Being understood.

I used to spend a lot of time trying to explain myself.

Why I believed what I believed.Why I changed my mind.Why something hurt me.Why I walked away.Why I stayed.Why I needed rest.Why I said no.Why my faith doesn’t always look like someone else’s faith.

I thought if I could just find the right words, everyone would understand.

Turns out, some people aren’t looking for an explanation. They’ve already written their version of your story, and they’re perfectly happy reading from it.

That used to bother me.

A lot.

I wanted to correct the record. I wanted to make sure nobody walked away with the wrong impression of me. I wanted to explain every misunderstood sentence and defend every decision that somebody else questioned.

I don’t have nearly as much energy for that anymore.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of getting older.

You eventually realize how exhausting it is to live your life in front of an imaginary jury.

These days, I’m much more comfortable saying: I know why I made that decision.

The people closest to me know my heart.

And God knows the parts of the story nobody else ever saw.

That’s enough.

It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped listening when someone challenges me. I hope I never become so certain of myself that I can’t admit when I’m wrong. I’ve changed my mind about too many things over the years to believe I’ve finally arrived at all the right answers.

But there’s a difference between being willing to learn and constantly needing to defend your existence.

I’m learning that difference.

There are still plenty of things I worry about. I’m certainly not going to pretend I’ve reached some peaceful mountaintop where nothing bothers me anymore.

But being understood by everybody?

I’ve mostly put that one down.

Some people will understand me.

Some won’t.

Some will misunderstand me and love me anyway.

And some will misunderstand me because they’ve already decided to.

I can’t control any of that.

So I’ll keep trying to live honestly. I’ll keep trying to speak kindly. I’ll apologize when I hurt someone. I’ll change when I discover I’m wrong.

But I don’t need to stand in the courtroom anymore, presenting evidence for why I’m allowed to be who I’ve become.

The door was open the whole time.

I finally walked out.

Published by Jeff

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