Raspberry Iced M

There was a time when I felt the need to explain everything.

My choices.
My intentions.
My side of the story.

If someone misunderstood me, I wanted to correct it.
If someone judged me, I wanted to challenge it.
If someone formed an opinion about me, I wanted to change it.

Prove. Argue. Defend. Because I needed to be understood.

Some of that came from fear.

Fear of being misrepresented.
Fear of being reduced to my worst moments.
Fear of been seen in a negative way, despite the good qualities I do possess.

And if I’m being honest, some of it also came from guilt. When you know you’ve made mistakes, you want to explain them.

Not excuse them. But add context. To say, “That’s not all of who I am.”

But I found out that defending myself didn’t usually change anything.

Understanding is never guaranteed.
Erasing the past is impossible.
And shifting people’s perspectives is a goal too difficult to achieve, because I spent all of my time explaining myself instead of actually changing what needed to be changed, so that I drained myself, but had nothing to show for it.

I was more focused on what other people thought than how I was actually living.

But gradually, something is shifting.

Now I resist the urge to respond to every opinion.
I don’t believe every misunderstanding needs to be corrected.
And I don’t think I need to explain myself in order to justify my progress.

The truth is that real changed doesn’t need to be argued. It shows up overtime.

So instead, I focus these days on being consistent.

The next. Right. Thing.
Quietly. No audience. No validation.

I still care. I feel it in my core when someone misunderstands me. I notice when others see me through an old lens.

But I don’t chase it anymore.
I don’t try to fix it in real time.

Because no one in this world needs to “understand” in order for me to live correctly.

And that means that I have had to accept that most people will always hold onto their own, old version of me. Opinions won’t change. Conclusions are permanent. Some bridges are forever burned.

And I have to wake up every day and make the choice to be okay despite the grief that comes with consequences.

I am not perfect. I will never be perfect.

But I am consistent. And over time, I am hoping that will speak louder than anything I could say.