hard to say: I was wrong


It was the summer of 2008. After spending hours making myself up, I hit the club with a group of girls, dressed to kill. I spent the evening in a drunken stupor, stumbling around telling people they were ugly.

I was wrong.

In 2012 I met a perfectly kind girl at a friend’s wedding. I quickly decided she was a dirty slut based on how she looked. I then proceeded to talk badly about her to my male friends.

I was wrong.

I was 13 years old – somewhere between trying to be a good Christian for my parents and the angry rebel I would soon become – and although the context is now lost to me, I distinctly remember yelling at an innocent party, “Homosexuality is a sin!”

I was wrong.

In highschool, a friend came to me in confidence and told me she thought she might be gay. I immediately turned around and told a group of nearby gossips.

I was wrong.

I used to tell my mother she was stupid, frequently. It didn’t matter how tiny the mistake, I was on top of it. After years of this, she has come to believe it to be true. I watch her beat herself up for dropping something or stubbing her toe, and I am overcome with regret.

I was wrong.

I have lied, I have cheated, I have prejudged, I have discriminated, I have hurt people, I have used people, and I have torn people down in order to make myself feel bigger.

I was wrong.

With every ounce of my being, I believed that I was stupid, I was ugly, I was worthless, and I was unlovable. And I told myself so every day.

I was wrong.

The kindest thing I have done for myself (and continue to do) is to allow myself the freedom to change my mind. Admitting you are wrong is grueling. Just thinking about it can be enough to paralyze you with fear. I resisted with everything I had. Thankfully, I lost that war.

What I discovered instead is that saying the unspeakable – I was wrong – is liberating. It freed me of my shame and opened the door for growth. Changing my mind ultimately changed my heart. But what I find most interesting, when looking back on just a few of my disgraces, is how much hate I was spreading. Not because I actually hated any of these people, but rather because I hated myself.

To the many people I have hurt in my life: I am sorry. I was wrong.


4 thoughts on “hard to say: I was wrong

  1. Dang girl, that was beautifully written and brought a tear to my eye. Sadly, often the religious/church community advocates and encourages judging and condemning others. They have been stopped from sending people to death who oppose them so now they kill them with words. I know, because I have done it and I was wrong.

    Cheryl Date: Thu, 2 Apr 2015 13:05:46 +0000 To: heart4women@hotmail.com

    Liked by 1 person

    • Aww, thank you Cher! Your comment is true and your admission is beautiful. It also brought a tear to my eye. Love you 🙂


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