Today at the salon, I met someone from my former church. It caught me completely off guard. I saw her talking to one of the ladies there, and before she even looked my way, I tried to bury myself in my phone—pretending to scroll, pretending to be too busy to notice. But of course, life has a way of bringing back what you’ve tried to leave behind. When she finished her chat and was about to leave, she turned, looked straight at me, and said hi. “I remember you,” she said, smiling like nothing had changed.
It was such an awkward moment. I smiled back, but inside, I felt this rush of shame. Not because she did anything wrong, but because of everything that version of me used to be. The one who believed without question, who gave everything—my time, my money, my emotions, even my peace—to the church. I was so deep in it that I couldn’t see how much of myself I had surrendered.
Standing there, I could feel the old guilt creeping up, like a shadow that still lingers even after the light changes. I can’t believe I ever thought giving until it hurt was a form of faith. I gave until I was empty, thinking sacrifice made me righteous. Looking back now, it feels like I was taught to disconnect from myself—to silence my doubts and call it obedience.
And yet, I don’t hate that version of me. I understand her now. She was looking for meaning, for belonging, for safety in a world that often feels too uncertain. She trusted the wrong kind of certainty—the one that punishes questions and rewards submission.
So when that lady said hi, I smiled back. Not because I wanted to reconnect, but because I finally see that walking away doesn’t mean carrying bitterness. It just means choosing truth over comfort, self-respect over approval.
These days, I find peace in smaller, quieter ways. In laughter with my daughter, in music, in honest conversations, in knowing I don’t have to perform goodness to be good. I don’t need a pulpit or a pastor to feel grounded. I just need to stay awake to my own life.
It’s strange how a simple hello can pull you back into an old story—but even stranger how calm it feels to know you don’t live there anymore.