Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • Raspberry Disappointment

    I am learning to let people be disappointed in me without fixing it.

    It isn’t coming from a place of anger. It’s coming from a place of exhaustion.

    For a long time, I believed disappointment was something to resolve immediately. I adjusted myself, over-explained, and sometimes even offered more of myself – money, time, affection, attention, compliments – until everyone was okay again.

    What I am figuring out now is simpler, but much harder. Sometimes disappointment is just information, not a problem that needs immediate resolution.

    I used to think disappointment was a personal failure. If someone felt let down, I assumed I had done something wrong. I scrambled for context, compromises, and even apologized, often before understanding whether or not I had actually crossed a line.

    I confused care with correction. I thought caring meant preventing discomfort at all costs. But removing every hard feeling is not empathy. It’s control disguised as kindness.

    (I told you I had control issues.)

    I overextended to soften other people’s feelings. I filled gaps I did not create. I paid emotional debts I did not owe. And I smoothed the rough edges of myself so that others would find me “acceptable.”

    I did all of this because I believed that fixing disappointment would keep relationships safe. If I responded fast enough, nicely enough, thoroughly enough – enough, enough, enough – maybe nothing would fracture. But relationships that require constant repair from only one side are not stable. They’re just familiar. And even when it is hard to let go of the familiar, it is necessary when familiarity causes harm.

    I am learning now that disappointment does not always equal harm. Someone can be disappointed and still be okay. I can say no and still be respectful. And I can choose differently and still be kind.

    I am resisting the urge to over-explain. Explanation used to feel like responsibility. Now I’m noticing that, often times, it is just a reflex – a reflex rooted in fear of being misunderstood or disliked.

    I am allowing feelings to exist without managing them. Disappointment is a feeling. It’s not an emergency. It doesn’t need my immediate intervention to be valid. But as I started to recall how many times I have been disappointed in other people and their behavior – even maliciously hurtful behavior – and still survived that disappointment – I figured out that I can do the same thing.

    The trick is to stay grounded when others are uncomfortable. This is new. And quiet. And it requires that I stay present with myself instead of rushing outward.

    I am trusting that healthy relationships can tolerate friction. Mutual respect should not dissolve at the first unmet expectation. And if that is the case, the relationship was fractured, or at least fragile, long before that first feeling of disappointment.

    I am choosing self-respect over emotional appeasement. I care deeply, and I know that I do, whether others see it or not. But caring should not mean I have to contort myself. I can be considerate without correcting anything. And I can let people feel what they feel, and still stand where I stand.

    Letting people be disappointed (and stay disappointed) isn’t cruelty. It’s clarity. It creates room for honesty, for mutual responsibility, and for relationships that don’t depend on one person doing all of the emotional labor.

    I am not withdrawing. I’m just stabilizing. And while it has been a tedious process – one I am still working on – for the first time in my life – it feels like peace.

  • Indispensable Raspberry

    I am letting go of the urge to be indispensable.

    For a long time, i believed being needed was the safest way to belong.

    If I was useful enough – available enough – surely my spot would be secure.

    What I am learning now is that being indispensable actually means being exhausted.

    So this isn’t resignation – it’s relief.

    1. I confused worth with usefulness. I measured my value by how much I could do, fix, hold, or anticipate. I felt responsible. But it wasn’t sustainable.
    2. I thought being needed would protect me. If I made myself necessary, I wouldn’t be replaced – or abandoned. But reliance isn’t the same as connection.
    3. I over-functioned to stay relevant. I stepped in early. I stayed late. I filled gaps no one even asked me to fill. I paid for the dinner. Agreed to others’ criticism of me. All because it felt safer than stepping back.
    4. I rarely asked myself what I needed. I focused outward. It was easier than admitting my own limits.
    5. I equated vitality with loyalty. I made my own needs small. But loyalty that depends on self-erasure isn’t loyalty. It’s survival.
    6. I’m learning to trust natural connection. Relationships that stand the test of time don’t hinge on constant usefulness. They breathe. Fluctuate. They make room for rest.
    7. I am practicing being present, not essential. I can care without carrying everything. And I can contribute without overextending. And I do not have to abandon my own needs to tolerate the way others use me.
    8. I am letting people manage their own roles. I do not have to be the solution to remain valued. I am allowed to step back and let others step up.
    9. I am noticing how much lighter things feel. Without the pressure to prove my necessity, there is so much space left for ease and honesty. And for choice.
    10. I am choosing to be wanted, not required. I want relationships where I am valued for who I am, not for what I provide.

    I don’t need to be indispensable to matter. And I don’t need to be constantly useful to be loved.

    And letting go of that urge has been incredibly difficult. I look back on the number of relationships I should’ve walked away from a lot sooner than I did. I definitely haven’t lost my place in any relationship worth having.

    I’m standing in it.

  • Raspberry Space

    I will not fight for space in others’ lives.

    This isn’t an ultimatum.

    It’s also not up for debate.

    It’s just an understanding I’ve come to, gently but firmly.

    I will not audition for access. I will not negotiate for attention. And I will not compete with indifference.

    Not anymore. And not because I’m angry. I’m just done abandoning myself.

    1. I used to confuse effort with worth. I thought that if I showed up consistently, tried harder, explained better – I could secure a place in people’s lives, and perhaps even earn a spot on their list of priorities. What didn’t click was that belonging isn’t earned through exhaustion.
    2. I’ve learned that mutual interest does not feel like pursuit. My therapist once told me that friendships are usually based on mutual benefit. And when care is reciprocal, it moves naturally. There’s a certain rhythm that comes with the give and take of meaningful relationships. There’s a responsiveness – an ease – that comes with respectful, effective relationships, whether that relationship is with a spouse, a child, a friend, or co-worker, a pastor, or even an animal. A very unwise, cruel person once said to me, “In any relationship, someone always sacrifices more.” That is simply not true. And if I am straining to be seen, the answer is already there.
    3. I will not chase availability. If space has to be forced open, it is not a space meant to hold me. I am not longer rearranging myself to fit into rooms that were not made for me.
    4. I am done with conditional closeness. Affection that requires constant proving is not closeness at all. It’s performance. I want connection that stays – even on days when I feel like I can’t try anymore.
    5. I will step back where I am not met. Not loudly or dramatically. But with my dignity intact.
    6. I trust absence to tell me what words won’t. I no longer interrogate distance or explain it away. I let it speak. And in instances like that, yes, silence is loud. But it’s okay.
    7. I will no longer mistake tolerance for invitation. Being “allowed” around is not the same as being wanted. For far too long, I have operated under a “prove myself” mentality. And sometimes that meant excusing and/or tolerating behavior that I wouldn’t accept otherwise. I deserve to be “it.”
    8. I am making room for ease. Space that welcomes me does not require persuasion. And it doesn’t make me wonder where I stand.
    9. I am choosing self-respect over proximity. I would rather have fewer relationships that are mutual than many that require me to shrink or strain. Love does not have to be earned.
    10. I am not withdrawing. I am aligning. None of this is because I’ve given up. I’m just returning to myself.

    The people who want you in their lives won’t require convincing. And with all of my flaws, shortcomings, and failures, I exist on this planet because my life is worth something. YOU exist because yours is, too.

    So don’t chase. Don’t allow others to make space feel scarce. Meet effort with effort, care with care, and presence with presence. But do not fight for space that isn’t freely given. When a relationship becomes too one-sided, when it’s no longer easy, when you start to hate who you’ve become – all of those are signs to walk away without apology.

    You’re worth it.

  • Ducking Out Raspberry

    I will block you so fast now.

    As someone who internalized every broken relationship, like I was the problem. As someone who is often blamed for actually being the problem. As someone who overthinks every tone, every “off” vibe, every unanswered text. And as someone who is on a journey to let go of things, people, and situations that/who do not and will never help make me the best version of myself.

    I suppose that is why my “circle” is awfully small now.

    Stepping back from those things, people, and situations is so hard. It doesn’t always come after a big blow up. Sometimes ducking out happens after a series of small signals we explain away.

    I never pinned myself as a quitter. In fact, I too often held onto things that were not good for me, because walking away somehow seemed worse than hanging onto something unhealthy, something that drained me emotionally, or something that pushed me in a direction I did not want to go.

    But I realized, not too long ago, actually, that it’s not about quitting. It’s not even about withdrawing dramatically. This is about noticing when something – someone – a role – a conversation – no longer feels sustainable.

    I am learning to recognize those moments.

    1. I feel relief at the idea of distance. If imagining space feels calming instead of painful, that’s information I have started listening to, and it’s information I wish I had listened to earlier in my life. I could’ve saved myself a lot of heartache.
    2. I am the one putting in all the work. Initiation. Following up. Explanations. Repairs. Over-extended apologies just to keep the peace. When balance continues to tip one way, it’s a sign.
    3. My nervous system never fully relaxed. I’ve I’m braced, even during neutral moments, it’s not something to push through. No one should have to be on constant alert.
    4. I kept rehearsing conversations. Too many times, I scripted how to be understood instead of feeling understood, and that meant something was off.
    5. I found myself shrinking parts of myself to maintain harmony. I stopped expressing my needs. I edited reactions. I avoided honesty. And if you get nothing more from this post, please repeat this as many times as is needed: “Peace that costs you your voice is NOT peace at all.”
    6. I felt drained after most interactions. Occasional fatigue is normal, especially for introverts like me. But consistent depletion is a signal, and salvaging any relationship, NO MATTER WHO IT IS, is not worth the exhaustion.
    7. I stayed hopeful, but nothing changed. Effort without movement? That’s burnout. Hope needs evidence to stay healthy. I had to learn to recognize when I was the only one making the effort. Unfortunately, I often learned too late.
    8. I felt responsible for how things were going. We are not meant to carry relationships, roles, or dynamics alone.
    9. I stopped trusting my own experience. I found myself second-guessing how I felt. Something was undermining my self-trust, and it caused a lot of problems for me, internally.
    10. Stepping back felt like self-respect, not punishment. This is the clearest sign of all. When distance feels like care, it is time to go.

    May this post serve as a reminder to myself that stepping back doesn’t equal failure.

    It doesn’t mean I didn’t try hard enough.

    And it doesn’t mean I didn’t care.

    But sometimes, stepping back is necessary to stay whole.

    I hope you have an amazing week.

  • Cease to Explain Raspberry

    There was a time when I narrated myself constantly. Clarified. Softened. Qualified. Over-explained. As if being understood required footnotes.

    So this post isn’t about shutting down or being closed off. It is just about recognizing that some things are just…true.

    Some things do not require approval to exist.

    1. I need time to think. I process internally first. That is not avoidance. It’s just how I arrive honestly. And I don’t have to do it on anyone’s time table.
    2. I don’t always respond immediately. Urgency is not always appropriate. And during times when I feel like I am just living my life between messages, I will, without permission, walk away from an email exchange or a text conversation.
    3. I prefer fewer, deeper connections. It has never been important to me to have “lots” of friends. And it’s never been about exclusivity. But in a world where I have learned that I am one of two things – too much or not enough (which, how is that even possible?), it’s just capacity management.
    4. I get quiet before I provide clarity. My silence, while often times interpreted incorrectly, is usually a step closer to understanding, not the opposite.
    5. I am sensitive to tone. Tone is information, too. I don’t overread it. I just read it.
    6. I don’t enjoy constant intensity. Even though I would have at one point in my life equated chaos to chemistry, peace is no longer boring to me. It’s actually regulating. I am never up for being around judgmental, critical, hateful people.
    7. I ask questions. Curiosity is not interrogation. It’s interest.
    8. I do not always want advice. Sometimes I am not stuck. I am just being human, out loud. Why is that so hard for people to understand? Not all things require immediate solutions.
    9. I’ve changed. Growth doesn’t always need a press release. I am allowed to evolve quietly and without permission. And just because someone doesn’t think it’s genuine doesn’t make it fact.
    10. I’m learning to be comfortable being misunderstood. Understanding that costs me peace is too expensive. I am committed to doing things at my own pace. I am allowed to opt out of constant explanations.

    I am not withholding. I am just done justifying. The people who need these explanations already know them. The rest? They can fill in the blanks. Or not. They can talk about me behind my back. Or not. They can judge me from afar. Or they can give me grace for being a human being. Either way, I’m okay.

  • A Raspberry Doormat

    For a very long time, I thought being easygoing was a virtue. I thought accommodating meant mature. I thought absorbing discomfort meant loving well.

    What I didn’t realize was how often I prioritized others’ comfort over my own safety, clarity, and peace. I thought that’s what kindness required of me.

    Someone I love very much snapped at me today. Unprovoked.

    And because I can’t allow an unfortunate event to occur without thinking it to death, here I sit, at 9 p.m. on a Wednesday evening, trying to figure out how I became someone people believe can be run over emotionally.

    1. I confused empathy with endurance. I believed that understanding someone meant tolerating everything. And it doesn’t. Empathy does not require self-erasure.
    2. I mistook flexibility for obligation. Just because I can bend does not mean I should. Adaptability is a skill, but it’s not an expectation others get to place on me.
    3. I absorbed emotions that weren’t mine to carry. Other people’s anger. Disappointment. Their stress. I picked it all up like it was my responsibility to fix. And it wasn’t.
    4. I over-explained to keep the peace. I narrated my needs carefully, softly (at first) and endlessly, hoping it would prevent conflict. It rarely did. It just left me lost and exhausted.
    5. Other times, I stayed quiet to avoid being “difficult.” I have smoothed so many things over at my own expense so that I didn’t come across as “too much.” I laughed off or excused away so many of my own hurt feelings that I lost a big chunk of what was actually important to me. Silence felt safer than losing someone.
    6. I accepted bread crumbs because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I told myself things were fine when they weren’t, because wanting more felt like I was asking for too much. But it wasn’t too much. It was honesty.
    7. I confused patience with permission. Waiting longer for someone to treat me right or to get his/her own act together didn’t make things better. It just trained people in what I would tolerate.
    8. I believed love meant limitless access. But love without boundaries isn’t connection – it’s depletion.
    9. I equated discomfort with growth. Some discomfort is growing pains. On the flip side, sometimes discomfort is a warning. And learning the difference changed everything.
    10. I thought that saying “no” was cruel. It’s not, though. It’s clarity. It’s self-respect. And sometimes it is the most loving thing I can do, especially for myself.

    What I know now is that being kind doesn’t require keeping my mouth shut. Being loving doesn’t require self-abandonment. Being understanding doesn’t mean being endlessly absorbent.

    I’m still compassionate. I still care so deeply.

    I’m just no longer available to be walked on in the name of being “kind” or “easy going” or “nonjudgmental” or “understanding.”

    And honestly? This version of me is healthier. Stronger. She possesses more clarity and stands firmer in her boundaries.

    Here I stand.

  • Unremarkable Raspberry

    None of the below will make it into a bio.

    They won’t come up in icebreaking exercises or “get to know me” klatches.

    There is no “fun fact” energy here.

    And yet this is the stuff that actually makes me me.

    1. I need a moment to settle into most things. New rooms. New conversations. New days. I don’t arrive fully formed. I need to warm up.
    2. I function best when I know what to expect (and what is expected of me). It’s not about control, a thing of which I have often been accused (even by myself). But warnings help my nervous system stop scanning for danger, even in everyday-life-type circumstances. A cereal aisle. A church pew. A “We need to talk” text message.
    3. I care about tone more than anything. What people mean matters more to me than how perfectly they say it. Delivery is everything. So is kindness.
    4. I notice small shifts. Energy changes, mood changes, pace changes. It’s not drama. It is information I cannot unsee.
    5. I function better when mornings are gentle. Abruptness sticks with me all day. Slow starts are like preventative care to me.
    6. I need reassurance sometimes. Not constantly. Not desperately. But not disingenuously either. I need just enough to stay grounded.
    7. I am steadier than I look. I feel deeply. But I don’t collapse, even when I want to. Having survived every terrible thing meant to destroy me (yes, even terrible situations I created for myself), God’s grace, I believe, has seen me through. He has given me the gift of resilience. And that resilience can be quiet.
    8. I prefer honesty that isn’t harsh. The truth doesn’t need sharp edges to be real. Kindness does not dilute honesty.
    9. I am more observant than expressive, at least at first. I listen more than I speak. That can sometimes be misread as disinterest. But it’s not. It’s just wading waters.
    10. I am learning to trust that being “ordinary” is not a flaw. Granted, my career has developed itself into something pretty extraordinary. But the rest of my life is quiet. In fact, most people’s lives are small, repetitive and unremarkable. That doesn’t make my life, or yours, unimportant.

    Closing thoughts – these traits aren’t exciting. They don’t sparkle. They’re structural.

    They explain how I move through the world. What I need to feel safe. Why certain things matter to me more than others.

    Unremarkable. But crucial.

  • Competent Raspberry

    I have proof.

    Actual documented evidence.

    Emails sent. Texts exchanged. Problems solved. Days survived.

    And yet, somehow, my brain decides, periodically, that none of it counts.

    How does that even happen?

    1. I treat every new challenge like it’s my first day on Earth. Past experience? Irrelevant. Surely this obstacle will be the one that ends me.
    2. I discount success because it felt hard. If solving a problem required stress, effort, or learning, I assume it doesn’t qualify as competence, as if “easy” is the only acceptable metric.
    3. I assume good outcomes were luck. Timing. Kind people. A one-off fluke. Definitely not ability.
    4. I remember feedback selectively. Because criticism sticks like glue and praise travels right over my head like it was never meant for me.
    5. I raise the bar immediately after clearing it. Like the issue I just overcame was fine, but I need to think about why it doesn’t really count going forward. Facepalm.
    6. I compare my behind-the-scenes to other people’s highlight reels. A classic mistake. I know better. I do it anyway.
    7. I forget how many things I figured out without instructions. No roadmap. No manual. Not even a lot of advice. Just me and my phone, Googling, or watching a YouTube tutorial, and making it work.
    8. I confuse “still learning” with “not capable.” I think we all have this idea in our minds of what it means to be an adult, or by what age we should have an accomplished career, bought a house, or [insert adult thing here]. But being “in progress” in certain areas of my life does not erase things I already know.
    9. I overlook quiet achievements. I am really quick to shame myself when I don’t get credit, yet I neglect to give myself credit when I have overcome certain obstacles, big or little. I have mastered the art of homemade blueberry muffins. I talk to attorneys (technically even my bosses) like I am their equal, and I’ve done it so much that my input and my voice actually mean something to them. I am a fast reader. I learned how to use tampons all on my own. I cut my own bangs now with ease. Not everything I am good at is loud, impressive or visible. But that doesn’t make those things less real.
    10. I underestimate myself by default. It’s not because I am incapable. Or incompetent. It’s because self-doubt can be louder than receipts sometimes.

    Competence and a sense of accomplishment don’t always announce themselves. Those things accumulate quietly by showing up, learning, and being resilient. These days I practice by looking at the evidence, even when my brain tries to pretend that evidence is missing.

    Did you know you have survived every single thing meant to destroy you? That thing that’s whipping your physical body, mental health, or emotional stamina is another thing you’ll survive, too.

    Happy Tuesday to you.

  • The Raspberry Feels

    I have been accused by more than one person of being “too” emotional. Kind of ironic, since my opinion is that those people maintained the emotional maturity of a pencil eraser. Nevertheless, I let it bother me for a long time.

    Not anymore.

    I have come to realize that while other people may believe that being sensitive or emotional look like overreaction or dramatization on the outside, for those of us who have those qualities, there are valid reasons for it.

    1. I react strongly to things about which (or to people about whom) I care. It’s not an overreaction. It’s an investment. To be accused of caring too much is not an insult. It only means that the person making that accusation cares very little.
    2. I notice emotional shifts quickly. I sense changes in tone, mood, and energy. The Bible calls it discernment. And that awareness can feel intense – but it’s not imaginary.
    3. I feel things fully, not halfway. When I am happy, it shows. When I am sad, it settles in. The range of emotions I experience is not a liability. It’s depth.
    4. I need time to process experiences. I don’t (and will never) move on immediately because I don’t skim past things or people. Reflection takes time. And this is not an indulgence. It’s digestion.
    5. I empathize before I evaluate. My instinct is to understand how something feels before deciding what it means. And that is not a weakness. It just means I care. And I am done apologizing for it.
    6. I’m deeply affected by atmosphere. Crowds. Tension. Joy. Quiet. I absorb the room. And yes, that makes me sensitive, but sensitivity isn’t fragility. It’s responsiveness.
    7. I express what’s happening inside. Naming feelings tends to appear dramatic to people who don’t do it – or to people who lack any sort of empathy (these are typically people who also play victim in every bad circumstance of their own lives). Clarity is often louder (and better) than silence. If I don’t have anyone to talk to about my feelings, I write them down. Journals are sometimes the only outlet we get.
    8. I value authenticity over detachment. I would rather feel awkwardly honest than numb. I disagree with the whole premise of detachment. If anything is worth doing, it is worth doing passionately. That is a preference, not a problem.
    9. I don’t compartmentalize easily. Life overlaps. Emotions do not, and are not meant to stay in neat containers. And that’s okay. How disingenuous to have a bad day at work and come home to pretend things are fine. People who compartmentalize their lives are incredibly detached from reality, and since I disagree with the premise of detachment, I couldn’t possibly agree with compartmentalization.
    10. I am learning to trust my emotional volume. I am figuring out that just because something is vivid does not mean it is excessive. Some experiences deserve full color.

    May this post serve as a quiet reminder to myself to feel all the things, because it makes me who I am, and there is nothing wrong with who I am, even if other people don’t agree with the way I feel things, or the way I handle things because I feel them.

    May this post also serve as a public notice that feeling deeply does not mean you’re “too much.” It means you’re present, engaged, and paying attention. People who have genuine intentions will not be afraid of this part of you. They’ll actually welcome it, because honestly? The world could use more “feelers.”

    I hope you have had an amazing Monday.

  • Raspberry Forgiveness

    Just because you made mistakes in the past – even the recent past – does not mean you are stuck there forever.

    Life is not a straight line. Neither is growth.

    We all carry chapters in the novel of our lives of which we feel shame – when our actions didn’t align with our values.

    And now that you see those mistakes with clearer eyes, you wonder if changing makes you a hypocrite.

    It doesn’t.

    You are allowed, at any point in your journey, to decide that you want to change. Your core values, your convictions, your circle of friends, your priorities. You can change jobs, churches, cars, houses. You can all of the sudden decide that conserving water really matters to you and skip showers.

    An honest human being looks back on who he once was, sees his flaws, missteps, and poor behavior – whether he messed up once or a thousand times – whether it’s a one-off screw-up or a pattern of stumbles over the same darn bad habit over and over and over – and decide that that part or those parts of you do not define you anymore.

    Boom. Switch gears. Rearrange. Re-center.

    And what people in your life – or people that used to be in your life – tend to forget – is that that kind of growth – the kind that finally chooses to break those habits – takes a lot of courage…especially if you’ve lost a lot in the interim.

    But the courage to face your past without running away, without hiding, without shrinking the truth – the bravery to put in the time – to isolate, to focus, to push forward after everything you’ve lost – that’s not a declaration contradictory to your past. That’s a testament to your strength.

    And it can be very difficult to block out the noise of judgment and buckle down to get it done. In fact, that noise can be a major setback, because people often mistake growth – which is never linear – for inconsistency. They may look at you/your patterns and see a person who once did harm or held harmful views. And if you are actively fighting against those things NOW, those people might label you a hypocrite.

    But true hypocrisy exists when a person pretends to change without actually putting in that work.

    I’ll admit to being a hypocrite. As someone who learned incorrectly that I needed to “earn” love, not only did I look for it in all the wrong places and people, but I also accepted bread crumbs of affection from people around whom I could never be myself. People who expect more grace from me than they ever extended to me. People who spend very little time worried about my feelings and a great deal of time judging the worst parts of me.

    And that is their prerogative.

    (Changing who you are cannot be for or about anybody else. If so, it won’t stick.)

    Your past, your transgressions – big or small – repeated or singular – are part of your story, but not your whole story. Those chapters are dark ones. But they’re not the entire book.

    Holding yourself captive, through guilt and shame, for your past errors – that robs you of your present power and your future potential.

    You deserve the freedom to evolve – beyond your mistakes – without constantly being judged by what you once were – even if what you once were was only yesterday.

    You want a hint? The voice that condemns you for your past is often the same voice that fears change. It’s the voice that challenges fixed perception.

    But advocating against what you’ve done wrong? That displays a deep sense of self-awareness that many never reach. You’ve looked inside. You’ve recognized the harm. And you’ve chosen a different path.

    That is not hypocrisy – it’s growth made visible. And it’s part of your testimony – a beacon of hope to others who struggle with their own pasts. You become living proof that change is possible.

    So do not let other people use your history (yes, even recent history) as a weapon against your present truth. While their skepticism comes from a place of doubt, it may also come from an unwillingness to accept that people can change. It can also highlight areas of their lives that need to evolve.

    And growth? Phew. It’s messy. You’ll trip over mistakes along the way. You’ll fall back into old patterns. You’ll have a bad day and revert back to former ways of thinking.

    That doesn’t erase your progress. Each step you take forward, no matter how small, contributes to the person you are becoming. And while it is uncomfortable for those who are really trying, it is evidence that you are alive, learning, and striving to be better.

    Your past is not a prison – EVEN IF OTHERS WANT TO KEEP YOU THERE. The past is simply a teacher. Every mistake, every wrong turn, and every bad habit – they’re opportunities to gain wisdom and compassion. And when you own your past without shame, you disarm those who try to use it against you.

    It takes a great deal of humility to admit wrongdoing, and even greater humility to fight against it afterward. And that’s not weakness. That’s power. It’s power to redefine yourself and your values. It’s power to influence others by showing that change is not only possible, but sometimes necessary.

    Your journey is unique. Your growth will look different from everyone else’s. As I have already said, comparison is the thief of joy, so don’t compare your path to the paths of others. And don’t let others dictate how your growth should look. Those whose opinions really matter will recognize your growth and support you. Those who judge you by your past do not understand the complexity of being human (except those people always seem to justify their own mistakes – funny how that works). Others’ inability to accept your change says more about their emotional/mental limitations than about your character. Remember that. It’s important.

    Growth also means forgiving yourself. And this is the most tedious part of my personal journey. It has required that I accept my imperfections without losing sight of what I’m worth. And if I’m being honest, my mistakes and the patterns therein don’t exude “worthiness.” Slowly turning into someone I didn’t like anymore made me feel pretty lousy, and with nowhere to turn, I just accepted the most damaged parts of myself as truth. And I became trapped in guilt and shame.

    The sincerity of your efforts and the consistency of your actions over time are the only things that matter. You are not defined by the worst things you’ve done. You’re defined by the best things you choose to do now. And in a world so quick to assign labels – and so slow to forgive – your growth goes against the grain. It rebels against the idea that people are fixed and unchangeable.

    So straighten your shoulders. Deep breaths. And let your growth be a light for others – a light that influences their own growth. Choosing to make changes – making that commitment to yourself once and for all – is one of the most profound declarations of freedom anyone can make. Your past may have shaped you – but that’s not the end of the story.

    Focus on doing the next right thing, no matter how small. And one day you will look back and see a path of transformation – not just a trail of mistakes. You’ll see a journey marked not by where you fell, but by how you rose. Growth is not just about who you were – or even who you are now – it’s about who you become. In growth, you find your truest, most powerful self.