Raspberry Iced M

There is a very specific brand of grief that comes with changing. Not because the work is hard (even though it totally is), but because not everyone stays long enough to see said change.

The reality is that some people will not forgive us for the mistakes we’ve made. Some people will not trust that our growth is genuine.

And in my experience, people have pinpointed and analyzed the worst things I’ve ever done, tallied them up, and then framed those mistakes as the truest things about me.

And the painful part? They’re allowed to do that.

It is the hardest lesson I have ever learned.

Forgiveness, unfortunately, cannot be demanded. It can’t be negotiated, argued for, or evidence-based into existence.

I can, and have, apologized sincerely, taken full ownership, and taken intentional, consistent steps to switch directions…

…and some people still decided that they’re done.

But that does not mean that the work I’ve done, and continue to do, is not real or sincere. It means that forgiveness belongs to them.

On the flip-side, however, self-forgiveness belongs to me.

Sometimes the consequence of betrayal, harm or repeated transgressions is distance. And unfortunately, that distance can become permanent.

That kind of hurt is unlike any hurt I have ever experienced. Even though I can understand why it happened, it still feels so unfair.

I know I’m not the same person. I recognize the internal work, because I am doing it. And when I reflect on that work, I notice changes, both small and large.

When safety is fractured, though, it doesn’t restore itself on my timeline. The fact of the matter is that I cannot control whether or not someone trusts my evolution. I can only live in it.

Many people in my life seem to have frozen my character in time, as if taking a snapshot of my worst season defines who I am.

No updates. No revisions. No footnotes. Just labels.

And because I have made so many mistakes I have a lot of experience with being written off. And my knee-jerk reaction used to be to over-explain, over-perform, and metaphorically gather witnesses who would testify that I’d changed.

But I cannot prove transformation by arguing it. I have to prove it by living differently, quietly, consistently, and over time, whether they see it or not.

Accountability’s narrative is, “I did these things and they were wrong.” Permanent shame invites our mistakes into our identity – “This is who I am.“

The former is honest. The latter is not.

I am responsible for my behavior. But I am not required to live forever inside its shadow.

The work I have done in the last 7 months is valuable, but I’m nowhere close to crossing any finish line, and in fact, I don’t think we really ever finish growing. But I have learned a few things during this excruciating process.

Forgiving myself when others haven’t feels instinctively disloyal right now. Like I’m excusing the harm I have caused.

But I know, objectively, that self-forgiveness isn’t erasure. It’s integration. And I don’t escape consequences by forgiving myself – I just have to choose to stop sentencing myself over and over.

Sometimes transformation happens offstage, without applause, reconciliation or restored trust.

This process has been lonely. It’s just me, choosing differently, again and again, even though no one is watching, and even though no one is returning. And that’s okay, because genuine growth – genuine transformation – is not performative.

In trying to reframe my mindset, I have to force myself to refrain from defending my humanity. I have to actively avoid chasing redemption through perfection. I have to curb my desire to collapse into self-hatred when I reflect on my errors. I can neither rewrite history nor live inside it. And I have to accept that some relationships – ones I truly cherish – ones I thought I couldn’t live without – may never again feel the same – but decide to put the work in anyway.

The bottom line is that I cannot force another person to relinquish the labels they assign to me. The only thing I can really do is take responsibility without becoming a permanent villain in my own story.

Forgiving myself does not mean the damage I caused isn’t real. Forgiving myself does mean, though, that I do not have to accept that the worst chapters of my are more valuable than the rest of the book.

I am grieving what I have lost while becoming someone new. That is, in equal measure, exceptionally painful, brave, and necessary.

May the bravery continue without relapse…