This is truth.
This is a very personal post. So, a warning: don’t read if you aren’t up for a little oversharing.
I have recently lost a person very close to me. I feel hurt, angry, and most of all, betrayed. I trusted this person with all of my soul.
And the irony—I knew this man. I knew what he was like. I knew he did not value commitment in his relationships. So mostly, I am angry at myself. For being what I am, most of the time: optimistic.
I was optimistic that somehow, I would be the one to change everything.
And I let myself down—or at least that’s what it feels like—by not using my best judgment. Call it love, call it naivety, call it hope… it happened.
And now I am left trying to understand the only part of this loss I can actually do anything about, which is me. My self-worth has taken a hit.
But I am starting to see something more clearly:
Maybe I didn’t fail myself by being optimistic.
Maybe I was being exactly who I am—a person who sees possibility, who loves deeply, who believes people can rise.
That is not a flaw.
It just met someone who could not meet it back.
During this rough patch, I am also working very hard in the Al-Anon program. That is a very private thing, so I won’t share much. But most of us have been hurt by, or affected by, addiction in this lifetime. One in twenty people suffer from the horrific disease of substance use disorders.
I am working Step Four, which encourages you to take a fearless and honest look at yourself. (Honestly, everyone should do this kind of work at some point.)
And one of the things I have come to realize is this:
No one has the right to judge another person. Ever.
What would it look like to truly let that go? Can you imagine a world where you exist and never toss daggers at someone else for what you perceive to be true?
By the way, I learned a definition of sanity the other day that stopped me in my tracks:
Sanity is when you see reality as truth.
Let that sink in.
All of this self-reflection has me thinking about how I want to be in the world. The other morning, I had coffee with a good friend. He said simply, “I try to live a noble life.”
I thought about that for a long time.
For me, a noble life would be:
Not speaking ill of others, even when I’m hurt
Letting people carry what is theirs to own
Focusing only on what I can control
Keeping my own life in order and releasing the rest
Resisting the urge to fix, and choosing instead to listen
I have always been a fixer. I like to solve things, and I solve them fast. When you have a problem and tell me about it, I can have three solutions ready before you can count to one.
But I am learning—that is not always helpful.
Most people don’t want solutions. They want to be heard.
So maybe a noble life, for me, also means fewer—but more intentional—words.
But here is the part I am just beginning to understand:
A noble life is not about becoming smaller.
It is not about staying silent when you’ve been hurt.
It is not about extending grace to everyone else while withholding it from yourself.
Maybe a noble life also means:
Telling myself the truth about what happened
Allowing my anger without letting it define me
Not rewriting reality just to make it easier to carry
Honoring my intuition next time, without punishing myself for this time
Treating myself with the same compassion I offer everyone else
Because seeing reality clearly—that is sanity.
And the reality is this:
I loved someone who could not love me in the way I deserved.
And I stayed longer than my wisdom might have preferred… because my heart was hopeful.
That is human.
Not shameful.
Hete’s to new adventures and new lessons. I am ready to start again. Any advice on moving out of pain and into healing is most welcome.
