are they mad? Did I say something? Was my last text weird? Did the period at the end make me seem aggressive? Are they busy? Are they deliberately ignoring me? Have they decided they hate me? Are they dead? Should I check their socials to see if they’re active? No. No, I should not. Someone else’s silence is information I can receive without turning it into an investigation. And someone else’s lack of response is not evidence of my worthlessness. I am not chasing anybody, and that includes electronic chasing. Get back with me when you can. If you want. Or don’t. It’s none of my business.
9. In this house, the dishes and the trash. My son is in charge of the trash. My husband is in charge of the dishes. I am in charge of the laundry and the bathrooms. So I won’t be managing anyone else’s chores, because I have my own to manage. Which reminds me…I need to move the clothes from the washer over to the dryer…please hold.
10. Whether or not someone hears me. So here’s the deal. If I am having a conversation with you, and you actually can’t hear what I’m saying, I’ll gladly repeat myself as many times as is needed during our conversation. But if you hear me, and you acknowledge that you hear me, and the conversation ends, it is your responsibility to retain that information. I am far too busy with my own thoughts to be managing yours. Write it down. Put it in your notes app. Send yourself a voice recording. Whatever you need to do. Because I’m not reminding you.
    (Can you tell that weaponized incompetence is a huge pet peeve of mine?)

I suppose I should make that trash in the floor my business, officially. We love our dogs. We’d also love it if they had opposable thumbs. But I digress.

Ten Tiny Decisions That Have Made My Life Better

I love a dramatic life change.

A fresh start.

A new goal.

A beautifully organized plan beginning on a Monday, preferably on the first day of the month, ideally with a brand-new notebook.

Nothing says “I have completely changed as a human being” quite like purchasing office supplies.

But when I look at the things that have actually improved my life, most of them aren’t dramatic at all.

They’re tiny.

Almost boring.

Decisions that didn’t feel particularly important when I made them.

I just made them again.

And again.

And somewhere along the way, they started changing things.

Here are ten.

1. I Started Writing Things Down

Appointments.

Goals.

Thoughts.

Prayers.

Things I need to buy.

Things I don’t want to forget.

Things I’m learning.

Things I’m feeling.

Things I need to do tomorrow.

I’ve stopped expecting my brain to simultaneously process emotions, remember the grocery list, contemplate the meaning of life, remember an appointment three weeks from Thursday, and remind me that we’re almost out of toilet paper.

She has enough going on.

Writing things down gives my thoughts somewhere to go besides in circles.

And apparently there is a reason I love notebooks so much:

Paper holds things without worrying about them.

2. I Started Waiting Before Responding

Not every text needs an immediate response.

Not every accusation requires a defense.

Not every uncomfortable feeling needs to become a conversation.

Not every thought needs to become a sentence.

This has been revolutionary.

Sometimes I type the response.

Read it.

Delete it.

Put the phone down.

Take a bath.

Go to sleep.

And discover the next morning that the United States government has continued functioning despite the fact that I did not send my paragraph.

Sometimes I still need to address the issue.

But the version of me who responds tomorrow is often considerably wiser than the version holding the phone while emotionally activated.

Urgency is a feeling. It isn’t always a fact.

3. I Started Asking, “Can Tomorrow Me Handle This Better?”

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Not everything needs to be solved tonight.

The difficult email.

The decision.

The conversation.

The thing I’m trying desperately to figure out at 11:42 p.m.

There are problems that genuinely require immediate attention.

Most of mine don’t.

Sometimes I need food.

Sometimes I need sleep.

Sometimes I need distance.

Sometimes I need to stop treating an exhausted brain like an emergency management center.

I’ve learned that “I’ll deal with this tomorrow” can be wisdom instead of avoidance.

4. I Started Making My Home Somewhere I Actually Want to Be

This one matters more than I realized.

My home isn’t just where I sleep.

It’s where I work.

Pray.

Write.

Cry.

Think.

Rest.

Laugh.

Plan.

Recover.

Live.

So I’ve started caring more about how it feels.

A straightened room.

A blanket I like.

A candle.

A clean counter.

A comfortable chair.

Little things that make me happy when I look at them.

Home doesn’t need to look like a magazine.

It needs to feel like somewhere my nervous system can exhale.

And mine increasingly does.

5. I Started Letting Some People Be Wrong About Me

I would like everyone to understand me.

Correctly.

Preferably after reviewing all relevant evidence.

Unfortunately, this service is unavailable.

There are people who misunderstand me.

People who know an old version of me.

People who don’t like me.

People who have heard something about me and decided that’s enough information.

And sometimes I need to correct something.

But sometimes?

I don’t.

I’ve learned to ask:

Will explaining this actually accomplish anything?

If the answer is no, I am increasingly capable of doing something previously unimaginable:

Going about my day.

Someone else’s inaccurate opinion does not automatically become my emergency.

6. I Started Reading My Bible Regularly

Not just looking for a verse that makes me feel better.

Not just opening it when something goes wrong.

Actually reading it.

Book by book.

Chapter by chapter.

Trying to understand who wrote it.

Who they were talking to.

What was happening historically.

What God was teaching.

And something unexpected happened.

The more I learned Scripture, the harder it became to make God sound exactly like me.

Sometimes Scripture comforts me.

Sometimes it corrects me.

Sometimes I read something and think:

Well, I don’t particularly care for that.

Which may be exactly when I need to pay attention.

I’ve learned that I don’t only need a God who comforts me.

I need a God who corrects me too.

7. I Started Asking Whether I’m Reflecting or Ruminating

This is new.

And I am nowhere near perfect at it.

But I’ve started noticing when productive reflection turns into an internal interrogation.

Have I learned anything new in the last twenty minutes?

Is there an action I need to take?

Is there a decision to make?

Or am I asking the same question in twelve slightly different ways because I’m hoping one of them will finally produce absolute certainty?

Sometimes I can catch it now.

Oh.

We’re doing the thing.

And instead of solving it one more time, I try to return to whatever is actually happening in front of me.

I’m learning that I don’t have to attend every meeting my brain schedules.

8. I Started Keeping Small Promises to Myself

This sounds insignificant.

It isn’t.

For years, I thought self-trust meant believing I’d know what to do when something big happened.

Now I think self-trust is built mostly through little things.

I said I’d do this.

So I did.

I said I’d save that money.

So I saved it.

I said I’d make the appointment.

So I made it.

I said I’d finish the thing.

So I finished it.

Not perfectly.

I still procrastinate.

I still change my mind.

I still occasionally betray myself for something available with free two-day shipping.

But increasingly, my own word means something to me.

And every small promise I keep seems to add another brick to something I’ve spent years trying to build:

I trust myself.

9. I Started Letting Feelings Exist Without Immediately Doing Something About Them

This may be one of the smallest decisions with the biggest impact.

I can be angry without sending the text.

Sad without deciding my life is terrible.

Anxious without seeking immediate reassurance.

Guilty without sentencing myself.

Lonely without reaching for the wrong person.

Afraid without abandoning something important.

Uncomfortable without fixing the discomfort.

I used to think emotional regulation meant getting rid of the emotion.

Now I’m learning that sometimes it simply means:

I feel this. And I don’t have to do anything destructive because I feel it.

The feeling gets a seat.

It does not get the steering wheel.

10. I Started Asking God Before Asking Everybody Else

This one has quietly changed me.

I still talk to people.

I still ask for advice.

I still go to therapy.

I still research.

I still occasionally consult the entire internet about something that probably required five minutes of thought.

But I’m trying to develop a different first instinct.

Pray.

Before the text.

Before the Google search.

Before asking someone else what they think.

Before building my case.

Before deciding what something means.

Before trying to control the outcome.

God, what do You want me to do with this?

Sometimes I don’t immediately get an answer.

But prayer changes the posture I bring to the question.

Instead of beginning with:

How do I make this turn out the way I want?

I can begin with:

How do I behave faithfully inside whatever happens?

Those are very different questions.

None of These Decisions Changed My Life Overnight

That’s what I find interesting.

There was no dramatic moment when I started writing things down and suddenly became organized.

I didn’t wait before sending one text and immediately become emotionally mature.

One Bible study didn’t transform my faith.

One boundary didn’t cure my need for approval.

One unanswered thought didn’t end rumination.

One kept promise didn’t create self-trust.

One prayer didn’t eliminate my desire for control.

But then I did it again.

And again.

And again.

Tiny decisions became patterns.

Patterns started becoming habits.

Habits started influencing character.

And character started influencing the kind of life I was building.

Final Thought

I think I used to overestimate what one enormous decision could change and underestimate what a thousand tiny decisions could.

I wanted transformation to feel transformational.

Big.

Emotional.

Obvious.

A before-and-after picture.

But most of my growth hasn’t happened that way.

It happened when I put the phone down.

When I opened the Bible.

When I wrote something down.

When I went to bed.

When I kept the promise.

When I didn’t buy the thing.

When I let someone misunderstand me.

When I noticed the thought and didn’t chase it.

When I felt something without obeying it.

When I prayed before trying to fix everything myself.

Nobody applauded.

Most of the time, nobody even knew.

But maybe that’s how a life actually changes.

Not through one giant decision to become a completely different person.

But through hundreds of ordinary moments when I quietly decide:

I’m going to do this a little differently today.

And then tomorrow…

I do it again.

I have spent a lot of my life just trying to “fit.” And trying to make sure there was a seat for me.

In friendships.
In relationships.
Families.
Conversations.
People’s priorities.
People’s lives.

Sometimes – many times, in fact – I’ve tried to earn the seat by being useful. Sometimes by being agreeable. Sometimes by being funny. Helpful. Available. Understanding. Forgiving. Easy. Sometimes I’ve fought for the seat by explaining myself over and over, hoping that if I could just find the right words, someone would finally understand me. Sometimes I’ve competed for it. Chased it. Sometimes I’ve accepted crumbs because at least crumbs meant I hadn’t been completely excluded from the table. And sometimes I have worked incredibly hard to keep a seat that nobody actually offered me in the first place.

I am so tired of doing those things.

I will not fight for my seat anymore.

If I have to convince someone that I belong, I probably don’t. My instinct, historically, has been to try harder. If someone pulls away, move closer. If someone misunderstands me, explain more. If someone doubts me, prove myself. If someone doesn’t see my value, demonstrate it. If someone seems capable of living without me, find a way to become indispensable.

There is an exhausting amount of work involved in trying to convince someone that I deserve a place in their life. And I’m learning that genuine belonging doesn’t require campaigning. People who want me around generally make room. Not perfectly. Not constantly. I know life gets busy. Relationships go through seasons. People have responsibilities and problems that have absolutely nothing to do with me.

I don’t need constant reassurance. But there is a difference between a relationship “going through a quiet season” and a relationship that requires constant proof that I deserve to exist. And I am learning to recognize it.

I don’t want to compete for affection. I don’t want to wonder whether I’m interesting enough. Useful enough. Pretty enough. Successful enough. Easy enough. Fun enough. Agreeable enough. Needed enough.

I don’t want relationships where someone else’s presence makes me feel as though my position is suddenly threatened. I don’t want to compete with another friend or family member or priority…or even another version of myself that someone liked more. Love isn’t supposed to feel like musical chairs, and I don’t want to spend my life circling the room terrified that the music will stop and I’ll discover that there isn’t a place for me.

I don’t want to audition, either. I have spent a year learning how to present authentically, and I don’t want to revert back to performing for belonging. I don’t want to have to carefully edit myself into whatever version seems least likely to be rejected. I don’t want to outwardly agree when I inwardly disagree. I don’t want to laugh off things that hurt. I don’t want to stay silent just because the truth might make someone uncomfortable. I don’t want to feel obligated to say yes for fear of disappointing someone. I don’t want to hide parts of myself because I’m afraid they won’t be accepted…or constantly monitor someone’s mood to determine which version of me is safest to enter the room. I want relationships where I can continue growing without constantly auditioning for approval. Belonging should not require a recurring performance review.

None of this means that I am willing to walk away from anything that is hard. I think our culture overcorrects in that regard.

“If they wanted to, they would.”
“Never chase anyone.”
“Match their energy.”
“Cut them off.”

Those phrases sound empowering. And sometimes they’re even useful. But relationships between actual human being are more complicated than captioned Instagram graphics.

People get hurt. They withdraw. They misunderstand each other. They go through depression, grief, illness, stress, parenthood, work problems, and seasons when they don’t have much to give.

Sometimes love does require effort. Sometimes I should initiate. Sometimes I should apologize. Sometimes I should call again. Sometimes I should humble myself and admit that I contributed to separation.

“I won’t fight for my seat” should never become pride disguised as self-respect. That’s not what I mean. And there are relationships I have fought for. By communicating, listening, apologizing, forgiving. By changing behavior, having uncomfortable conversations, showing up, being patient, giving someone room.

I will fight…for people.

But I don’t think it is wise to fight against people for permission to matter to them.

Jesus loved people, but He didn’t change the truth to keep the crowd. He doesn’t force us to follow Him. He doesn’t measure His identity by unanimous approval.

And I want to learn something from that.

Love generously.
Leave the door open when appropriate.
And recognize that I am not responsible for forcing someone through it.

I have fought…for my marriage. For healthy relationships.
I have fought against unhealthy patterns. To become someone who is safe to love.

But I will not fight another person for permission to take up space in their lives.
I won’t compete.
I won’t perform.
I won’t make myself indispensable so someone doesn’t leave.
I won’t buy belonging with favors.
I won’t abandon my values to remain included.
I won’t spend my life trying to convince someone that I am worthy of a chair they clearly don’t want to pull out for me.

And if someone chooses not to make room?

I can grieve that.
I can miss them.
I can wish things were different.
I can even leave room in my heart for circumstances to change someday.

But I don’t have to eat the crumbs. I don’t have to stand behind the table begging. I am not a dog.

And maybe one of the most important things I have learned is that I don’t need to fight for every seat. Instead, I need to take good care of the ones that I’ve actually been given. And instead of overlooking the people who have quietly stayed all along, I need to recognize – more readily – the very few people who haven’t asked me to prove anything. Those who said, “Sit down. We saved you a place.”

In September, I gave myself a simple assignment: Learn something knew every day.

And I did.

Some days, what I learned was practical.
Some days, it was spiritual.
Some days, it was meaningful.
Somedays, it was something completely random that will probably never improve my life, but may make me surprisingly useful during a very specific category of Jeopardy or a trivia boardgame.

I learned about the Bible.
I learned about people.
Fun facts about topics that interest me.
Things about myself that were considerably less “fun.”

I paid attention.
Asked questions.
Collected information.

And by the end of the month, I realized that knowing more isn’t necessarily the same thing as progression.

So October has a different assignment. This month, I want to practice what I’ve learned.

Knowledge is the easy part. I love learning. Give me a question and access to information and I will happily disappear down a rabbit hole. I love understanding why. Why do I behave this way? Why does my brain do that? What does this Bible verse actually mean? Why did that bother me? What is the healthiest response? What’s the difference between guilt and shame? Between rest and avoidance? Between reflection and rumination? Between love and control?

Understanding things makes me feel like I’m growing. And sometimes I am. But I can become incredibly knowledgeable about a problem…

…and continue doing the exact same thing. I can understand a pattern without breaking it. I can identify a trigger and still react to it. I can recognize that I’m ruminating and continue doing it. I can know that someone’s opinion doesn’t determine my worth and still spend three hours trying to change their opinion. I can understand that I cannot control another person and still mentally construct seventeen strategies for controlling an outcome.

Apparently, my brain can receive a memo without ever forwarding it to the rest of me.

Knowing isn’t the finish line.

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” – James 1:22.

Instant conviction.

Because I can study Scripture all day. Underline it. Highlight it. Write it in my journal. Research the historical context. Write a blog post about it. Put it in my own handwriting beside a tiny pumpkin in my bullet journal.

But eventually…I have to live it. And even as much as I have tried – in the last year – the goal this month is to focus on intentional execution.

Truth that never reaches behavior is just information.

October is about the gap. The gap that exists between what I know and what I do.

I think everyone has one. And mine is much smaller in some places than it used to be. But in others…I have some work to do.

My therapist says I am one of the most self-aware patients she has ever treated…

…and that’s not a compliment.

Noticing something and then giving in to every urge that wants to circle back to the “analyzing” phase is my brain’s way of stalling action. To notice a feeling is one thing. To sit in it for hours and hours – trying to make sense of it before moving on – is delay. My feelings matter just like everyone else’s. But feelings are information, not instructions. So I don’t have to act on every one.

I can feel rejected without chasing reassurance.
I can be angry without sending the text.
I can feel afraid without shrinking or retreating.
I can feel guilty without staring at my own reflection…berating myself.
I can miss someone without trying to force closeness.
I can feel uncomfortable…
…and remain uncomfortable.
Because discomfort does not automatically require action.
Sometimes it is enough to acknowledge a feeling…and then fold laundry.

If I believe in grace, I have to practice grace. And that means I have to include myself. I am very comfortable believing that other people are complicated human beings. They have histories, wounds, bad coping mechanisms. They’ve made poor choices. They have their own set of weaknesses. And I can look at someone else’s worst moments and still understand that isn’t his/her whole identity. And then I look at myself and all nuance leaves the building. I do believe I am held to a much higher standard by others than they even place upon themselves. In a math equation, there are so many people in my life who – from a human perspective – have committed acts much more harmful than mine – and yet I am the one who gets rejected. Abandoned. Judged. Criticized. And maybe it is for that reason that I struggle with grace. October is about practicing the grace I claim to believe in. Not excusing myself. Not minimizing harm. Not rewriting history. But refusing to believe that accountability requires permanent self-contempt. I have learned the different. Now I have to walk like I believe it.

If I believe He is trustworthy, I have to loosen my grip on things that make me feel secure. I have to stop interfering. I know He is in control. I say I trust His timing. I speak prayers of surrender daily. And then five minutes later I’m in agony over a situation I already gave to Him. Trust isn’t something I exercise by writing it in my journal. Sometimes it looks like waiting. Leaving someone alone. Letting an unanswered question remain unanswered. Accepting that I cannot see everything God is doing. And resisting the urge to grab back what I already relinquished.

If I believe in forgiveness, I have to forgive.
If I believe my words matter, I have to speak up when necessary and keep my mouth shut otherwise.
If I believe I am responsible for my choices, I have to make the right ones.

October is about repetition. I didn’t expect to wake up this morning and suddenly behave perfectly according to all I’ve learned. That is not how habits work and it’s not how character works. Sanctification is about rinsing and repeating. I want the things I am learning to move from my journal into my calendar. My conversations. My reactions. My spending. My relationships. My thought patterns. My marriage. My work. My ordinary Tuesdays. And that is where I hope knowledge will eventually become wisdom.

If September answered the daily questions, “What did I learn today?” then I want October’s daily question to be “What did I do with what I learned?” And I think that is the question I need right now.

Because I have learned a lot. About myself. About God. My patterns. Love. Shame. Control. Thoughts. Forgiveness. Peace. And about what kind of person I want to become.

Now comes the less glamorous part…practice.

Again…
…and again…
…and again…
…until something that once required enormous intention begins to come more naturally. Until the things I believe start showing up in the way I live. Until knowledge becomes wisdom. Until lessons become habits.

Until seeds become fruitful.

And when I eventually look back at this season, I hope I can see evidence that something grew here.

May the harvest show what I have been cultivating.

I will admit that the concept of forgiveness – especially in today’s world – where everyone is “woke” – really confuses me.

When it comes to other people, I forgive very easily. No matter the offense.

Exclude me on purpose? Forgiven.
Say something cruel? Forgiven.
Gossip behind my back? Forgiven.
Use me or manipulate me? Forgiven.

There are a few reasons for this. One, much like love, I believe forgiveness – if it is genuine – is unconditional. No strings, ultimatums, or stipulations. Two, while I do believe it is natural for people to want to protect themselves, true forgiveness leans into second chances (and third and fourth and so on…). And three, I don’t think that Jesus – while hanging on that cross – thought, “Okay, I’m doing this so that My people are forgiven, but they only get [insert number here] chances, and then they no longer have a seat at my table.” That would have defeated the purpose of the cross altogether.

So I forgive other people. And I don’t attach a number to it. Or conditions. Not because I’m some superhero that never hurts – quite the opposite, in fact. But because Jesus forgives me daily. He doesn’t shun me…no matter how many times I mess up…or how many of the same mistake I repeat.

But I do have a problem forgiving myself. I have carried various levels of shame for a very long time – probably since I was a child. I do not know why it is easier for me to let others off the hook while holding myself to a much higher, much less compassionate standard. And I am working on it.

But if you ask me to name the things I hold over my own head, the monologue you would get in response would likely exhaust you.

(Honestly, I feel bad for my therapist.)

I have condensed the list for the sake of this blog.

1. The choices I made that hurt people I love. I carry regret for the ways my decisions have impacted my husband, my children, my family, and the friends I used to have. I am learning that acknowledging the hurt doesn’t mean I have to carry it forever, but I struggle with the fact that some of the choices I have made caused people I truly love to suffer.
2. The times I was dishonest. I think back to lies I told and information I omitted in order to avoid consequences, in order to be accepted, in order to keep peace, and I still carry a satchel of shame over the versions of myself I presented that were not authentic. I know why I did it. But that doesn’t negate the behavior.
3. The people I chose who were not good for me. I stayed in relationships that were not healthy, knowing they were hurting me, and I allowed people in my life who didn’t truly care much for me. I ignored red flags. I lost time, peace, and pieces of myself in the process – all for the sake of not being lonely.
4. The ways I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be. I beat myself up for the moments I was selfish, distracted, impatient, emotionally unavailable, or overstimulated. I wish I had handled certain situations differently. I am learning to hold those moments with grace. I think it’s easy to forget that parents are humans, too.
5. The times I let my emotions make the decisions. I’ve said things I shouldn’t have, reacted instead of responding, and let hurt, anger, and fear drive my choices. I forgive myself for the times I made things worse instead of sitting with my emotions long enough that the fear subsided.
6. The dreams I delayed (or abandoned entirely). There are things I wanted for my life that I pushed aside – sometimes because of poor choices, sometimes because of circumstances, and sometimes because I didn’t believe I was competent. I need to let go of the time I’ve lost and the confidence I didn’t have. In reality, my goals have changed, and I look forward to using the next decade of my life settling into them. There is always something to work toward.
7. The ways I treated myself poorly. I tend to give everyone else a pass, but I’ve been hard on myself – for my appearance, my habits, and the neglectful things I have done to ensure that I am okay physically, emotionally, and mentally. In those seasons, I didn’t recognize my own value. And some days I still don’t. But at least I am making progress. I have begun therapy. I fast intermittently. I have a long overdue surgery scheduled for November. I’m getting there.
8. The times I knew better but did it anyway. I’ve compromised my values, ignored my convictions, and made decisions I knew were not right, because the urgency to pacify my feelings took priority over my character. In no way can I undo those decisions. But I am learning to sit in the consequences of them while making better ones today and in preparation for tomorrow.
9. The people I hurt with my words and actions. There are friendships, family relationships, and other connections that are likely forever damaged because I proved myself untrustworthy in my behavior…sometimes unintentionally…sometimes because I was self-focused. I am grieving those relationships, and I am letting go of people who no longer wish to be a part of my life. And I am trying to give myself grace for the pain I caused without justifying the ways I have affected others.
10. The fact that I am still “in progress.” I can be impatient with myself for how long healing takes, for the patterns I still fight, and for the areas where I haven’t “arrived” yet. I am not perfect. I am still learning, and I am still human. I am the person who has to be with me forever. It is probably best if I take the slow and steady route. Quick and easy fixes don’t usually last, and for me, those types of changes tend to be more performance based. And if I’ve learned anything in the last 40 years, it’s that performance gets me nowhere.

I am not who I was. And I am still learning who I am meant to be. I’m the same girl. With a little more grace and a lot more sense. I am more rooted in my values and less driven by perception. I am still becoming.